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macaroonff · 2 months

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Taste- Lee Minho (Part 2)

Genre: Undercover detective lee know x gang leader y/n; the roaring 20s Paring: Minho x fem! reader Content Warnings: Spice (no smut),mentions of alcohol, inaccurate historical representation, not intended to be factually correct, please forgive any inaccuracies. Word Count: 2.5k words Suggested Songs: Taste- Stray Kids Whatever Lola Wants- Ella Fitzgerald Fall in Love With Swing- Trio Manouche Smooth Operator- Sade

↪click here for part 1.

Refer to this for context regarding specific terms in bold

Lee Minho should've known better, that a woman so beautiful was also secretive. That a woman so wanted in this mysterious club would obviously play hard to get. Did it help that she was also the owner of this place? No it did not.

But what did help was that a set of the smoothest pearls had fallen into his lap, and either on purpose or by accident, you had left him your necklace. Lee Minho couldn't decipher your intent, but at the very least, he found himself an excuse. It was as though petty fate that stopped him before was helping him proceed in this mission.

He searches for you in the crowd with continuous effort, but you seem to have disappeared a long time ago, as though your conversation with him was just another of his delusions. Lee Minho also realises that he's a little tipsy. He's starting to sweat under the warm suit in the crowded room, and he feels his heart rate pick up rapidly. Unlike how he had become tolerant of the alcohol here in Chicago, he wasn't used to this club as an entity, he especially wasn't used to you. For a trained detective like Minho, two minutes was all it took for him to decipher what a person desires, what their intentions are, but you were so hard to read. He had never felt so incompetent, so out of it before. He looks back at the bartender, who had offered him another free drink.

"What do they call her, that flapper?"

"She isn't just any flapper," the man replies with a smirk, "she's the most famous in the city, her stage name is Estelle Vin."

"Is she always that... mysterious? I can't help be drawn to her," Minho confesses foolishly, wanting to gauge the bartender further.

"Hmm, you're not the only one. Do you want me to return those pearls you're holding," the bartender replies.

"Don't worry, I need these as an excuse, if you know what I mean," he flashes a wink, pretending to be a lovesick fool, thouh he wasn't really sure it was pretention on his part. "Thanks for the free drink, I quite enjoyed it."

Lee Minho leaves with a small stumble, feeling the blood rush to his ears, his entire body getting warm. His vision is somewhat blurry, as he pushes his way towards the door he was eyeing before, his hands clutching the pearls close to his chest in his breast-pocket, holding on as though his entire life depended on it, and maybe it did.

He had to duck through the entrance to the dressing rooms, where he found himself standing in a complex maze. There were doors to the right and left of him, and a long corridor leading down. The shabby exterior was deceptive of the space within the club, and he could barely believe that it was just a small, rundown club that it lured people in as. He walks further down the corridor, when a singer comes out of a door on the left. She looks at him, startled by his intrusion. "Who...?How did you enter? It's authorised personals only."

He quickly apologises, and in convoluted sentences that his brain pushed out, explained that he had something to return. "The door was unlocked, and I need to see Ms Vin."

The lights dimmed nearby, signalling that a new performance was about to start. The stranger looks rushed and tries to shoo him away.

"Get out, and stop acting like a stalker. This would ruin your reputation Mr Claude Landry."

Lee Minho's eyebrows furrow in confusion. Why did a singer working here know his surname? He had only disclosed it to Mr Brown and a few other aristocrats. He was sure that most of them were tight-lipped about it, but now he was somewhat alarmed. Of course, as a man of public curiosity, along with him being a foreigner, it may not be as alarming. Maybe a clerk saw him sign it as Landry, and he overruled his previous suspicions. Absorbed in his thoughts, he slowly back away from this new area shrouded in mystery, until he feels the floor under his feet vibrating, as though something heavy was moving below.

"There's no way what I'm feeling is an earthquake now ma'am?" he questions, his suspicions aroused for perhaps the hundredth time in the night.

"I think you've had too much of hooch Mr Landry," the stranger replies.

Sure, he was somewhat intoxicated but there's no way he'd be this gone. He also made sure that the bartender didn't have any chance to spike his drink, which makes him feel fluky. The feeling increases, and he swears he can hear glass shatter below him, although faint. The Whangdoodle from the stage increases their volume as this happens, and Minho finds his ears ringing.

It was at that moment you spring out of your dressing room, almost alarmed. "Why are they so lou-" you exclaim but stop when you notice Minho.

His eyes look into yours, and for a second he feels relieved to see someone he knows, though barely. At least the situation didn't seem as unfamiliar as it did before.

"It's loud isn't it Ms Vin?" he asks, back to his stoic self, as though examining your anxious demeanour.

You hold back a breath, unsure how to answer the question. A new shipment was supposed to arrive today, and they're usually stored in the basement, which unfortunately happened to be right below where you were standing. You'd usually ensure that the entrance to this area was secure, but most of the men had gone to help carry the shipment in, which happened to be in excess today, and you must have left it open when you came back with your head muddled with thoughts of Minho. The fate that usually favoured you, happened to be sabotaging you today.

"Yeah, the band is louder than usual, I should probably check on them."

You locked your door to stop him from entering, and nod at your colleague. She tries to usher Minho back to the main area, and you also try to leave past him. He grabs your hands instead, and you feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"This must be yours," you see your pearls drop from his hands, clinking against his watch.

You only now notice that your neck was bare, putting your hand against it. Another sound erupts from the basement, and you get frantic. You watch as your colleague runs down to the basement to make them aware of how conspicuously loud they were being. Minho is quick to follow her with his eyes, suspicion written all over his face.

In spontaneity, you pull him into the dressing room you had previously locked. It was a last resort to distract him, stupid as it was.

"I... I can wear the necklace here," you say, pulling him closer to you. "Or maybe you'd like to put it on me?" you try flirtatiously hoping to keep his attention on just you. You sit down on the red chair, and remove the makeup from the counter. Luckily for you, Minho seems to appreciate this opportunity just as much as you, walking closer until his hand rests on your naked shoulders. He carefully held your long bob in a fist, placing the cold pearls as delicately as he could around your neck, taking quite some time. As he moves in closer, you feel his warm breath fanning your ear, where you're taken aback by his rapid breathing. You could feel it travel down your spine as he bends to snap it in place. It felt like he was holding himself back, deliberate, careful. Once he's done clasping the necklace, you look at him through the mirror, his eyes focused on you. You see him take your appearance in, and a small gasp leaves his mouth.

"You look beautiful y/n," he says in a deeper voice, taking you by surprise. Because you weren't taken aback by the compliment but by the fact that you had never once given him your real name, and the only thing he could find out was your stage name. Even some of your closest workers were hidden from your real identity.

But you didn't want to confirm this with this stranger, deciding it would be best to feign innocence. You furrow your brows as though it was annoyance. "Who's y/n? Your wife? A lover? A tomato you fell in love with?"

He smirks, "Future wife, maybe. Lover, if we're looking to start from today" he counters, snarky, yet in a weird way seductive. At this point you were beyond alarmed and tried extremely hard to keep yourself grounded to this new predicament.

"What do you mean by we? Besides if you want to address me, then you can call me Estelle."

"Well, are you jealous Estelle? Cause to be honest I'd rather call out your name later instead of y/n. I really hope you aren't y/n."

Who was he? Why did he care so much? Maybe he was mistaken, your name might be popular in France, or wherever he's from. Because there's no way he was referring to you.

You wanted to change the conversation desperately, you absolutely had to. In so many years of hiding behind a façade, it was scary having it disintegrated by a mere stranger.

"I'm not jealous, and don't be creepy, Claude. I don't think you should be here, unless you have more to speculate?"

He says nothing, instead he reaches for his breast-pocket for the umpteenth time, removing his linen handkerchief engraved with C.L and a classic fountain pen with gold borders.

"Time and date, for our next meeting," he asks sweetly, a charming smile painted on his lips.

You take his pen and examine it carefully. "Looks expensive, must be a family heirloom," you ask carelessly.

Minho smiles, as though he had already won this game of deception. Did he actually know your name? No. But he made a somewhat educated guess. Like most of the women of the time, you had tattooed on your back your social security number. As a celebration of autonomy, it had become a popular trend, which you also seemed to have followed. Luckily, for him, he had access to the case of a few bootleggers who were hidden so well that the only thing that could be traced was the social security number on someone's back. The number belonged to y/n l/n. Did it help that the social security number had no pictures? No. But did it help that the numbers on your back were visible to him as he placed the necklace on you? Of course it did. He decided to take a dangerous bet, and observe your reaction.

Beyond your unperturbed expression, he could see a shift in your body language, your fingers clasped onto your necklace tighter for sometime, before you recovered, your confident face wavering and your beautiful eyes shifting away from him . All he had to do was catch you in the act.

"You're such a liar Claude." you say out of nowhere. "What are you? A cop? you say also catching him off-guard.

"A cop, those incompetent people with a meagre salary? Of course I'm not, don't be ridiculous darling." he replies slowly.

He watches you smile, a menacing one that pretended to be comforting. "It was a joke, of course you're not a cop, you're big cheese around here," he takes the handkerchief from you, where he sees all you've written on it is "today" with a red lipstick stain on it.

"Today?" he raises an eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah, unless your bank's closed?" you entice.

He smiles and pulls you in swiftly. His unexpectedly rough hand that you would not expect someone rich to have, is on your back, drawing circles as his lips are pushed against yours. You taste the same cheap wine you had offered him towards the back of his tongue, except that it tasted so much better this way. You could taste remnants of the fake plum flavouring, mixed with the scent of your Chanel no 5 parfum taking over all your senses. You feel as his cold fingers trace definitely around your back. "Three" he whispers, "Eight," he continues, moving leftwards, causing goosebumps where he'd left his impression. "One" he continues. You pause for a moment, confused at the numbers he was repeating, until it eventually dawns on you. You push him away worried, your pearls clinking as you move back. "Anything wrong?" he asks innocently. You knew you couldn't directly admit to being a criminal. He wouldn't know just by your social security number, unless he was working with someone important. But he also somehow knew your name.

At this point you knew he wasn't a French Casanova, observing how his supposed "heirloom" had different initials engraved on the pen, L.M., which you were sure didn't belong to a Claude Landry, or that of a real family. It must have been a stolen good bought illegally, or that L.M were his real initials. The only way you could find out was if you played along.

"Nothing, I just needed a breather, your kisses are quite intense," you make a stupid excuse. Despite realising that you weren't yourself around him, you go back to making out with this handsome stranger, his hands going back to where they were until he managed to trace your entire number. He removes his tweed suit, and lifts up your dress until it was hiked far above your thighs, and with every movement the tassels of your dress get tangled up near his zip. You unbutton his cotton shirt, holding the fabric close, revealing his chest which was so much warmer than your hands. A chill blows through the window, and you shiver in between his warm touches. He stops there for a minute, and eyes the bottle of rum on your counter. He lifts you with ease, and places you on the counter, where your social number was reflected in the mirror, as though everything about you had finally been revealed.

"We should make our last toast," he speaks up breathless, sipping out of the bottle, then holding it to your lips. You accept, and gulp down more than you usually do. Something tells you it would be the last time you'd be this delirious, yet so satisfied. It was like with every kiss, he meant to take you down, in more ways than one. His kisses travelled down your body, scattered, frenzied. He kissed as though this was the first and only time he'd be this close to you. Soon you also gave in to the delicate pressure with all your being, overruling your innate intuition, lost in his seduction.

You were so guilty of doing this. Of finding comfort in the way he moaned your name, your real name, in low whispers, something you'd never trust anyone to do. And it didn't matter what secrets he hid when he made you feel this good. Though you were always guilty of lying to others, so was he. In a weird way, for tonight both of you would be equals- equally guilty parties for betraying yourselves.

Similarly, no one would ever fathom how utterly guilty Lee Minho felt with his tongue driven down your throat, enjoying it despite knowing you were a criminal. It was as though he couldn't let go, and for a minute he felt like none of it mattered, and that you were as innocent as your kisses fluttering over his collarbones. For tonight, he'd become the sinner, not you.

The same Lee Minho who hated being drunk during work hours, was beyond pleased, convincing himself that it was just for tonight. For just this night, he'd given into this hedonistic urge, of wanting nothing but a taste of your body, of your attention and your entire world which he would eventually have to destroy tomorrow. But tomorrow was so many kisses, so many secrets and so many bottles of alcohol later. So he continued deluding himself with your moans and soft lips, until he could no longer despise himself for his new intoxication: you.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids ff #stray kids fanfic #lee minho imagines #lee minho x reader #lee minho fanfic #minho x reader #minho x you #minho x y/n #skz minho imagines

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herbirdglitter · 6 days

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Something that irks me in movies is not when period costumes are inaccurate, but rather when they’re perfectly fine and then the writers write about them in a way that’s batshit crazy

Like take Pirates of the Caribbean for example. Those movies were met trying to be historically accurate, why would they be? Yet still 98% of the outfits are at least historically possible for some decade in the 18th century and so it all feels believable.

Then came the writers with Elizabeth being tightlaced into stays (not physically possible) and she isn’t able to breathe (stays don’t work like that) and that smashing line “you like pain?try wearing a corset.” Ooooooh the drama. Girl they were not called corsets then but also, ???? It’s all comfortable walebone that molds to fit your body and it’s fitted perfectly to you? You’re the governors daughter, you can’t convince me your stays don’t fit you properly?? Why would it hurt??

And then there’s Bridgerton. Obviously Bridgerton’s costumes are purely based on vibes and in no world are they trying to be historically accurate which means I could easily forgive their lack of anything under their stays,

EXCEPT they made a point of showing the cruel marks and sores left by the patriarchal stays. How horrible. PLEASE. THAT’S WHY THE SHIFT IS THERE. It protects the stays from you and you from the stays. Nevermind you’re sweating directly into your stays and it probably smells like a swamp, you wouldn’t have the chaffing if you wore something underneath like you’re supposed to.

It’s like wearing sneakers without socks, going hiking, and then blaming your blisters on the cruel torture device that is your shoes.

And don’t get me started on the tightlacing scene. Yes, it doesn’t make any sense because you can’t see her waist in a regency gown, but again NOT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE. METAL EYELETS WEREN’T INVENTED YET. YOU’D JUST RIP THE FABRIC.

I know it’s all just lazy writing shortcuts, tightlacing scene=tradition and oppression etc. but for the love of god, write a scene that’s at least physically possible

#historical costuming #Bridgerton #pirates of the carribean #corset rant #historical fashion #movie costumes

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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Loving You Is A Losing Game

Ivar+Kidnapped Wife! Reader (Vikings! Era)

Chapter 2; Electra

“You can have your rich table and life flowing over the cup. I need one food: I must not violate Elektra.”

“Electra” by Sofocles

(Previous Chapter) (Masterlist)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I don’t know if anybody remembers this series, but I thought about bringing it back to you, since a few of you seemed interested in this and I am honestly VERY very excited about this series!

Sadly... it is slightly... too angsty for me, even more during this quarantine, so I wasn’t able to write it till I was in a mood that was sane enough to write it out, so sorry for the waiting!

As always: if you want to slip any feedback, know that it’ll make my heart beat faster and I’ll absolutely write faster!

Feedback is easy, quick and free, never forget to leave a comment, if you enjoyed this.

Liked What I Wrote? Want To Support Me? Buy Me Ko-Fi!

SUMMARY: Being kidnapped wasn't the hard part.

Surviving in a kingdom where nobody is your ally might be more problematic.

Even more when a new life is growing in your stomach.

WORDS: 7,3 K

WARNINGS; Unstable Relationship (I think that honestly Reader and Ivar’s relationship is borderline abusive, even more if set up in the modern era, there is no physical violence, but there might be some psychological one so please be careful sweeties), Pregnancy, Talk of Abortion, Mention of Death, Betrayal, Kidnapping Historically Inaccurate, and Not following the series path.

On the days on the boats you’d try to keep your mind active, talking with Astrid, but the night… you were lost to feverish dreams.

Of your labor, accompanied by the death of your husband and child, to the point that you had come to dread night.

Even thought, unless one of your jailers took pity of you and would leave a candle burning out slowly, it’d be forever night in the dark of the heart of the boat you were on.

You had tried to goad your jailers into knowing where you’d be going, but they had been as silent as rocks.

They looked at you with pity and a vicious lust, that made you glad that Gustaf had stopped any man from ‘roughing you up’.

‘… she is the wife of a prince!’ he had commented, sending you a joking look, because drenched in dirty clothes and vomit, you didn’t look very much like royalty ‘… and we’ll treat her as such’.

Had Ivar ever gotten his hands on their wives or children, he wouldn’t have treated them like that, for sure.

You wondered whether he knew about your kidnapping.

Lagertha and your family certainly wouldn’t have left him in the shadow of ignorance.

But did he still care about you?

Maybe he’d have cared about the child in your belly…

A sudden impulse to retch brought you back from your treacherous thoughts, as Astrid called out your name, to check on you.

Although the jailers had simply thought your ‘illness’ to be seasickness, Astrid had caught on pretty quickly what it truly was, as once you were left alone, she had whispered:

‘Are you with child?’ she had asked, looking in your eyes, as you raised your head to lightly nod, and she had thrown her head to the sky of wood ‘… is it his?’.

‘I might be the wife of a traitor, but I certainly am not a cheater’ you had replied pointedly, as Astrid asked for forgiveness, raising her hands as you had lightly pushed your tied arms to hug your knees ‘… I loved him’.

‘… he’ll come for you’ she had spoken as she matched your pose, making you raise your head ‘… he has killed for much less, believe me, he’ll find you’.

You didn’t understand if she was doing this to calm you down or simply because she truly believed your husband was a beast.

“I don’t think he cares anymore” you muttered, as you cradled yourself tighter in your arms.

“I don’t think that he’d risk it for a simple lovers’ spat” she commented, and you couldn’t help but bit your lips, harshly, because although Astrid’s words were gentle and laced with sureness, your thoughts weren’t.

“… it wasn’t a simple lovers’ spat” it had been more like two words clashing through each other.

All the differences that you had had, spit against the other.

“… it just… it used to be quite… easier” you explained, finally uttering your thoughts “… when we were younger, before we were married”.

The ring on your finger was heavy to remind you that.

“You married quite young” commented Astrid, as you nodded “… it isn’t easy, even more when you are blessed with so much power and a stubborn husband”.

You laughed darkly at her comment, as she tried to turn to you with her piercing blue eyes staring at you.

“I just… sometimes I wished we had just kept it on like it was” you explained, confessing something you had never told anyone “… it just felt like we did it more to prove something to others than for ourselves”.

Your entire life had been this way.

Your romance with Ivar had started this way and had continued like that.

Even the child in your womb was a show of that.

To prove to those who didn’t believe it that Ivar was a man, exactly like them.

“Will you keep the baby”.

You had been waiting for that question for quite some time, because it had also tormented your thoughts, but to be uttered out like that it took the breath from your lungs as you choked on your words.

Eventually answering:

“… I don’t know” you confessed.

“Do you want a child?” she questioned you again, as those piercing eyes reminded you of Ivar.

“This might not be the best period to have a child” you tried to push away the question, but Astrid’s eyes focused on you tightly.

“Have you ever wanted children?” she asked “… if we weren’t stuck in a damned ship brought to our demise, would you keep it? The one in your belly”.

Nobody had ever truly asked you that.

You realized that not even Ivar had ever asked you that.

He had simply told you that to have peace, you’d have to give him a child.

He had ordered you to have a child.

And now you had one, but the only positive sensation you had about it had been Ylva’s gentleness in talking with you about it.

“… I…” you choked on your words, unsure of what to say.

Because it hadn’t ever been a question for you.

It had been a fact.

And now that it had happened…

… you weren’t sure of the answer.

“… I don’t know” you spoke “… Ivar always wanted children, it’ll strengthen his hold on the throne and it’ll…”.

“What about you?” Astrid focused the attention on you.

And you couldn’t help but want to vomit, and not because you were feeling nauseous.

Nobody had ever asked your opinion.

“… my mother died because of running around her children. Exhaustion claiming her… ” something had been unlocked in you as you confessed that and Astrid’s gaze softened “… I always… she isn’t something I want to be… I like children, but… I am not sure of wanting them, now”.

Even more in this period.

You didn’t trust Gustaf, in the slightest.

That man reminded you too much of calmer version of your husband.

And your husband did nothing without a second purpose.

“… have you thought about…?” she didn’t have to say it, but you remembered the talk with Ylva, the name of the herb she had told you to take in case you didn’t want the child.

Now it’d have been extremely difficult to obtain it.

“Yes” you spoke softly “… my… healer Ylva has told me to take an herb in case I didn’t want it anymore, but now…”.

“If you don’t want this baby, you don’t have to carry it” she spoke as if it was the most natural thing ever, and you froze in your spot “… I am not saying it solely because it’ll indeed change your life for the worse or for the better, but because if you don’t want it truly… if you aren’t ready for it… it’ll grow unloved”.

She seemed almost to speak from experience and ducked her head away from you, as you looked at her surprised.

“… I can’t… I don’t know how to…”.

“I’ll get you the herb, no matter what” she promised you “… just let me know if you want it or not”.

Something broke inside of you at that thought.

The question of the baby had kept you up till late, but you had never had a deep and stable solution, something that could be more than a fantasy.

But now Astrid had given it to you, her eyes speaking of true sincerity.

She would have helped you if you didn’t want the baby.

She wasn’t lying.

“… I need to think about it”.

“Do it fast” she commented simply, almost as if you hadn’t had just a heart-to-heart conversation “… the herb won’t work after a certain amount of time”.

“I’ll let you know” you promised softly “… I just… need some time to think about this”.

And then you were surprised as you heard the door open, and immediately Astrid pushed herself away from you, meanwhile you tried to look at your fiercest, even with dried vomit on your clothes.

Gustaf walked in, a smirk on his face as he looked at you as if he was holding court.

Everything in him seemed damnably royal and it annoyed you to an extent that you would have gladly hit him if you had had your hands free.

“Good morning, ladies” he called out to you both, only welcomed by a grimace on your faces “… I have news for you, don’t you want to hear them?”.

“Fuck you” commented bitterly Astrid, but Gustaf seemed too happy with himself, to properly care about her comment.

“We have arrived at my home” he promised you softly “… and you ladies will be my welcome guests”.

---

“I don’t fucking care about anything!” screamed Ivar as Lagertha sent him an annoyed look, as one would with an annoying child who wouldn’t just lower his voice “… it is my wife we are talking about! She was fucking kidnapped because of your ineptitude in being queen”.

“Ivar, you either calm down or you’ll be back in your cell” threatened him the blond woman, meanwhile a few guards came closer.

“I don’t honestly know what he is doing here” commented your brother loudly, on the opposite side of Ivar, closer to Lagertha than him, and with a look of pure hate in his eyes.

Felix hadn’t been his best supporter, but he had never been an obstacle to your relationship as your father and older brother.

But Ivar knew that since he had tried to overtake Lagertha and pushed shame onto his sister, he hadn’t been his biggest supporter.

But he hadn’t expected him to straight up try to cut him off like that.

“… shouldn’t he be in prison?”.

“We called a truce” commented Lagertha.

“No, we didn’t” Ivar replied, shooting her a quick look “… I just value my wife enough to know when I have to shut up and lay down my weapons”.

“Then shut up” replied Lagertha “… I am not allowing my soldiers to get slaughtered to retrieve your wife, because they run into Gustaf’s lands blindly”.

“My wife is in their hands” he spoke harshly, before he shot a quick look to Felix “… you own bloody sister!”.

“I fucking know, you idiot!” replied Felix, getting up, as he towered over Ivar and for a moment, the cripple was truly scared, because Felix’ eyes spoke of pure anger.

One that he knew all too well.

“Calm down!” Tala, his sister-in-law screamed as she also got up, her pregnant belly immediately catching eyes.

She was near the birth date and she shouldn’t have been there, but she had insisted on staying in the council.

And Ivar could understand why.

“Your silly male arguments won’t help (Y/N)” she spoke loudly, to make sure that all attention wasn’t on her “… I do agree that we can’t lose time, because she might be in danger, but I also know that going blindly in there won’t help in the slightest.”

Both Ivar and Felix were taken aback, because Tala was usually shy and gentle, she had been a constant comforting figure, but right now, she wasn’t ready to step down.

And she had told the truth.

They were also losing time arguing amongst themselves.

“… I love (Y/N), as a sister” she spoke, and now her softness broke through her front “… I can’t even fathom the thought that I’ll give birth without her by my side. But I’ll endure it, if I know that she’ll soon be safe in my arms and that we’ll be the same”.

Lagertha gently moved to the trembling pregnant woman, whispering a few comforting words, as Felix did the same, caressing her round belly, meanwhile Tala leaned against him, the man gently adjusting her so that she could sit on him, with her front against his, as she enveloped him in a tight hug.

Ivar couldn’t help but miss you even more dearly as this happened.

He just wished that he could do the same as Felix with you.

He wanted you there with him, because he wanted to apologize for the last words he had said to you.

They burned in his memory.

And he just wished he could bring you as close as Felix was doing with Tala, whispering soft and comforting words.

But he had never been able to do such a thing.

He had solely been able to break your heart.

“… I’ll wait, but…” he commented, breaking apart the beautiful moment “… I am worried for her”.

“We are all worried for her” assured him Lagertha, as she shot a quick look to Felix, who continued in hiding in his wife’s hair “… and Astrid is with her, so believe me I have no intention to let this go”.

“I’ll gut Gustaf” he hissed roughly, after that, because he couldn’t shove his anger onto Lagertha or Felix if he wanted to have some alleys in his mission.

But Gustaf?

That fucktard wouldn’t have lasted a day once he got ahold of him.

“We all agree on that” answered him Lagertha, with a dark smile.

He’d have you soon in his arms.

And he’d have his revenge.

But for now, he’d just listen in to the what the council knew about Gustaf.

He seemed a ghost, who had risen to power during the insecurity of the throne of Kattegat, meanwhile they were in England.

He had started with small raids around fellow Viking villages, and had proclaimed himself king, raising a small but sneaky army.

Lagertha admitted to having undervalued him, thinking he wouldn’t be anything too big and that Kattegat would have held itself against him.

But it hadn’t.

And now you were paying for all her mistakes.

---

A few women had been allowed inside the boat to wash your body from days of dirt and to preserve your modesty from the men’s eyes, as they gently dabbed your body with water soaked tissues that they pressed to your body, then moving you to a bathtub brough inside just for you and Astrid, allowing you a bit of intimate time.

The one it took you to give Astrid your answer.

During the time that you had had before the boat had docked, you had realized one thing.

This child hadn’t been blessed by a good timing.

And as much as you knew that Ivar would have cursed you for your decision, you couldn’t deny that if the gods had blessed your pregnancy, they wouldn’t have allowed Gustaf to take you.

They would have allowed your pregnancy to appear much before.

But in truth they were all pretty lies about the fact that you were scared to end up like your mother.

And not solely a tired woman, relegated to child bearing but one that wouldn’t have loved her children truly.

For all this time you had tried your best to fake that the growing belly on your stomach wasn’t anything more than a dream, a feverish dream.

You had tried not to get too attached to the baby.

You hadn’t considered it truly, except when your belly stiffened for another vomiting session.

You just couldn’t bring this pregnancy to its rightful end.

There were so many reasons why it was cursed.

And in the end as Astrid had said: it was your decision.

‘I can’t keep the baby’ you had whispered in her long hair, free from the braids to be properly washed, as she kept her face impassible ‘… I’ll wait to know your plan to get rid of it’.

Although the words seemed to easy, they hurt your tongue.

Almost as if somebody had decided to rasp coarse paper against it.

And now your tongue bleed, crying for the injustice of the words.

‘Sweet baby’ that was the first time you addressed it in your mind ‘… I can’t have you, right now. It wouldn’t be fair to birth you in chains, meanwhile your father has his own plan to destroy himself’.

There would have been others.

You tried to console yourself with that thought.

But your tricky mind knew that although you might have been blessed with others, they would have never ever been like this one.

And yet, it was the best choice through the worst-dealt cards Destiny had given you.

Astrid didn’t give you any judgement and lightly nodded, the only semblance of an agreement appearing between you two, as she moved to wash your hair.

And you were glad she couldn’t see your tears for the child that you had never wanted and would never have.

You tried to focus on the steps ahead, instead.

Now that you were on land, you’d have both advantages and disadvantages.

It certainly would have been easier to go escape on land, but at the same time you wouldn’t have made it quite far, hadn’t you found a way to secure yourself boat back to Kattegat.

And most importantly you didn’t know where you truly were.

You hadn’t been able to keep up the time in the stomach of the boat, although you were sure that not even a week had passed since you had been kidnapped, so you couldn’t truly understand how far you were from home.

It was almost torture to think about everything that was wrong and difficult in that moment.

Because you saw no way to escape this.

But you had to keep your mind lucid to see anything that might be helpful.

So, for now you played the caught princess, as you let the guards bind your hands together, thinking about the fact that it would have been so easy to knee them in the groin, grab the rope and tighten it around their necks, as your older brothers had taught you.

You just smiled as Gustaf moved to examine you.

“Gotta make sure that you look like the princesses I promised my people” he smirked, as he looked at the dress you were wearing, something that was quite luxurious you had to say, but it just made you feel exposed “… now smile”.

“You might have bond my hands, but you don’t control my mind” replied tightly Astrid, as he moved to examine her, meanwhile the guards’ eyes ranked over her body as you heard tight whispers of ‘whore’ and ‘fucking cunt’.

You kept your mouth shut.

And not simply because you were feeling like retching again.

Gustaf ignored completely Astrid’s comment and simply turned to you, as you ducked your head, playing the submissive lady act.

You were led away and before you knew it you were in the middle of nowhere, as you tried to understand your surroundings, but it was nothing like Kattegat, although the weather was quite much more chilly and you were almost glad when Gunnar gentlemanly enveloped you in his mantle.

But at the same time, it reminded you of your first ‘date’ with Ivar, making you feel guilty for the intimate gesture.

Ivar back at that time had been too nervous for any physical contact, but as he had seen you shivering, he had cursed loudly commenting on your stupidity to wear ‘such a light dress on such a cold night’, but he had wrapped you up in his own furs, finally finding the courage to envelop you in a loose hug.

But then as you moved further on the hidden road, an hidden city revealed underneath you, spurred on by the heavy movements of the soldiers marching with you, enveloping in a tight grip your bodies, as Astrid also looked as surprised as you.

And entire population, half the one of Kattegat, but still impressive, was living in rocks-like house, something that would have almost seemed like a fairytale, hadn’t it been reality happening in front of you.

“… I know that it isn’t as majestic as your own city, but this is my land, ladies, the one that will host you till we get your weight in gold” he presented it to you, as more people came out of their small huts.

“So, we are hosts?” this time it was your voice unable to stop itself from emerging “… why then are my hands bound?”.

“For your safety, my lady” commented Gustaf with a triumphing smile “… wouldn’t want you to run off and be brought back with the hard manners”.

“My husband will have your head if you touch as much as a hair on my head”.

Because even if you and Ivar were on strained terms, he wouldn’t have allowed you to be dishonored.

If not for your honor, certainly for his.

“Then you better behave, lady (Y/N)” commented Gustaf with hungry eyes moving to your body and you tightened the mantle around your body, as you felt like a useless bratty princess.

Gustaf clearly wasn’t scared of Ivar.

He should have been.

But the fact that he wasn’t, made him bold… and dangerous.

“… she is a princess” backed you up, Astrid as her hands went to your “… I wouldn’t forget that”.

“Princes, princesses and subjects… that’s how the world works, isn’t it?” asked Gustaf, something almost fanatical appearing in his eyes “… but that isn’t how it works in my land! I brought here the rejects, the warriors that were left behind…”.

And you immediately noticed that a few of the men around you had missing limbs or didn’t look in the slightest like the typical image of a warrior.

“… the women that nobody wanted” and this time it wasn’t simply the one that didn’t look ‘normally’ beautiful, you knew he meant that one that nobody wanted to marry and the ones that had been too abused by men to want another between their legs “… and the children that nobody wanted”.

His voice seemed to shift onto a softer tone as he said this, almost as if he had personal experience in this.

You took the information and stored it in your mind.

“… so welcome to the land of nobody, my ladies” he proclaimed with a quick look at you both “… this will be your new home from now on”.

----

Ivar had been allowed to go back home on his own, although he knew that Lagertha’s spies trailed after him.

More because they were worried that he might try to do something stupid to get you, than because they were sure he’d try to overthrow Lagertha.

And hadn’t Ivar had that ‘small’ fight with you, he would have certainly thought about that.

But now, he just couldn’t.

You had been right in berating him, after you had searched for a solution that his goddamn pride made him refuse to accept.

And now you were paying the consequences.

He knew that you had to be treated well.

That’s what he would have done with such an emotionally important hostage.

Touching one single hair on the head of such an important hostage would have meant the captor’s death, if they hadn’t the army to back it up.

Their gain would have been more if you were alive.

But you could have been bruised.

Roughed up and… made to service men.

And he would have made them paid dearly for it.

He was trying to bring himself to move away from the hallway of Kattegat, thinking that even if he wouldn’t have slept, he would have probably smelt a bit of your perfume in your mattress, when he saw somebody walking in.

Ylva, your healer and friend.

He was surprised to find her, but she smiled at him sweetly, as she moved further up to him and the guards in the hall let her come closer, although he saw a spy dispatching himself from the others, probably to inform Lagertha of this meeting.

“Ahhh look at the lucky man!” she commented softly, as she came closer to him and he tried his best to smirk softly at the older woman.

She had been the main reason why he had been able to marry you, since she had constantly supported you in your decision to marry the crippled prince, alongside helping him to get through the pain, with brews of herbs and bottle of oils.

“Ylva, what are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be in your hut throwing curses and brewing potions?” he asked trying to appear gingerly happy.

Ylva lived isolated from everyone, so he was sure she hadn’t heard the news of your kidnapping and he reasoned with himself that it was best not to say anything, at least for a bit since.

Ylva had been like a mother to you and he knew that she was also attached to you, like one.

He didn’t want to make her worry.

“… I do that only on special days, you know me, Ivar!” she commented before shooting him a softer look “… and what are you doing out of the cage? I thought that you were locked inside”.

“I escaped” he commented dryly.

“Then (Y/N) convinced you, didn’t she?” she smirked sweetly at him and hearing your name was like a punch in the gut but he tried his best to hide it “… I knew that the child would do the trick…”.

“What child?” asked Ivar confused, although a terrible sensation started brewing in his stomach as Ylva shot him an annoyed look, almost as if she thought that he was playing dumb.

“The one in her stomach, Ivar” she commented immediately and suddenly Ivar couldn’t help but choke on his own breath “… your wife is pregnant, Ivar! But I confide she has told you…”.

You were with child…

… in some foreign island…

“… she hasn’t told me, actually” he obliged himself to speak as Ylva came to support him “… she hasn’t been able to… she… an attack overcame Kattegat, and she was taken…”.

He had berated you for not having given him a child, in your last meeting.

And now you were pregnant.

And away from him.

“Ivar…” breathed Ylva anchoring him back to earth, and away from the horrible thought he had been having about you, broken and your unborn child separated in the womb from you “… I had no idea…”.

“I’ll bring her home” he promised to Ylva, because he knew that no matter what he’d bring you back to Kattegat.

And then he didn’t know if it was the shock or stress, he passed out in Ylva’s arms.

---

You had been led into one of the largest rock-houses, discovering that inside they could be quiet homely, and rich, although the entire design tended to look more like a jumble of various riches that probably came from different raids.

Or so you supposed.

You saw them throwing in a few of the ones they had successfully stolen from Kattegat as you were led to your own private rooms.

More like cells, although they were ample.

You had been locked inside, till you heard a pipping voice chatting brightly with the guard, and soon the door opened under a small key that the girl hid quickly her cleavage, but you noticed the movement, trying to search a way to make her accidentally spit it out.

She was quite a beauty, although she had one missing eye, covered by an elegant bandage on it, bright pink of something that seemed quite exotic.

But her fierce attitude definitely made up for the absence of the eye.

She asked you what she could do to make your staying better, suggesting some herbs if you were still feeling nauseous from the boat.

“I’d like to know your name, firstly” you asked, knowing that to set up an emotional bond with anyone would have been useful, even more with the woman that had the literal key to your freedom.

She seemed taken aback by your request and you were satisfied by that, although she hid her surprise quite well.

“… and my stomach is slowly settling itself on his own, but what I’d like is some information, obviously if you are allowed to talk”.

She nodded, shyly, as she ducked her head away from you, almost as if she was used to hide the missing eye on her face.

Hadn’t she sided with your captors, you would have gladly befriended her.

“Of course, my lady”.

“This place isn’t on any map, is it?” because obviously the gods couldn’t make this more difficult even if they tried.

The girl shook her head.

“… it is an absolute desert spot and if you aren’t brought her, you’ll never know of its existance” she explained with her eye full of admiration, almost as if she thought this was the best that could ever come to her.

But the truth was that much hadn’t changed.

She was still a slave.

Just because they had changed her chains with the silky ones, it didn’t mean she was out of this.

Gustaf wasn’t a freer of people.

He was a man who saw the anger of rejections and used it against others.

Ivar and he would have gotten along well.

“That’s beautiful” still you played the surprised and brattish lady part “… it is absolutely extraordinary that this was all set up with no record from any other kingdom”.

You saw irritation fall on her face, as if she didn’t want any mention of other kingdoms in her own.

Well, sadly for her, you and Astrid would ruin her marvelous plans.

“… we have no other way than to shield ourselves form the kingdoms that have rejected us” her voice spoke of a pain that made your eyes soften “… sadly we haven’t many choices, unlike you”.

You wanted to tell her that your own freedom wasn’t as wondrous as hers.

But you held your tongue and simply smiled sadly.

“Do you know who my husband is?” you asked her softly “I am the wife to prince Ivar The Boneless, and I can assure you that he made many great things, even with…”.

“… he is a prince, my lady” she commented, again that tight look that this time hit straight in the bullseye “… I was nothing but a miller’s daughter, when my master’s wife caught me spying on her at her husband’s order, catching her with a slave. She made him take my eyes and then told me I should have thanked her for having done ‘a clean job’ “.

Pure anger burned in her eye, as you thought about how similar it had been to Ivar’s.

Hadn’t Gustaf been his competitor, they might have understood each other.

But men with rage that burned so brightly would have never been friends.

They would have burned everything around them.

“I am sorry” you mumbled, as you sent her a tight look “… I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories”.

“I just look forward to the future, my lady” she commented softly, as she sent you one last look “… this place isn’t so bad, once you get used to it”.

“I hope not to sound annoying, but I really hope not to get used to it” you whispered, hoping she wouldn’t hear you, and if she had, she gave no signal of it “… and I hope this won’t sound terrible rude from me, but I’d like to relax a bit, sleep even”.

“Oh, of course, my lady” she replied, hiding quite well her offended expression from you, as she ducked away, locking you in.

And you passed the following three hour counting down the minutes to make sure that you could get ahold of the time, as you watched the color of the sky change, although the windows of your chamber had been chained in, to avoid you another easy escape.

After three hours, the girl finally came back, something much more submissive in her glance as she tried to make you talk, finally revealing you her name, Kari.

But you tried to keep everything close to your chest, as if this was some kind of interrogation.

Kari had you swiftly changed in a new dress, this was far more decorated than the one you had been dressed with, although you were grateful for the fur stitched on its shoulders because the coldness of the rocks, no matter the fireplace blazing, seeped also inside the rocks.

You thought it must be the humidity that stuck to your skin like a second skin.

Although the dress was far more covering than the other, you felt naked without your chess pendant, as you fidgeted with your fingers against its original position.

The thought of having lost it making your heart break.

Although your relationship with Ivar was quite strained, it still hurt you to have lost it.

Ivar had been so proud when he had given it to you.

It had meant the world for you.

Alongside what he had told you to accompany it.

It had made you feel for once as truly his match and not simply his wife.

As you were dressed, all jewelry you wore was taken off you and you could totally understand why, although you didn’t wear much.

Anything could be a weapon, in the right hands.

‘You’ll have them back, my lady’ had commented Kari, as she took your wedding ring matched with your golden earrings.

You doubted they would ever come back to you but you tried to simply nod, before Kari informed you that your hands would have been left unbound to let you eat in piece.

‘Please don’t try anything, you’ll simply hurt yourself’ she finished explaining, treating you almost as a child, and you played along, because you were sure that trying to escape right now would have been a death sentence.

But still the tone she used irritated you.

Almost as if you were to be treated like a precious doll.

And you weren’t.

You had never wanted to be one.

But you endured it, doing your best to keep your mouth shut.

You didn’t understand Gustaf’s way of playing with you.

This wasn’t the way you would have treated hostages.

Certainly, it was good that he didn’t want to hurt you, but at the same time…

… it made things just unclear to you.

But you were thankful to be brought out of your room, although it wasn’t as small as a cell, it made you uncomfortable to say the least, and although surrounded by guards you felt comfortable in the hall as you looked around with curiosity scanning each door and person.

You were brought down a flight of stair in a bigger room, lighted up by a lot of candles laying around, because of the tough interior of stone, making everything seem quite wary, almost a war room organized to be a parlor for guests.

As if you were guests and not hostages.

And you realized that it was what Gustav wanted to make you seem like.

Honored guests coming to bless him and his people, as you came to a ragtag table full of good smelling food, something that awakened your hunger and before you knew it your own child gave you their own blessing to eat, easing the nausea.

Astrid appeared on the other side and before you knew it, she came barging to you with more emotion than she had shown for the entire time you had known each other.

But soon you discovered that there was much more behind it.

Her hands pushed something in the back of your dress, over into your fur, sticking it to the pins in it, and she whispered in your head to act natural and you did, smiling at her in the most heartsick way.

Soon the guards put themselves between you, regaining order, as Gustaf walked in.

Both on the boat and outside of it, you hadn’t been able to get a good look on his face.

You had to say that indeed he was quite handsome.

He had long light blonde hair, which had been properly set up in a combed hairstyle, highlighting the harsh plane in his face, although he looked quite smaller than you had thought.

Had you to say something about it, you would have commented that he had been a premature baby.

He still wore extremely fine clothes, probably the finest in the entire room, hiding his figure and keeping the straightest of figures.

He might have been truly a beautiful creation.

Hadn’t his eyes shone with such a wickedness.

“Princess (Y/N)” now he addressed you properly, but you knew it was all for the people looking at you “… princess Astrid, how did you find your rooms?”.

You stopped Astrid’s remark on her lips, mumbling a soft ‘fine’.

“… I am glad to hear that” he replied, as he pushed one hand out to you, as if he expected you to take it, but you simply smirked back and moved to grab on Astrid’s one, who although hid it, seemed definitely surprised “… we shall sit at the table, by my side, as the honor guests they are”.

This time Astrid’s reply came before of your reply.

“Weren’t we prisoners?” she addressed him harshly and you moved to push her back, as something dangerous appeared in Gustaf’s eyes, but disappeared as soon as his eyes settled on you.

“You are my hosts, as long as you behave”.

A veiled threat.

And your head went accidentally to your stomach, already disappearing before you could fully understand what you had done.

“Now sit down and eat with us” ordered you Gustaf and you complied, getting sat, as you dragged Astrid with you, the guards to push the chairs out for you.

You tried to focus on the food, finally able to eat something without the need to retch it completely, finding yourself famished.

It was also easier because it meant that you could avoid conversations and just hear the other speak, although not much was said, soon Gustaf prompted you both to speak.

He started asking you questions, to which you answered with tight mumbles and slight moves of your head.

“You aren’t a woman of many words, princess (Y/N), are you?” teased you Gustaf and you simply moved to raise your head to send him a tight smile.

“I don’t think that pretty words are needed now” you commented back, as you pushed to go back to your food.

“… not even with your husband?” he replied with a devious smile, something that made your anger spike up, as it almost seemed another invasion of intimacy “… because I think that’s the only thing he can do to entertain a woman”.

You choked on your breath as Astrid shot you a warning look

Still, one thing was to insult you.

Another was to insult your husband.

Mostly on such intimate things, nobody truly had the knowledge of.

As Ivar would have defended your honor, you would have defended his.

Always

“I think that is a case in which pretty words aren’t needed” you commented sternly, as you turned to him cleaning your face in a tissue, before you raised from your chair, alerting a guard “… and so is my presence, I’d like to return to my room”.

“It wasn’t meant to offend you, princess” Gustaf’s eyes burned for the humiliation that you had put him through, but his words were pleading “… do stay and enjoy your meal”.

“I have had enough” although your stomach grumbled “… and I am tired. This is my first night on something that doesn’t move, I want to enjoy it fully”.

Kari immediately moved to follow you, meanwhile the guards waited for Gustaf’s orders, which were simply pushed out by his hand waving dismissively, although his eyes stayed on you till you left the room.

Astrid sent you one last look, her eyes sending you her ‘goodnight’.

And soon you were in your bedchamber, surprising Kari as you asked her to bring you some herbs and hot water to help you digest all the food that you had eaten.

‘… I might have exaggerated with it’ you tried your best to sound helpless and naïve.

Kari just nodded her head, leaving you effectively alone, as you grabbed the small pocket Astrid had pinned in your fur, effectively finding it was the herb you needed.

If it was like Ylva had told you, you’d have to put it in hot water and then drink it and it would have…

… it would have…

… changed you.

When Kari came back, your hands were shaking and you had hidden the herb in the ample sleeves of your dress to be able to hide it among the various herbs she brought alongside a cup of boiled water.

She tried suggesting you a few herbs as you moved to push the ones that you had hidden in the sleeves in its plate as she shifted her attention away from you, and then made your choice, proceeding to put it in the water.

Now all you had to was wait.

And then drink the awfully smelling beverage.

Kari seeing your choice brought everything away, trying to fret around you to avoid seeming as if she was wasting time and you waited for her to leave you alone, to move to check on the beverage, telling her to leave you alone so that you could sleep a bit.

‘I am truly looking forward to sleeping on something that doesn’t move’ you commented trying to brighten up the mood, although you had to hide the shivering of your hands.

And as you turned, the beverage was ready, of a dark color that made your face appear on its reflection, as you thought for one last time about whether this would be a good or not decision.

It was the best among some many bad decisions.

And right when you were moving to drink it, the door behind you opened.

And your hand almost accidentally dropped the mug.

You were halfway through telling Kari if she had forgotten you anything, but Gustaf, instead, stood on the threshold and you couldn’t help but assume an immediate defense stance and utter:

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to express my apologies to you, more properly” he spoke loudly, as his eyes were kept on the cup and they slowly came back to your face “… check that you weren’t truly mad with me”.

“You kidnapped me! To say that I am mad with you is an understatement” you commented unable to stop the sass from leaving your mouth.

And you hoped it might distract Gustaf.

But his eyes were smarter.

“… this doesn’t have to be bad, if you don’t make it be” he commented, as he moved towards you as you felt your body suddenly freezing in its position, as he got the cup out of your hand, before he smashed it on the floor “… are you with child, princess?”.

You shook your head, but you were already feeling tears flowing down your face.

“Because I know for sure that frigid bitch of Astrid isn’t, but she asked for a contraceptive brew, claiming that my men raped her, meanwhile she was on the boat”.

And before you knew it, Gustaf, in his slender stature, had pushed you onto the bed, pulling on your hair, as you tried to fight back, but it was no avail, since he had quickly immobilized you under him.

The worry for your belly and the life in it that you had wanted to kill making you quit any attempt of rebellion as Gustaf forced you to look at him in the eyes.

“So, don’t fucking lie to me too, little princess” he spoke tightly “… are you with child?”.

“Yes” it was a choked sob and you tried to at least escape with your face from his harsh glare, as if it lessened the truth of your lips.

And then suddenly Gustaf’s body was away from you, his weight not offending you further.

But his eyes still scared you as they set up on your body, almost as if he could already see the pregnancy overcoming your body.

“You are much more precious than I thought, princess”.

---

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crvdsphr · 7 years

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REASONS WHY THE WAY DRUMFRED WAS HANDLED WAS BULLSHIT (AND EVERYTHING SURROUNDING IT)

Disclaimer: I will forever love Alfred and Drummond. They did not get the respect they deserve. I say all of this only out of love and respect for them, individually and together.

Also, this may be a bit incoherent and slightly messy (i’m a mess after the finale), warning you now.

This is why I think the way Drumfred ended was stupid. I could go on for days but here’s a small list with some explanation for each. Enjoy.

1. SURFACE LEVEL

I don’t understand. Why would you build up chemistry and sexual/romantic tension between two characters, only to have them kiss the episode before one of them dies? I don’t see any logic or reasoning to that. Please, if you have a differing opinion to this, feel free to try to convince me that this isn’t garbage, lgbtqia+ ship or not.

2. THE ‘BURY YOUR GAYS’ TROPE

Drummond’s death is basically textbook for the ‘bury your gays’ trope.

First off, for those of you who don’t know what the ‘bury your gays’ trope is, here’s a definition:

This trope applies when an LGBT character is killed off, and is especially harmful when it happens shortly after or alongside a positive development with regards to their orientation, further linking the character’s orientation to the death of the character. (x)

If you would like more information and more of an in-depth analysis on this trope, I recommend this video.

I don’t think I need to go into how this trope fits Drummond’s death. It’s quite clear.

3. QUEERBAITING

I personally feel that this is a new level of queerbaiting (which I would not be surprised if it had been done somewhere else). This type of queerbaiting goes hand-in-hand with the ‘bury your gays’ trope.

Whilst the traditional definition of queerbaiting is this:

When people in the media (usually television/movies) add homoerotic tension between two characters to attract more liberal and queer viewers with the indication of them not ever getting together for real in the show/book/movie.

I believe the definition of this unique type of queerbaiting is like this:

When people in the media add homoerotic/homosexual/lgbtqia+ ships to a show, build up the tension between the two, only to have either one or both characters get killed off very soon after.

I think from what I’ve heard, this happened to Clarke/Lexa (Clexa) in ‘The 100’ but I could be wrong as I’ve never seen the show. Please forgive me if that’s incorrect.

This definition of queerbaiting is even more clear when I explain the next point.

4. DRUMMOND WAS GOING TO DIE EARLIER BUT THEY EXTENDED HIS STORYLINE BECAUSE OF THE CHEMISTRY WITH ALFRED

“But that kiss may have never even happened, as Suter has just revealed that Drummond's death was initially set to come much earlier on in the ITV series, and that showrunners only ended up extending his storyline with Lord Alfred's Waller because of how beautifully it was playing out.

When I got the part I was told I was going to die earlier in the series – in episode five or six but they extended it out," the actor told Digital Spy.

They [the writers, producers] realised there was something very nice and very touching between Drummond and Lord Alfred. When we were filming it we got the sense that there was something big going on. So that got inflated, which was a bonus for me.” (x)

This means that they [the writers/producers] knew that Drummond was going to die but added in a VERY short-lived romance just because of his chemistry with Alfred. I don’t.

5. A LOT OF HISTORICAL INACCURACIES FOR ONE MOMENT OF ACCURACY

Many aspects of this show are inaccurate. Such as the depiction if Victoria a pro-feminist icon, which she most likely wasn’t. I do not doubt that she has a strong will or mind but I don’t think she would have been as perfect as the show’s making her out to be. She has had some flawed moments, but for the most part, she’s pretty clean cut. Honestly, there are so many other things in this show that are not historically accurate, including Drumfred.

Daisy Goodwin, the creator of this show describes Alfred and Drummond’s relationship as a ‘creative moment’. Well, if you can make up an entire relationship, I don’t see how you can’t change when/how/if a character dies. Even the death wasn’t completely accurate, apparently, Drummond was still alive for 5 days after he got shot. So, they could’ve at least given Alfred (and Drummond tbh) a bit more closure.

6. REALISTICALLY PEOPLE BACK THEN WOULD NOT BE AS ACCEPTING AS THEY WERE SHOWN TO BE

I don’t understand how at least two people (besides Alfred and Drummond) are okay with gay people. In the Victorian Era, being gay was illegal and widely frowned upon. Even Victoria herself didn’t believe in lesbians.

Few people were accepting of it. Sure, some people were, but mainly, people did not agree with it or like it.

I don’t like homophobia as much as the next person, but the fact that the Duchess who is an elderly woman, born and raised with the Catholic values of time, would more than likely think that homosexuality is a sin and wrong. So, I think it’s slightly inaccurate to the views of the time that both Wilhelmina and the Duchess are okay with Alfred and Drummond’s relationship.

(also, don’t get me wrong I loved the Duchess when she was keeping Alfred calm as he was reading the letter, that scene made me sob more. seeing his hands shaking I just)

7. IT’S ALL HEART WRENCHING

Honestly, this last episode hurt a lot. For most of the episode, there was angst between two of them. It’s almost as if they had happier moments when they weren’t together.

I think one the most garbage things about this is that Alfred will never get closure. He’ll never know if Drummond was going to meet him at the restaurant or not. That’s something that will haunt him for a while, I think.

Alfred’s life will always be tragic from here on out, no matter what the writers/producers decide to do. It’ll always feel like there’s a cloud hanging over him (for me at least) and no one’s going to make him feel the same way that Drummond did. It’ll never be the same.

SUMMARY

It’s all heart wrenching and destroying. My life will never be the same. I’ll never forget them. They deserved everything and they got nothing.

#drumfred #alfred x drummond #lord alfred #edward drummond #almond #itv victoria #victoria #victoria spoilers #victoria s02 #victoria finale #victoria season 2 finale #victorias s02e08 #EDIT: i censored the word queer bc i am aware that some people are offended by it #but i have since realised that it is no longer a slur #and that it should be said #loud and proud

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cantusgratia · 5 years

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Headcanon

(( Disclaimer: these are my personal headcanons for my Kyrie and her family’s backstory and I will be using these are part of my canon for the blog and verses I place Kyrie in. But if you aren’t comfortable with me using such, or if you have your own HCs you’d like to suggest I go along with for threads with you, please do let me know so we can discuss it further! I wouldn’t mind doing so, if it makes it easier for your muse or you as a writer.

If you’d like to form a backstory/bond with my Kyrie/her family, or meld your headcanons with mine, or even form new info for our threads, please also let me know! I would love to discuss that with my partners through IMs, so don’t be shy <3 ))

(( warning: wall of text ahead. forgive me and my ramblings alsdkjg ))

THE PARENTS–

-Elías DiMatteis came to the island of Fortuna in the late 1980s with hopes of escaping his monotonous and yet stressful life in the mainland. He was a nobody in his homecity of Limbo, and he continued being a nobody in Fortuna up until he met and fell in love with a devout member of the Order of the Sword named Bianca Fernandez.

Bianca, whose sharp features, beautiful red hair, intellect, and no-nonsense disposition had garnered Elías’ heart, easily convinced this simple city man to devote his time to the organization as well. While she does reciprocate his feelings, her attachment to the Order and its vision to expunge demons in the name of Lord Sparda is much stronger. She believed that most (if not all) of her predecessors– the Fernandez clan– had always been affiliated with churches or holy factions even before the Order of the Sword had been established in Fortuna, and she aimed to keep that supposed family legacy going. If forming a family with Elías meant that she would have a partner to assist her in her works, and then with him have children to pass the responsibilities onto? Perfect.

Even before she was pregnant, Bianca already had plans for her future children to serve the Order. So Credo training to become a Holy Knight and Kyrie’s eventual path into the Order’s clergy as a vestal were heavily influenced by their mother.

[ Canon Divergent Verse formed with @mediumkat ]

At some point between Credo’s early childhood years and Kyrie’s conception, Elías– overwhelmed by the Order’s rather extreme and stifling lifestyle, and his wife’s obsession over only her work– left Fortuna to take a break in his old, dreary homecity. There he met Margaret Alexo, spent a few weeks with her, and realized that he had fallen in love once again. He selfishly lied about the life and family he had left behind in Fortuna, thinking he could easily establish a new one with Margaret. But he was a stupid and weak man, succumbing to remorse and the surprising realization that he severely missed that his wife and son, he vanished from Margaret’s life to return to his previous one in Fortuna. This was, unfortunately, before he was even aware that Margaret was pregnant with Katherine.

By the time Kyrie was born, Bianca only grew more distant from her own family, pouring all her time, energy, and total focus into unlocking more of her family’s secrets, giving the Order practically everything she had if only because she thought it was what her ancestors would have wanted. Years later, Bianca moved up to become one of the high ranking officials who helped Agnus develop the Ascension rituals, and in her eagerness and pride over what she deemed was the most amazing breakthrough in her life, she volunteered to work with more of Agnus’ projects in the future– only for her to fall victim to a demon attack during an experimentation with summoning one of the three lesser Hell Gates in the island.

The news was promptly delivered to Elías, though his children were told that their mother died ‘helping make a difference in everyone’s lives’. And then their father, struck by grief and the sudden fear that the Order might come to take him next for their depraved works, fled Fortuna once again– though this time he was never seen or heard from again.

Why he abandoned his children within the care of the very group he was so afraid of, no one knows. Credo, who was barely in his teenage years, and Kyrie who was four, grew up together in one of the Order’s orphanages without any hope or plan to find nor reconcile with their father ever. And by the time Credo turned 18 years of age, he was the one who took responsibility to reclaim their old home so that he and Kyrie (and Nero) could leave the orphanage and live in a peaceful house instead.

POTENTIAL MAGICAL LINEAGE (The ‘Fernandez’ clan)–

In the Order, Bianca worked for the research branch which specializes in exploring the magical field, a subdivision that aided in chief researcher Agnus’ tech and alchemy division. Nearly all of her ancestors’ official historical information had been lost over the decades, as they were once a clan of traditional nomadic scholars who exclusively memorized and passed down their knowledge orally, although Bianca was relieved to have discovered that her more recent predecessors have actually decided to record their wisdom onto journals. Certain documentations, while written in an intricate mix of an old language, Enochian, and Adamic, detailed the use of magic and enchantments– holy, elemental, as well as demonic– and the Fernandez woman was utterly determined to fully translate all of it into common Fortunan tongue to deliver it to the Order. Elías, too, spent years aiding Bianca in deciphering these texts, out of his devotion for her.

Through the written works, Elías deduced the possibility that those ‘scholars’ of old were actually powerful occultists. And though there wasn’t concrete proof that they weren’t dangerous to civilians, one story claimed that the very first of the Fernandez line was a member of a monster-(vampire? demon? It was unclear in the texts) hunting group which had been well-known during their time (or at least well-known-enough to be added into these journals). So if this family had been using such magic against monstrous creatures, Bianca was right to continue this… tradition by researching these spells and enchantments to be used by the Order against demons, right?

Bianca had planned to pass down these information and responsibility to uncover more about their lineage and use of magic onto her children, although she ended up being too consumed with working personally for the Order to even remember her own family most of the time. Then came her death, and the only things she left behind for her husband and children were her research and the name she made in the Order, proof of her neglect of them.

In a journal page that Kyrie one day found in her mother’s room, at the bottom of a page that talked about the family name there is a small note, handwritten:

‘Fernandez’ Origin: ?? Inaccurate translation?

#[Lineage HC tag]#[Family HC tag]#to be edited;;#a;seoifjsogeijsef BOY i said id post everything at 3am so here it is #i hope these all make sense a;sfoijsef #this was mostly a self-indulgent mini crossover bc im excited for that dmc anime series to be made by the same guys who did cstlvna #plus........ devil hunters with sickass weapons and magic? come onnnnnn. coooome ooonnnnnnn #In Persona Kyrie;; About

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closetcasefabray · 7 years

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when you traced your fingers, drew my spine [part 3/3]

for @ijustkeepitmovin bc good ppl & clexa. also, YAY I FINISHED IT. totally didn’t edit btw bc i smoked & it wouldn’t really improve it anyway. i’ll end up in a blackhole of weird medieval history if i tried. so forgive me for any weird mistakes.

summary:

You braided her hair, then tied it back with a ribbon your father gave you.

“Green,” you said, “to match your eyes.”

“I cannot—”

“A gift,” you said, resting your hands on her shoulders. “You were by far the best gift, Alexandria. It is only fair, for all your work and your company.” You found your own face warmed at the confession.

She smiled graciously at you in the mirror. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You’re welcome.”

or: one of the many lifetimes where clarke & lexa find each other. medievalish!clexa

rating: M

note: still historically inaccurate. still gay.

part 1 // part 2

When You Traced Your Fingers, Drew My Spine

You’re distracted as you dine with Forwin’s family. Your nights have been spent with Alexandria pressed against you, the cool night air filled with the sound of her breath and your name whispered as something holy. You are sure you’ve never felt more blessed.

“Is Princess Constantine feeling ill?” Forwin’s father asks, nodding at your full plate.

“Perhaps not ill, but with a child?” his mother adds with a grin.

Forwin’s family isn’t entirely pleased with your marriage, but they understand the necessity. They are gradually warming up to you, but politics doesn’t demand they love you dearly as their lawful daughter.

“I do not believe so, but we are trying,” you say with a large smile, one you have mastered in all your political dealings. You take Forwin’s hand, who gives you a small smile as well. “I have no doubt we will have a strong son, like our union of your land and ours.”

Everyone seems pleased by your declaration, but you notice Forwin slip his hand from yours to reach for his wine. When he sees your inquisitive expression, a hint of a smile graces his lips and he gives you a subtle nod. Rather than express you confusion, you focus on taking a few bites of your meal.

Forwin wraps his arms around you as you lie in his bed. “Is this okay?” he asks.

You nod, and he keeps his body gently pressed to your back. He is muscular in the way other men aspire to be. You prefer Alexandria’s smooth skin and soft body, but you feel safe in his embrace. You know Alexandria is sleeping in her own quarters for the night after a long day of cleaning the ballroom in preparation of some extravagant dinner Geoffrey insisted on hosting with your father, so you don’t rush off.

You’re both quiet, and it’s no longer awkward—it’s understood between the two of you. You have a good friendship, and you find that Forwin makes you laugh quite often when you spend leisure time together. You’ve learned a lot about him, like his love for archery. He confessed that his father once took him hunting when he was ten, and poor little Forwin wouldn’t stop crying after killing a buck in one shot.

After inquiring about your little sketches in the margins of your academic writing, you showed him a few of the sketches you’ve done. You have a natural talent, but art isn’t something princesses are to devote much time to. He understands the burden well, and much of his humor is based in the ridiculousness of the royal lifestyle. You find it refreshing to be with someone so very aware of the dated traditions. His humor and your small escapes give you both freedom from the narrow walls of the castle. When he said he was scolded for being a “dreamer” by his father as a young teen, you said, “I don’t think people dream enough. Without dreams how do we make a better reality? I like that you aspire to change things.” He kissed you on the cheek so tenderly and whispered a thank you.

“It’s nice,” he says quietly, “to have someone to hold.”

You nod and turn in his arms to face him. “It is.”

He grins and runs his hand up and down your bare arm. “Before you return to your chambers, could we speak openly?” he asks in a gentle tone.

“Yes. Of what?”

“I would not mention this if I weren’t concerned for dear Agnes’s health,” he says with a hint of a grin.

“Is something wrong with Agnes?” you question, having been quite oblivious to her older maid’s state.

“She came to me three nights ago, obviously torn about something she wished to tell me…” he hesitates, but then continues to trail his fingers along your arm, “about your maid, Alexandria.”

You feel the blood drain from your face and swallow uneasily. “What worried her?” you ask, forcing your voice to sound as calm as possible.

“She has noted Alexandria’s absences from the servants’ quarters,” he states, “as have a few others who asked Agnes to speak with me.”

Your mouth is dry, and you hate that politics has entered the bedroom. You try to take a steadying breath, but it escapes you as a kind of whimper.

“Oh, darling,” Forwin says softly, bringing a hand to caress your cheek. “Constantine, I worry not about her absence. She is a fine servant.”

You shake your head and pull away from him, sitting up in bed. Tears begin to flow freely. “And what do you make of her absences?” You curse yourself at the sound of your trembling voice.

“I know she isn’t causing harm, and she is always on time for her duties and completes all the tasks asked of her. There is nothing to make of it.”

“But the rumors,” you manage to say as he sits up beside you, “I’m sure they were delivered as well.”

“They are but rumors,” he says quietly.

“But—”

Forwin cuts you off by taking your chin in his hand and holding your gaze. “Constantine, there will be many, but they are simply that,” he continues. “Like the rumors that we are not lovers, or the rumors that the prince and princess have other lovers. Rumors… they won’t harm us… nor will they harm Alexandria. Do you understand, Constantine?”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks as you look at him. “You…”

You can’t finish your question, but he nods. “My father,” he says in a quiet voice with a sigh, “has taken other women to his bed for his own pleasures. What we don’t discuss doesn’t exist. What we don’t argue with the peasants will never become a problem.”

You swallow down your nerves and nod. “But you… have you…?”

Forwin grins a little and shakes his head. “Perhaps in the future, but I have never been one to lust for another’s company. Love must come with it,” he says. “You… are a very special woman, Constantine. Your heart is strong, and if it beats strongest with Alexandria, I would never want to stifle that.”

Without much thought, you throw your arms around him as a new wave of tears escape you. Instead of crying in dread, you are overwhelmed with this blessing.

“We must, however, keep this from my father,” he says into your embrace.

“Even though he laid with others as well?”

Forwin nods solemnly as you part. “He is… traditional. He finds women have no right to lie with another, that it corrupts the bloodline. I fear he would at the very least excommunicate dear Alexandria.”

“We’ll be careful,” you promise.

Forwin rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “You should dress and return to your chambers to rest.”

You nod in agreement and stand to retrieve your clothing. After you slip into your dress, you turn toward Forwin who still lies in his bed. “What did you tell Agnes?”

He grins. “I asked if she too felt close to other women when she was young, so I explained that you find company of a young woman your age comforting. I’m almost certain Agnes came into the world as a worried woman with graying hair, but it was enough of an answer for her to feel relieved from her burden of knowledge.”

You smile in return. “Indeed. She has always done the worrying in the palace.” You pause as you consider Agnes’s concern. “Do you think she believes it?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I think she holds her duty as a servant to our families higher than her status among the gossiping peasantry.” He smiles in reassurance. “You’re loved by many. I would say most people worry not about who keeps you company at night; they care about food for their families and a place to make a home. Hopefully someday, more people will understand that.”

“Thank you, Forwin.”

“Goodnight, Constantine.”

“Goodnight.”

Two months pass, and Forwin has been nothing but kind toward you and Alexandria. Agnes sometimes interrupts your mild flirtations with Alexandria if you’re in public, but otherwise, no one seems the wiser.

The main concern, however, is the nausea still wreaking havoc on your body. You’re with the nurse after a morning of vomiting, Alexandria helps comfort you, rubbing your lower back and wiping your forehead with a cool cloth.

“When did you last bleed?” your nurse asks as she hands you fresh juice.

You sigh as the sweet berries erase the bitterness from your morning illness. “Over a month.”

“Well, Your Highness, you should worry not,” she says with a grin, patting your back. “Our princess is carrying our next heir. Should I tell the rest of the royal family?”

You nod and smile weakly before consuming the rest of the juice. When she’s gone, Alexandria kneels beside your bed and takes your hand.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks, resting her chin on the bed.

“Yes,” you say, watching as Alexandria takes the small cup from your hand and places it on the small table. You take her wrist and gently pull her toward you. She climbs into the bed and lies facing you. “Does this make you think differently of me?”

She shakes her head. “It reminds me of what a strong woman you are.” She places her hand over your stomach. “He’s yours. How could I not love a life you carry?”

Your eyes sting as tears form. You let out a small laugh as you rub them. “I hope I won’t be crying each day until the child’s born.”

“You can feel however you feel without judgment from me,” Alexandria says. “Forwin has been kind to us. A child of his and yours is sure to be strongest when it comes to his heart.” She places a kiss to your forehead and holds you close. With Alexandria’s words of comfort, you fall into a restful sleep.

On the nights Forwin invites you to his chambers, he gently presses his hand to your stomach and prays for a son. Many men hope for a son, but you know he wishes for one to relieve you from the burden of having an heir. Your father was unwilling to have another child when your mother almost died birthing you, and the public’s shaming wore heavily on him; he never regretted it though, and he always makes sure to tell you with each parting how much he loves you.

The nights you spend with Alexandria, she also feels your stomach. She looks at you with awe when you take her hand and press it to where the baby is kicking.

One night, when the child is especially active, Alexandria rubs your back as you sit up in bed, hoping the pressure on your back eventually passes and he’ll shift his position.

“He seems to be training for battle,” Alexandria jokes, and you manage to laugh through your discomfort.

“You’ll have to train him,” you say, holding your now large stomach.

“I am sure Forwin will find him a skilled swordsman,” she says, applying some pressure so the baby moves ever so slightly. “I would prefer caring for the child in gentler ways.”

“What ways do you speak of?” You let out a long sigh when you feel the baby’s head shift away from your back so you can lie down.

Alexandria curls up beside you, taking your hand and entwining your fingers. “Bedtime stories,” she says with a grin. “Lullabies.”

“You sing?”

“Not well,” she says, blushing slightly.

“Sing a song. A lullaby.”

Alexandria doesn’t argue. She just sighs and kisses your cheek. Then, gently rubbing your stomach, she begins to sing a lullaby you’ve never heard before. The accent with which she sings tells you it must be from her homeland. Her voice is quiet, but it never wavers. It reminds you of the wind as you rode on your horse together, the calm carried in the melody.

“You are a lovely singer,” you say when she finishes.

“I can only hope he thinks the same.”

“He will,” you say, resting your hand atop hers. “I think he’s asleep now.”

“We should sleep as well.”

You hum in agreement. Alexandria puts out the candles before settling back into bed. Wrapped in her arms, her lullaby continues to play in your mind as you fall asleep.

You wanted to speak with Forwin about traveling to the town markets in the morning, so you are almost at the door of a council room where you know he was meeting with his father when you hear raised voices.

“How can you be sure?” you hear King Geoffrey ask.

“There is no other man in her life, father. She is my wife. She is the mother of my child. Our child, rather.”

“She does not act as a wife.”

“You are in her family’s castle. Do not speak disrespectfully of her,” Forwin demands.

“Then what is this I hear of the company she keeps at night?”

“Who speaks of this? Servants?”

“Yes, because it seems as if it may be one of their own.”

Without much thought, you burst through the door. “You will cease this conversation right now.”

“It concerns the legitimacy of the heir to the throne,” Geoffrey says, standing tall and looking at you with disgust.

“Forwin is the father, and that is all you need to know.”

“So Forwin need not worry about your preference of keeping vermin in your bed?” he spits.

You feel your blood boil, and you’re sure if you were closer you would strike him.

“You will not speak to my wife that way!” Forwin shouts in a loud voice, one filled with anger. You’ve never heard him speak with anything but patience and kindness.

The shouting must have traveled down the halls because Agnes and Alexandria appear in the doorway.

“I apologize for disturbing your rest,” Forwin says in a gentle tone to them. “Please return to your chambers. We were just ending this conversation.”

They both nod, but Alexandria looks at you with concern. Before they can leave, Geoffrey interrupts. “No, let them stay.”

You turn to him with a cold glare.

“Dear Agnes,” Geoffrey says in a grossly sweet voice, “you have served as a maid for Princess Constantine all her life, yes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replies quietly.

“Would you say the princess has been honest her whole life?”

Agnes bites her lip under the king’s scrutiny. “Yes. Other than small lies as a child, she has always been honest.”

“Honest… and pure?”

You see Alexandria clench her fists as she stands beside Agnes.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Agnes replies.

“Then what is this I hear of Constantine keeping company in her chambers at night?”

“I am not aware of—”

“Your name came up, Agnes. You spoke to my son about it even,” Geoffrey says, approaching the maids. He turns his gaze upon Alexandria, who stands with a stolid expression and clenched jaw. “And you? You see Constantine to sleep, yes?”

“Yes,” Alexandria says, almost a growl. “Those rumors are unfounded.”

“It must be one of their own,” Geoffrey says, chuckling as if this were all for his amusement. “Why else would they play dumb?” He turns back to Alexandria with a smirk. “I didn’t buy her for her intelligence though, so that should have been expected.”

“You will stop this at once,” you demand in a harsh voice. “King or not, you are in my home. You are speaking to my maids. I will not have you hurling insults at me, my husband, Agnes, or Alexandria.” Geoffrey seems unfazed, but you step up to him. Even though you’re a few inches shorter, you refuse to let him tower over you. “I’ll arrange to have you leave in the morning.”

“You are quite a hostess, Princess,” he replies with a sneer.

“I can arrange you leave now, if you wish to avoid the vermin we keep,” you hiss.

“I’ll tell my wife, and we’ll have our things packed by morning.”

“The Queen is actually needed tomorrow to meet with my father about the coming ball, so you’ll be traveling with your servants,” you say. “She is a courteous guest, and we find her knowledge in planning such events to be very important.”

Geoffrey merely scoffs before all but storming out of the room. After watching him exit the room, you turn to Forwin.

“I would apologize if I actually felt I made a mistake,” you say, trying to read Forwin’s expression. “I only regret making you uncomfortable for such words exchanged with your father.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “You are a fierce princess, and I admire your adamant defense of your values. You rule with a head and a heart, and I am very proud to have such a wife.”

You feel your heart clench at his last word, but you smile and nod.

“Dear Agnes, you are dismissed.”

She nods, but her expression is somber. “I will accompany you to your chambers,” you say in a kind tone. “Alexandria, would you ready me a bath? I feel I need one after such a night.”

“Yes, Princess,” she replies quietly.

“Goodnight, Forwin,” you say, walking over and kissing him on the cheek. “I am proud to have married such a caring man.”

“Goodnight, Constantine,” he replies with his half-grin.

You walk quietly alongside Agnes for a moment before you finally begin the conversation that’s been looming. “You must know, dear Agnes. I am sorry if it is burdensome.”

She looks straight ahead and opens her mouth as if to reply, but then stops to think for a moment.

You stop walking and take her hand to have her face you. “Are you angry with me? Do you find me foolish?” you ask, genuinely curious as to her thoughts of the whole thing.

“Love is foolish in any way,” she says with a sad smile. “I care so very much for you, darling. I wish you could have that love with Prince Forwin, but you cannot force love.”

“It is not forced with Alexandria,” you confess. “She’s special. She’s brave and strong, but so very gentle with me. She makes me stop to take in beautiful moments I would have otherwise missed. She adds color to my life, and so many things were so grey and dreary before I met her. It feels something like a miracle to know she loves me back.”

“I believe you,” Agnes says, taking both of your hands in hers. “I will do all I can to ensure your love is safe. The greatest gift, ever since you were a child, is your happiness.”

At her words, you throw your arms around her. “You are a wonderful woman, dear Agnes.”

“As are you, Princess.”

After leaving Agnes to ready for bed, you make your way to the baths. When you enter, there are candles around the bath and moonlight coming in from the window. It’s peaceful, smelling of fresh perfume and oils.

“Are you okay?” Alexandria asks, appearing with clothes to dress you.

“Yes,” you say, walking up to her and taking the clothing from her hands and placing them on a nearby chair. “Are you?”

She nods.

You start to unlace her dress, and she looks at you with an inquisitive expression. “We both need a bath,” you reply with a grin. You almost laugh when you watch her swallow at your words, and you’ll always enjoy the moments when you get one of her modest reactions. Her dress pools at her feet, and you stare openly at her in the moonlight. She captures your lips in a deep kiss, and you feel her begin to untie your own dress before it joins hers on the floor. Agnes would have a fit seeing your clothing on the ground, but your entire focus is on the feeling of Alexandria’s skin against yours, her tongue gliding across your bottom lip.

You both step into the bath, and Alexandria lets you lean back against her front so she can rub your shoulders. You sigh as you feel the tension slowly leaving your body. You laugh when you feel the baby move.

“What is it?” Alexandria asks, pausing her massage.

“The little one is moving about,” you say, taking one of her hands and placing it on your stomach. He seems to find a comfortable position and stills. You sigh and lean into Alexandria’s embrace. “I dreamt he had your eyes,” you say with a little laugh. “Which is impossible, but I wish it could happen. I wish he could be yours too.”

She chuckles lightly, and you feel her breath on the back of your neck. “I’ll love him dearly, and that will be enough for him to know he’s mine in a different way.”

You eventually get out when the water begins to cool, and you both laugh as you dress for bed. Forwin visits to ensure you and Alexandria are feeling okay after the earlier argument. He bids you a good night after you both assure him you’re calm. And you are, falling asleep with your ear pressed to Alexandria’s heartbeat.

Prince Amfrid is born with almost a full head of brown hair, a bit small in size, but healthy. Forwin stood to one side of your bed, Alexandria to your other. When Amfrid is placed in your arms, you can hardly make out his face as your cry. You kiss his forehead and wipe your tears, wondering how this little infant would one day become a man, how he was once part of you and is now his own being. You smile because you wonder if he’ll have your eyes, perhaps Forwin’s smile, and you laugh lightly at the idea of him stomping his foot like you did when you would throw small tantrums as a toddler.

You let Forwin hold him, and he whispers softly to the baby. Alexandria adds a couple pillows behind you so you can lean back but remain upright. When you do, she uses a fresh cloth to cool your warm face.

“Thank you,” you say, taking her hand and smiling.

She leans down and presses her lips to your forehead, paying no mind to a few other servants moving about the room. Some servants still see such interactions and stare for a moment too long in curiosity, but the topic of your relationship with Alexandria never reaches above a dull murmur from the servants’ quarters.

You hear Amfrid cooing and see him moving his head about as Forwin walks him around the room. When he rounds your bed, he quietly gets Alexandria’s attention.

“You have raised him as much as I in the past months,” Forwin says with a kind smile, “so it seems right you hold him.”

Alexandria nods, and you watch her swallow nervously before Forwin places him in her arms. If she were at all hesitant, it doesn’t show. It seems natural, and Amfrid fits so perfectly in her arms.

“Hello, little prince,” she whispers with a small grin.

Amfrid coos in response, and Forwin chuckles. “He probably recognizes your voice, which is much more pleasant than mine, I’m sure.” You place your hand on his as he sits to your side. “What a beautiful child we have,” he says, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’m glad you are both healthy.”

“Me too,” you say as the fatigue sinks in and your eyes begin to droop.

You both quiet when you hear Alexandria start to sing the lullaby, and the sound of her voice lulls you and Amfrid to sleep.

You and Forwin return to the castle at dusk after a long day of meetings with councils and advisors. You manage to gracefully hop off of your horse and walk her to the stable boys. Your riding has only improved over the years, and it has proven quite useful for your travels.

You round the gardens, the clack of wood against wood echoing off the walls of the castle. A little voice cheers, and you smile at the sound of his little claps and giggles. When you reach the courtyard, you find Alexandria teaching Asher more sword work while Agnes holds Amfrid in her lap to the side.

Alexandria sees you and smiles, but in the time lets her guard down long enough for Asher to strike her. Alexandria stumbles back, a bit surprised, but recovers well and praises Asher. When he follows her gaze, he quickly bows his head and greets you with a, “Princess Constantine.”

“Good evening, Asher.”

“Mama!” Amfrid yells, running as fast as his little legs can carry him to you.

You bend down and pick him up into your arms. “Hello, my darling,” you say as he brings his little hands up to your cheeks. “Have you behaved?” He nods excitedly, and when you look to Agnes, she nods in confirmation. “Perhaps Grandpapa will have a treat for you then.”

Once Alexandria has the wooden swords packed away, she ruffles Asher’s hair, even though he’s getting older, he grins. He admires her just as much as he did four years ago, and now that he’s fourteen, he’s truly growing into a man. Asher bids you a goodnight before leaving for home for the night. Alexandria finally makes her way over as Amfrid is in the middle of telling you about his day. She rubs his back and gives his cheek a kiss, making him giggle.

You turn your head to her and welcome the familiar feeling of her lips against yours. “Welcome back, Princess,” she says quietly. “Did you fare well in all your meetings?”

“Yes, but I’m glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home too, Mama!” Amfrid exclaims, throwing his arms up.

“The two of us are. I’m afraid it’s time for you to sleep, little one.”

Amfrid immediately pouts. “Mama, can you and Awexandia put me to bed?” He is still working on pronouncing some names correctly.

“Why not Papa?”

“I want Awexandia to sing, and Papa isn’t a good singer,” he says with a furrowed brow.

You laugh. “This is true. Papa has to work with Grandpapa tonight anyway,” you say as the three of you make your way back into the castle.

You and Alexandria bring him to his chambers, smaller than yours but cozy and without ridiculous embellishments like Geoffrey wished to bestow on him. Forwin stops in to wish him a goodnight and kiss his forehead and give him his goodnight “bear hug,” where he picks up Amfrid and hugs him tight with a growl. Forwin wishes you and Alexandria a goodnight before making his way to the library where he is to meet with your father to discuss politics and smoke their pipes.

You laugh as Alexandria hoists Amfrid onto his bed as she usually does. “Why, Prince Amfrid! You’re growing like a beanstalk!” she says in a shocked voice, a tradition whenever she dresses him for bed. He giggles, and your heart swells at the sight of him lightly bouncing about as Alexandria gathers his nightclothes. He raises his arms up straight, and she pulls his shirt off and then dresses him in one of Forwin’s old shirts Amfrid likes to wear as a nightgown. Amfrid always like to run his hands through your or Alexandria’s hair as he falls asleep, but since you’re trying to have him sleep in his own bed at night, Agnes has stitched the green silk ribbon into his blanket, which he rubs between his fingers until he falls asleep.

You and Alexandria tuck him in, and he’s already yawning when Alexandria begins to sing his favorite lullaby. You rest your head on her shoulder as she sings, and soon enough, Amfrid is asleep with a little smile on his face.

You take Alexandria’s hand as you walk back to your chambers.

“How was your day?” you ask as you close the door.

“As good as a day can be without you,” she replies, smiling as she begins to untie your dress.

When she moves to retrieve your nightgown, you gently take her wrist and shake your head. You let out a small laugh when she flushes. You are both still young, and your love holds a kind of innocence and excitement. You slowly start to undress her, and you let your lips graze the exposed skin.

You fall into bed, and you capture her lips, suddenly craving her as the time without her catches up. You’ve spoken so many words, delegating tasks and discussing strategies with your father and Forwin. Now you don’t need as many. You just need to whisper “I love you” and “Alexandria” into the night, and your bodies speak of yearning, of desire, of wholeness when pressed together.

You refuse to let Alexandria touch you first. You watch her come undone beneath you several times, making sure she knows just how much you miss her when you’re away, before you let her pleasure you. You both are falling asleep in one another’s arms when the chamber door opens. You throw on a nearby nightgown when you hear Amfrid call for you. Alexandria dresses quickly as well, rubbing her eyes as she sits on the edge of the bed.

You walk over and pick him up, carrying him to the bed, too tired to walk him back to his chambers and convince him to sleep by himself. Alexandria lies back into the bed, and Amfrid immediately snuggles into her.

“I had a nightmare,” he mumbles into her shoulder.

“Nightmares aren’t real, darling,” Alexandria says gently as he begins to play with a strand of her hair. “But we’ll keep them away for tonight.”

You climb back into bed and curl up beside him. Alexandria’s hand finds yours in the dark, and soon you hear their quiet, steady breathing as they fall back to sleep. You close your eyes and let yourself fall asleep, knowing in this moment you have so much love so near—that love like this lasts so much longer than mortality.

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