#'a tender organ'... may i hold her then?? so so gently??? perhaps a kiss as well??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of RICHARD III. Admin Cas: You put it best, Kylie—Ronan is a Machiavel through and through, but he’s also far more than that. He’s known suffering, more intimately than most, yet rather than allow it to shape him, wear him down, he sharpened it into a weapon. Yet again, you captured everything critical to Ronan’s character, from his scorn and ambition to his insatiability, his pride, his precision. Your writing itself is just enchanting to read, and we’re so thrilled that you’ve returned to us. We cannot wait to have you grace our dashes with your deliciously scheming and delightfully avid Ronan once more! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kylie

Age | 26

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | 5-6. I like to be on at least once every day, and manage some type of content.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp? | i missed it :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | ronanivarsson.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Richard III, Ronan Ivarsson

What drew you to this character? |

ableism tw

there is something that will always be intriguing about the machinations of a machiavel, that will always be attractive, always be intriguing, which is what first drew me to ronan. however, i think it’s difficult, and dangerous, to label him as simply a manipulator, a prince in search of power and a throne–to me, he’s far deeper, far more layered than that. from the moment he was born, life put ronan ivarsson in a position to know nothing apart from weakness–he was born a pawn for his parents to play against one another, only for his father to stroll past the room where the board sat, to overturn the table and cast the pieces to the floor. he would remain forever trapped in the ivarsson villa, unwanted and loathed, never strong enough to fight for himself, to run from the horrible cesspool that made him, that twisted the hearts of the people that lived there–he should have been no better than the monster that frankenstein abandoned, the wife that wailed and gnashed, locked in the attic of the victorian manor house, a creature doomed to shadows for the whole of his life.

but ronan refused that life–and that’s the endlessly fascinating thing about him. he is a machiavel that should have never come into being, that tore the pages from the book and cut out only the passages that were useful to him. god reached down to him and showed him the path, the divine right of kings, and ronan, with his halting steps, with the black and poisonous blood that runs through his veins, walks it with precision, with the intent to wrestle the crown from the hand of the divine himself.

ronan took his emptiness and weaponized it, refused the shadows and instead forged them by his own hands into a kind of armor–look upon that which you would scorn, he says as he strides through verona a kind of caesar, a kind of richard, a lurching colossus, and kneel. i love that about him, but the thing that really got me in the end, is that he cannot successfully hide the weaknesses which still plague him–he ignored machiavelli’s greatest advice, that to be feared would better serve the prince than to be loved. he fell in love, with a beautiful mystery of a man. he still feels his pulse race when the cameras all come to train on his face, when he has every citizen of verona eating like lambs out of the palm of his hand. he looks at the only surviving gallo twin, and he feels something gentle curl around the corners of his mouth like perfumed smoke. he is cold, but he is not yet corpse.

it remains to be seen if that will be his downfall, in a place that so easily tears the heart from the chest cavity, if it takes a man or a monster to wear the crown, when the battles are finished.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

KINGS IT MAKES GODS, AND MEANER CREATURES KINGS

So far the path to the Montagues has been messy and bloody for Ronan, has left a trail of bodies behind him. Since he is now nothing more than a soldier, where such behavior, such wanton ambition won’t be tolerated, I want to see how he adapts his methods. Will he continue to kill whoever stands in his way, because such is the divine right every king should possess? Or will he learn to temper himself, to hide such business in the shadows? In the same vein, I would love to explore how much he’s capable of tolerating such a thing being asked of him–how long will it be before he bites the hand that feeds him? Until his patience for following orders starts to wear thin, and the divinity that guides him becomes impatient, insatiable?

A WORD THAT COWARDS USE

Love is an indulgence that Ronan knows he should cast aside, and yet he finds himself locked in a kind of constant craving. It’s the one thing in his life he’s never been able to buy for himself, never been able to take from the hands of someone else–so how does a man who so easily casts aside life’s gentler aspects, learn such an art? Is it part of his need for validation, for recognition from the public that would so easily cast him aside and speak vitriol towards him if he were anyone else? Or is it something deeper, something that would actually salve some of the wounds he’s carried his entire life? So far, he’s only known it as mistake, a wound that despite being stitched closed continues to hemorrhage blood–but then he looks at a man like Santino Gallo, and sees the potential for something that almost feels gentle. If such a thing were to make itself available to him, would he open himself up to it? Or would he make the decision once and for all to remove the cursed organ that beats in his chest?

EVERY TALE CONDEMNS ME FOR VILLAIN

Ronan holds no particular loyalty to the Montagues–he could have easily bent the knee to Cosimo Capulet, had the man approached him first. The Montagues are simply a means to an end, and I could see him being willing to sell them out if the right prize were offered to him. I want to see him be treacherous, silver tongued, the consummate politician, and flirt with the temptation of easy success. Would his pride keep him from taking such a way to a promotion, to an accolade? Would he really be willing to betray those few who he deems worthy enough for his time or glance? I could also see it working in the reverse–that perhaps he could use his talents to win recruits or information for the Montagues.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course! It’s probably what he deserves!

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

ONE.

It begins with a question, posed by a handsome mouth, sealed with fingertips that come to gently lift the hem of ronan’s shirt, to curl themselves around the curve of ronan’s hipbone.

“Tell me your favorite place, in all of Verona, and take me there right now.”

He grins, like a knife slowly being pulled from its soft leather sheath–all glint and sharp edge. He wraps his fingers around the young man’s neck, digs his nails into the short hairs there, until he gets a hiss that could either indicate pleasure, or pain, for his efforts. He coos, clicks his tongue and placates his plaything with the tender caress of lips against well muscled shoulder, neck. The young man makes another noise, something guttural and unprompted from the back of his throat, and ronan laughs.

It’s almost too easy–like digging his fingers into the scruff of a wild cat, expecting teeth and claws, only to have it purr in response. He contemplates disposing of him then and there with a clean cut across the throat that bares for him–but to leave empty handed, simply because there was no challenge in it, no cunning required, would surely be wasteful, return him to a state of excruciating boredom and restlessness.

So he hums in mock thoughtfulness, sinks his teeth into skin and licks over his mark, before he speaks. “As beautiful as you would look, pressed up against the brick of the arena, all of the blood and bravado of a gladiator roaring through you, I hardly see the need to travel so far away. Perhaps the library, would be a better location for such things as you desire?”

There it is, he thinks to himself, as the muscle pressed up against him comes to fall still for no more than a fraction of a second. All of the confirmation he needs, so unwittingly given. He hopes the rest of the Montague stock aren’t so impossibly dimwitted, or easily swayed by the promise of a more carnal method of persuasion. Where would the fun in that be?

He takes squared off chin in hand and kisses the soldato one last time, before the blood spills onto Ronan’s chest and subsequently the ground underneath his feet. He becomes the first of them to kneel.

TWO.

Lucien rolls off of the top of him, and Ronan immediately feels the muscles in his hands twitch, send the command to his shoulders to reach out, keep the seemingly endless expanse of pale skin from ever travelling where he cannot touch. Unfortunately for the memory of meat and tendon that has never properly obeyed his command anyway, ronan shuts the notion down in favor of watching–it’s all he feels he can do, when it comes to the man who now leans against the railing of the yacht. Watch, in the hopes that an answer of some sort may reveal itself–or perhaps even the question, that Ronan knows he should ask and yet cannot find the language to form. Strange, to be so willingly robbed of his best weapon.

He suspects Lucien is aware of where Ronan’s eyes come to rest, most of the time, and chooses not to comment. Perhaps he even enjoys it–being caught but not captured in the jaws of the predator, having the power to command him to wait, to stay until he is willing to give. If Ronan were to be honest with himself, in a way that has never been his policy, he would have to admit that he enjoys it as well–being compelled, by force of nothing more than want, wrapped in the candy coating of desire and attraction.

The man turns, and the breeze rustles his dark hair across his forehead. his eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but Ronan can imagine the familiar spark of heat, of mischief, that flickers there like a matchstick flame. “You live like this every day, Councilman?” He drawls, one corner of his mouth drawn up into a smirk.

Ronan grins and leans his head back with a pleased sigh, crooks a finger to indicate that Lucien should come close again, should let Ronan show him just how decadent things can truly get, and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Occasionally there is work involved, but given the right incentive i’d be willing to throw the whole thing away. Perhaps you have an offer you’d like to make towards that end, Doctor?”

He doesn’t open his eyes when the deck chair bends with the weight of another, when lips are pressed against his own. He just slides his hands down each delicate rib bone, digs his fingers into flesh already marked with purple and blue blossoms that Ronan had planted there the night before, and tries to communicate without ever speaking, that this is only the beginning for the two of them. That when he’s finished with the work, he’ll ravish this man on a throne made of gold, decorated with jewels and the head of any who would dare oppose them.

THREE.

His sponsor is a weak-willed man, that reminds Ronan far too much of his own father–or at the very least, the passing glimpses and vitriol laced stories of his father that had fallen carelessly from his mother’s lips, after one too many glasses of wine. He comes upon ronan walking through the hallways of the library, wraps an arm around his shoulders as if to prove he is unafraid of touching a thing so malformed, so clearly repulsive to the eyes of others, and he smiles. “You have done well so far, Ronan.” he says, personably, as such men who would describe themselves as such always are. “Tell me, no big mistakes to report of? I won’t hold them against you too harshly–there is always room to grow, to learn, in a business such as this.”

He resists the urge to speak through gritted teeth that he is in the middle of running for office, and not some schoolboy in need of guidance and direction–instead his eyes catch on the silver band that sits, gleaming as the day it was put there, on his left hand. “I don’t believe in mistakes, signore.” He says, more quietly than he had intended. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, before schooling his expression into something more neutral, that feels less to him like exposing an open wound to the particles of a dust storm. “I make choices, and I live with their consequences–for better, or for worse.”

FOUR.

He stabs the man a month later, sinks his blade into the heart up to the hilt.

Someone Ronan thinks might be the capobastone comes to stand next to him, after the news of the dead Montague being found on the steps of the cathedral begins to circulate, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He resolutely does not think about breaking the bones in each of his fingers, one by one, for such a presumption. “You’ve handled yourself admirably, in the wake of such a personal blow.” He says, with an exhale of breath that causes the skin on Ronan’s neck to crawl. “It is the most difficult thing asked of us, to continue to live after another is gone.”

Ronan bites down hard on his bottom lip, by all appearances to staunch the overwhelming feelings of grief that must clearly threaten to spill forth from him, but in reality to stifle the laugh that threatens to give him away at such a ridiculous statement. He forces a slight tremble in his hands, as he brings them to scrub at the back of his eyes. “He taught me so much in such a short time–made me a better soldato.” A sharp inhale, shake of his head. “It is hard to believe, that I will never get the chance to thank him for such a kindness.”

The man nods his head in understanding, and squeezes, despite the pain that radiates all the way to the tips of Ronan’s fingers. He clenches his teeth. “We have watched you, the work you have done. And while it has at times been sloppy, and reckless, Don Montague believes that in the wake of Richard’s unfortunate demise, you should step up to take his place.”

He can taste it, in the back of his throat then. Blood, mixed with saliva, something distinctly more honeyed. Divinity, in all of its raw form–he half expects to open his mouth and see it spool out before him like ribbon, blinding everyone else in the room, rendering them nothing more than ash for him to step over as he walks towards the crown, the throne, the destiny that has been planned for him since he was nothing more than a young boy. He touches the hand on his shoulder and half expects it to be pulled away and burned. “I would be honored, signore, to serve the Don in such a way.”

FIVE.

“Tell me councilman,” the reporter shouts from the crowd, phone recorder thrust into the air like some sort of trophy or other holy object. “What are your thoughts concerning the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

He shakes his head, schools his face into an expression that is solemn, serious–the grim line of an Alexander or a Caesar, his heart bleeding into the streets of the city he has built, for the people who populate it and offer him devotions for their continued success and survival. “I think there will be no winners, in this conflict. And that whoever remains standing, will prove himself to be the more cruel, the more bloodthirsty, the more willing to do unspeakable acts in order to secure his own power–an honor i do not wish on even my worst enemy.”

And why would he? It is an honor he wishes for himself alone.

Extras: N/A

#accepted #accepted: richard iii

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thefeastandthefast · 4 years

Text

Chapter 12, Part 8 of Held in the Lonely Castle 孤城闭 by 米兰Lady

So given how pissed I was about episode 62, I had to translate the novel chapter that has her actual first sexual encounter with Li Wei.

It begins with her and Huaiji. Sorry, not sure how to tag this- sexual situations and potentially really upsetting for Huirou/Huaiji shippers? There’s no rape though, I assure you.

From here: https://www.luoxia.com/guchengbi/105781.htm

Her eyes glowed like orchid dew. I closed my eyes and traced the tear tracks on her face down to her soft lips.

She trembled uncontrollably, both hands pressing into my chest as if in shock. I grasped her around the waist just in time and with barely any effort, roughly closed the distance between us.

I pressed wandering kisses onto her red lips. The youthful delicacy of her breath I still remember, as gently scented as the incense used to perfume her clothing, dryly sweet like resin, with the flavor of candied fruit.

Her anger and reserve melted away in my embrace, and as she opened her mouth to speak, I once again sealed her lips with mine, igniting again our long-banked feelings.

I deliberately became fire and she gladly a moth fluttering towards the flame. Breath quickened, her movements lost their passivity, kissing me, embracing me, her arms wrapping like lichen around, fast and fierce, our shadows wrestling in the flickering candlelight.

She hugged my neck tightly, so tightly that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I grasped and pressed down her hands. Holding her wrist, I suddenly had a thought to give her another taste of pleasure.

I followed her wrist into her sleeve, finding the narrow sleeve opening of her inner garment, sliding inch by inch along the expanse of skin that had tempted me earlier, stopping just above her elbow, where I lingered aimlessly. It was a forbidden place she had never been touched by any man. She flushed and unconsciously shrank back, turning to avoid further ministrations. But as she turned, the cloud brocade robe draped around her shoulders fell to her elbows. I reached out and tugged it away.

With a toss, the wide-sleeved robe fell like a cloud, covering the large glass lampshade next to the low couch. The light in the room suddenly dimmed, tinged with the warm vibrant color of the cloud brocade, the atmosphere scent-thickened and blurred. Her gaze followed the path of her robe and back at me with wonder and surprise. Before she reacted, I bent to her again. The shadows on the plum blossom paper curtain doubled and then folded into one.

Undoing the incense sachets, untying her silk gauze belt, I continued my tender attack, and she, with childlike curiosity, retaliated by quietly unbuckling the jade clasp of my leather belt. I started with a cold shudder, that sudden loosening of my robe. Quickly recovering, I resisted not her hands and submitted to the unfastening of my outer robe, throwing it to the ground.

Our kisses intermingled with the slow shedding of our robes in the extravagant darkness, the pungent scent of the night. The courtesy that normally existed between princess and servant had left us, scattered across the floor like the piles of clothing. We fell in a tangle onto the low couch with only one final layer between us. The princess’ hot hands crept under my lapels, stroking across my waist, pressing hard into my back. So hard it felt like her fingers had grown roots to penetrate my skin to imprison the heart I had trained into submission. I bent to press kisses along the base of her long neck and imprinted my last caress under her collarbone, on warm and snow-pale skin more precious than jade.

She began again to tremble and the arms wound around me shrank back. She closed her eyes, not daring to look at me. Her lashes flickered with the shine of tears, but a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. Though she seemed a little confused about what I would do next, there was no fear.

She was so beautiful in the candlelight. If I were an ordinary man, how joyful this game of love would be, yet she in her quiet pleasure didn’t know that, for me, it could only be an act of pretense as painful as treading along the edge of a blade.

I gazed at her dimpled smile and quietly backed away, pushing aside the last layer of my undergarment.

I stood straight in the light of the glass lamp and said softly, “Princess...”

She turned to me smiling. As she did so, I lifted the robe from the glass lantern and the bright light that had been locked away flooded the warm room, illuminating my starkly naked body.

Thrown suddenly into the intensity of the light, she frowned and squinted before opening her eyes. She met my gaze, at first uncomprehending, then her eyes shifted to my body, traveling to below my waist. Her gaze was fixed, blank, for a moment upon the ugly, crippled, shrunken organ there. Suddenly realizing what it was and in obvious fright, she gave a low cry and quickly whirled away, shutting again her eyes, not daring to see again.

I tried to draw up a slight smile, approaching her slowly. “Princess, do you want another look? This is the answer to your question.”

Her eyes pinched shut, as if fearing the invasion of even a thread of light, her face in anguish. She edged closer to the wall, burying herself into the shadows untouched by the glass lamp. Our movements earlier had upturned the duck and tray in the incense cage. The incense had been extinguished, wisps of white smoke still escaping. The hot water had spilled from the tray onto the couch, trickling towards the princess’ ankle. She retreated in shock and curled more tightly into a ball, tucking herself into the corner, like a small animal hiding from the winter cold.

I unfurled the large-sleeved robe and draped it over her body. I stood silent for a long time and finally kneeled in front of her couch.

“Princess,” I gazed at her back and said softly, “It’s as you say, in this life, we may be something other than princess and servant. We may be friends, brother and sister, teacher and student, if you grant me the honor of trespassing the boundaries. But there is one type of relationship we can never be to each other, and that is husband and wife or lovers. This was fated from the moment I entered the palace. My crippled body will never allow me to be the husband or family of any woman. I cannot accompany them for life, nor can I give them children to extend their bloodline. To waste your feelings on someone like me would be like loving an object, a scroll or a painting. Perhaps there may be a sort of temporary spiritual comfort, but you will never receive real worldly warmth. You are to me the best, the most beautiful woman and you should have a perfect and complete life. As a daughter, beloved of your parents, as a wife, cared for and protected by your husband. And in the future, you will have children and grandchildren winding about your knees, enjoying an earthly paradise. And those are exactly what I cannot give you.”

I paused, but saw that the princess was still silent, refusing to discuss the topic. She still cowered under the robe. I could not discern her expression, but saw that her shoulders shook.

She was always thus whenever she was sad, not wanting to say anything at all. But it seemed that the most painful moment had shifted and I continued to speak to her, calmly, of what was in my heart. “What is between us... it was always a mistake. Handsome and accomplished men are abundant as clouds. Princess has met many people, such as Feng Jing, Cao Ping, Su Shi, Yan Jidao, Cui Bai- all outstanding, all distinctive. Compared to them, I am as insignificant as dust. It’s just that I had more opportunities to spend time with the princess that you would even deign to look twice at me. If it weren’t for the difficult situation the princess is in, you would have nothing to do with me. What’s more, I am no longer even a man, not qualified to love the princess. The Princess Consort is not your ideal husband, but he can give you sincere respect and care. As a woman already married, what can be more important than a husband’s care? This marriage has made you unhappy, but if the princess is willing to try, you can achieve some kind of peace in having and raising children under the protection of the Princess Consort, just like...”

Just like Qiuhe. The words had yet to fall, but I remembered that the princess did not know about Qiuhe’s situation, so I swallowed them again, changing my approach. “Just like many women who married according to the commands of their parents and matchmakers. To persist in our present union... the result may not be something beautiful. The more intimate we are, the emptier we will feel. The more indulgent, the more painful. That’s what it’ll be like in the end.”

The princess said nothing, but broken fragments of weeping still escaped from her clenched lips. Her hands clutched the robe still, the fabric wrinkling and twisting in circles like chrysanthemums.

I took a deep breath, conquering the instinct to reach out to her, to comfort her, and continued, “I am not Zhang Chengzhao and I won’t turn the princess into Xiao Ye’er. The ugliness that I showed you is only physical. Accompanied by your husband, forgetting someone as ordinary as me shouldn’t be too difficult. Perhaps after a few years of patiently living with the Princess Consort, experiencing the true relationship between a man and a woman, and after having your own children, you might be ashamed to recall our story and wish you could erase it from memory entirely. So I beg you, princess, please give me a little bit of mercy. Allow me to retreat back to where I should be, so I can continue to be princess’ servant and shadow.”

I didn’t wait for her response, just picked up my clothes and put them on neatly one by one. Finding once again the courtesy of a courtier, I folded my hands, touched them to my forehead, and bowed deeply towards her, backing away respectfully.

I turned to leave and the princess suddenly sat up, crying out with deep sorrow, “Huaiji!”

I stilled, hesitating. But in the end, I did not turn back to respond. She watched me as I stepped out and left behind her fragrant boudoir, warm as spring.

ｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘ

Sleep evaded me that night. Since I couldn’t sleep, I sat alone in my room taking tea as wine, one cup after another.

My thoughts ran to many things. How to leave the princess’ manor, what to do in the future, how to make sure that the servants of the manor would care for the princess. Of course I couldn’t stop thinking about her, guessing what she was feeling in that moment. What awaited me was actually an unexpected result.

At midnight, Jiaqingzi came, wildly pounding on my door. She stood wide-eyed and said, breathless, “Princess... the princess, she asked the Princess Consort... to visit her in her pavilion...”

Startled, I asked, “Did the princess ask him there to scold him?”

Jiaqingzi shook her head, and the look in her eyes was a mixture of surprise and pity for me. “She let the Princess Consort stay the night in her boudoir.”

I didn’t go to dissuade and obstruct as Jiaqingzi suggested. After she left, I returned to my seat and continued to drink tea in silence.

Sir Zhang had said that tea can refine the senses without destroying the body. I think he’s wrong. One can also get drunk from tea.

The next day, I awoke after a spell of shallow slumber, feeling top-heavy, my mind unsettled, remembering the events of the previous night. I forced myself to leave my room, to go to the princess’ pavilion to give her my congratulations.

In the bamboo lined courtyard, I met Li Wei departing from the interior. His face was ashen, expression dejected, without a shred of joy. Seeing me, only a cold glance. Without waiting for me to speak, he fled as if making an escape.

Perhaps then, nothing had happened, as on their wedding night, I thought. I couldn’t help feeling a flash of relief.

But as I entered the pavilion, I immediately sensed that the atmosphere was wrong. The princess was not in the main hall, only Jiaqingzi, Yun Guo’er, and the other maids whispering. Seeing me enter, they fell silent, Jiaqingzi tucking something into her sleeve.

I glanced toward the princess’ boudoir. Seeing not her shadow, I asked Jiaqingzi, “Has the princess not wakened yet?”

She affirmed, avoiding my eyes.

I turned instead to Yun Guo’er, who also looked away, refusing to meet my gaze.

I surveyed the other maids, but they too said not another word. Hesitating, I finally chose an indirect question to ask Jiaqingzi, “Why did the Princess Consort seem unhappy this morning?”

She wavered for a long time before pulling me to the corner and replied quietly, “Last night when the princess asked the Princess Consort to come, he was shocked. Was almost afraid of stepping foot into her chambers. He only went in after she asked him three times. When he rose this morning, he seemed in a good mood at first, excitedly inviting the princess to go view the plum blossoms. But the princess only tossed this on the ground.”

She reached into her sleeve and retrieved the object she had initially hidden and handed it to me.

It was a piece of white silk. I took it with shaking fingers and spread it with difficulty. As expected, blood stains like fallen plum blossom petals.

Jiaqingzi looked at me hard, watching my face. When she couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, she continued, “And then the princess said to the Princess Consort- isn’t this what you’d been wanting? Now, you can get out. Don’t ever come close to me again.”

Next part here.

她啼眼宛若幽兰露，我闭目，沿着她泪痕蔓延的方向往下寻去，直到触到她柔软的双唇。

她不由一颤，双手受惊般地抵在我胸前，我及时搂住她腰，略微着力，便于一瞬间半强制地消除了她欲拉开的距离。

我的吻在她朱唇之间游移，感觉到的依然是我记忆中那少女清美的气息，如她薰衣的芬芳一样温润，又甘甜如安息香，带着糖果的味道。

她的怒意与矜持在我的拥抱中渐渐消融，启口欲说什么，却被我以吻封缄，引导她重温我们久违的缠绵。

我刻意纵火，她也不介意做只扑火的蛾。她呼吸渐趋急促，与我的接触也不再被动，亲吻我，拥紧我，伸出的手臂像女萝缠绕着我，这一系列的动作进行得快速而激烈，令我们的影子在晃动的烛光下看起来像搏斗。

她紧搂着我脖子，有一刻简直令我喘不过气来，于是我捉住她的手按下，但触及她手腕，我心念一动，又开始了另一种暧昧的尝试。

我的手顺着她的手腕向她袖中延伸，探入她中衣小袖中，一寸寸地滑过刚才诱惑过我的那片肌肤，最合停留在她手肘上方，在那里辗转流连。那是她从未被异性碰触过的禁地，她羞红了脸，不自觉地向后缩，侧身想避开我的进一步取索，但转侧之间，她所披的云锦大袖衣自肩头滑落至肘间，而我抽手抓住一扯，整件衣服便离她而去。

我手一扬，大袖衣如云飘去，落在矮榻旁巨型宫烛的琉璃灯罩上，室内的光线顿时暗了一层，又染上云锦绚丽的暖色，气氛愈发变得香艳迷离。她循着云锦飘落的方向望去，然后讶然回眸看我，尚未有所反应我已又朝她俯身过去。梅花纸帐上影落成双，又相叠合一。

香囊暗解，罗带轻分，我继续对她进行着温柔的侵袭，而她带着孩子般的好奇心和报复欲，也悄然解开了我革带上的玉扣。那腰间衣帛的忽然松弛使我浑身一凛，但迅速镇静下来，我没有阻止她的动作，而是顺势解开了自已的袍服，抛在地上。

我们把亲吻和解衣的动作交织进这酽酽夜色、靡靡香气里，本应存在于公主与内臣之间的礼义也离我们而去，随着被我们散落的衣裳化作遍地狼藉。在我们都仅剩一层单衣的时候，我们相拥着跌落在榻上，公主灼热的双手从我衣襟下探入，自我腰际抚过，按住我的背，那么用力，像是指尖上即将长出根须，透过我肌肤，禁锢住我那颗律动失常的心。我低首吻过她修长美好的脖颈，把最后的爱抚印在了她锁骨之下，那比玉臂更隐秘的温软雪肤间。

这令她又开始瑟瑟发颤，拥我的手臂也缩了回去。她紧闭双目，不敢看我，萦泪的睫毛不时轻颤，但唇边有隐约的笑意，对我可能进行的未知的举动，她看起来有些惶惑，却也并不会抗拒。

摇红烛影下的她多么美丽，如果我是正常男子，这一场情爱游戏本该是多么美好的人生之喜，而含情带笑的她并不知道，如今这对我来说，却是一出在足踩刀锋般的疼痛中演绎的戏。

我看着她的笑靥，悄然退后，敞开的最后一层单衣亦在这行动中褪去。

在琉璃灯前站直，我轻声唤她：“公主……”

她微笑着朝我转身。在她睁眼看我之际，我决然掀开了覆在琉璃罩上的大袖衣，此前被封锁的明亮光线迫不及待地盈满暖阁，也照亮了我不着丝缕的、赤裸的身体。

她不习惯这陡然加剧的光亮，蹙眉瞬了瞬目才又睁开。在不解地对我相视一眼后，她的目光移到了我身上，愣愣地盯着我腰下那个残缺而萎缩的丑陋器官看了须臾，她似乎才忽然意识到这是什么，这结果显然惊吓了她，她不禁低呼一声，迅速闭目侧身向内，不敢再看。

我竭力牵引出一丝笑意，徐徐前行靠近她：“公主，你不再看看么？这就是你想要的答案。”

她紧阖眼睑，好似生怕漏过一缕光灼伤她的眼，脸上露出痛苦的表情，她尽量向内壁挨去，把自己埋进琉璃灯火触不到的阴影下。适才我们的动作打翻了薰笼中的香鸭与托盘，香烬遇水熄灭，兀自有白色烟雾滋滋地逸出，而溢出的热水则在榻上缓缓蔓延着，触到公主足踝，她惊觉缩回，更努力地把自已蜷成一团倚在角落里，像一只躲避冬寒的小动物。

我把手中的大袖衣展开覆在她身上，默然伫立半晌，然后屈膝跪在她榻前。“公主，”我看着她遗我的背影，轻声说，“正如你所说，这一生中，我们除了公主与内臣，或许还可以有一些别的关系，例如朋友，兄妹，师徒……如果容我僭越的话。但是，有一种永远不可能存在于我们之间，那便是夫妇，或者，爱侣。这是我入宫之时便已注定的事，我残缺的身体使我无法成为任何女人的丈夫或情人，既不能与她们共效于飞，也不能令她们生儿育女，延续生命。把感情寄托在我这样的人身上，就如爱一件器物，一卷书画，也许可以获得暂时的心灵慰藉，却不能得到真实的俗世温暖。你是我一生所见最美好的女子，应该拥有完美无缺的人生，做女儿时受父母钟爱，嫁作人妻得夫君呵护，将来更应儿孙绕膝，长享天伦之乐。而这，恰恰是我不能给你的。”

我略停了停，而公主并无意与我讨论这个话题，仍是低首蜷缩在大袖衣中，我看不见她表情，只能觉出她的肩在微微颤动。

她伤心之极时便是这样，半句话都不想说。就我而言，最难受的时候倒像是已经过去了，现在反而可以很平静地继续对她说出心底话，“我们的事，本来就是一个错误。国朝俊彦如云，公主遇见的许多人，例如冯京、曹评、苏轼、晏几道、崔白，都出类拔萃，各具风采。与他们相较，我实在渺小如尘埃，不过是比他们多了些与公主相处的机会，才蒙公主另眼相待。若非身处困境，公主原也不会与我有何瓜葛，何况，我已算不上是男人，连爱公主的资格都没有。驸马虽然不是公主理想的夫君，但他却能给予公主由衷的尊敬和关爱。对一个已为人妻的女子来说，还有什么比丈夫的关爱更重要呢？这场婚姻虽然不令人愉快，但若公主愿意，便可以在驸马的呵护和养育儿女的过程中获得安宁与平静，就像……”

就像秋和那样。话到嘴边，才想起公主并不知秋和之事，便又咽了下去，换了说法，“就像许多因父母之命、媒妁之言成婚的女子一样。而执着于我们现在的相聚，结果可能并不美妙，越亲密，越空虚；越放纵，越痛苦……大抵便是如此罢。”

公主沉默着，但还是有零碎的泣音从咬紧的唇中逸出，手悄然抓紧大袖衣，令那衣裳外面渐渐旋出了菊花状的褶皱。

我深呼吸，压下伸手抚慰她的意图，又道：“我不是张承照，也不能把公主变成笑靥儿，我所能让公主看到的丑陋仅限于我的身体。在夫君相伴下，公主疏远和淡忘平凡的我应该不是太难的事。说不定，当公主耐心与驸马生活几年，感觉到真正的男女之情，有了自己的儿女之后，再忆起我们的故事，甚至会为此感到羞耻，恨不得把这段记忆一笔勾销。因此，请公主现在给我一点小小的怜悯，容我退至应处的位置，做回公主的臣子和影子。”

说完，我不等她回答，自己拾起衣物一一穿戴整齐，寻回臣子的礼节，举手加额朝她行大礼，然后毕恭毕敬地低首向后退去。

在我转身后，公主霍然坐起，凄声唤我“怀吉”，我滞了滞，但终于没有回首以应，在她注视下复又启步，离开了她和暖如春的香闺。

ｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘ

这夜无法安眠，我索性不睡，独坐在自己房间中以茶代酒，一盏盏地饮。

其间想起很多事，例如怎样离开公主宅，以后的去向，要如何嘱咐宅中侍者照料公主等等，自然，仍不免牵挂着公主，猜想她现在的状况。不料，却等来了个意外的结果。

三更初过，嘉庆子跑来狂拍我的门，待我开门后，她睁大眼睛盯着我，喘着气说：“公……公主，把驸马……召到寝阁去了……”

我一怔，问她：“公主是把驸马召去责骂么？”

嘉庆子摇摇头，看我的眼神交织着未散的惊讶和对我的怜悯：“她让驸马留宿于她阁中。

ｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘｘ

我没有按照嘉庆子的建议前去探视和劝阻。送走她后，我回到房中坐下，继续默默地饮茶。

张先生说，茶可令人微觉清思，而不会摧人肝肠。我想他是错了，茶，也是可以把人饮醉的。

次日，我在一阵清浅小寐后醒来，头重脚轻，神思飘浮，但还是记起昨夜之事，便硬撑着出门，欲去公主阁向她道贺。

在那竹林院落之前，我遇见自内出来的李玮。他脸色晦暗，神情颓废，并无一丝喜色。见了我，也只是冷冷一瞥，未待我开口他便已匆匆离开，步伐快得像逃离。

那么，或许，这次也跟他们新婚之夜一样，什么都没发生。我这样想着，情不自禁地，竟有一瞬的释然。

但进到阁中，又立即感觉到气氛有异。公主不在厅中，只有嘉庆子韵果儿等侍女在窃窃私语。见我进来，她们立即噤声，嘉庆子更把手中一件物事蔽于袖中。

我朝公主暖阁处张望，仍不见她身��，遂问嘉庆子：“公主尚未晨起？”

嘉庆子称是，低眉不与我对视。

我转顾韵果儿，她也侧首避开，不欲与我目光相触。

我环顾周围其余侍女，亦无人多发一言。踟蹰须臾，我终于选了个问题间接地问嘉庆子：“今日驸马为何不乐？”

她也犹豫了很久才拉我至一隅，低声回答：“昨夜公主召驸马来，他很吃惊，简直不敢踏入公主暖阁，是公主再三相请他才进去的……今日起身后，驸马本来心情不错，兴致勃勃地邀公主去赏梅花，但公主却把这个抛在地上……”

她引手入袖，把起初隐藏的东西取出递给我。

那是一段白绫。我接过，以微颤的手指艰难地展开，看见了意料之中的，如落梅花瓣般的几点血迹。

嘉庆子观察着我的表情，大概是没觉出太多异状才又继续告诉我：“然后，公主对驸马说：‘这就是你一直想要的罢？现在，你可以出去了。以后永远别再靠近我。’”

#held in the lonely castle #孤城闭 #serenade of peaceful joy #cdrama #米兰lady #translation #mine #some context: in the previous chapter huirou uses a new incense to try to seduce huaiji #huaiji is troubled by huirou's continued rejection of her husband li wei #next chapter tomorrow!#THIS IS HUIROU'S FIRST TIME IN THE NOVEL OKAY

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bornpariah-a · 4 years

Text

@inquistior : also smile —— WORD PROMPTS

❝ ——— Dominic, do stop trying to set Alannah’s hair on fire, would you? You can hardly summon a flame, let alone set something alight, ❞ he speaks without looking away from Darcy, who’s head turns sharply, a gleeful expression on her face as laughter bursts from the small collection of children that he has around him at the moment. Dominic, a precocious ten or twelve year old ( dorian hasn’t the slightest clue and is guessing, and hardly knows how to guess children’s ages beyond the fact that he’s taller than a small child but not yet grown ) looks utterly sullen, a moue forming on his face, which is rather hilarious sight for all that Dorian doesn’t laugh. Instead, he straightens with his hands on his hips as the six children around him, minus Dominic, laugh. Alanah looks positively triumphant, and reaches out to magickally shock the boy, who jumps with a yelp. ❝ Impressive, but we have spoken about using magick on each other in lessons, ❞ he can’t quite keep the humor out of his voice, never could, his mouth curving, though he thoroughly serious and they are all aware of that.

Both children apologize, head ducking and feet kicking at the dirt.

The sun beams above them and this corner of Skyhold is not quiet ——— it can’t be, considering that he had rounded up the children near the ramparts, not in the shade but in near full view of the entire courtyard. He wholly lacks self—consciousness and children, being children, lack it for the most part, and where better to practice? To teach them : how to utilize their magic and not be ASHAMED OF IT as many would prefer them to be. There are eyes on them, watchful and sharp and distrustful, he knows, ex—Templars lurking and Chantry members whispering behind their hands. It’s always something of an event, when the mage children manage to corral and drag him into teaching a lesson ( which isn’t to say that he minds, he patently doesn’t ) and an event requires an audience, he supposes. They’re waiting for him to summon a demon to possess one of the children, he knows, or to teach them blood magic or something similarly absurd ——— but he pays it no mind.

❝ Come here, ❞ he gestures to Dominic, pouting still, and the boy shuffles over to him as the rest shift, making room for him to move. “Try again, Dominic,” he does not speak gently ( dorian’s never been well versed in gentleness, never quite learned how ) but there is no jest nor irritation in his tone. Rather : PATIENCE and ENCOURAGEMENT, gazing down at the boy as he appears to flush, faintly pink, and hold out his hand, eyebrows furrowing. He’s straining, the Veil reluctant to move beneath his grasp, and Dorian grasps his wrist gently, shifts his fingers, murmurs instructions, and steps back as fire bursts on Dominic’s palm. A small flame, but a flame nonetheless, which Dorian passes his hand through and is content with the heat that it produces. ❝ There ——— much easier, yes? ❞

A grin splits across the boy’s face and Dorian’s neck prickles, hyper aware as his gaze lifts and he looks around / skips over the people lurking but attempting to be SUBTLE ABOUT IT, as if he wouldn’t take notice. Lands upon : a familiar form, broad and tall, his attention immediately latching onto the smile which is curving at the mouth Dorian knows so well ——— ACHINGLY TENDER, half lost to shadow as Halwn’s head ducks, as his head tends to duck when he smiles in such a way, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. The Inquisitor is halfway across the courtyard, quite the walk away, yet Dorian ( as ever ) finds himself ensnared in his attention, brows raising as their eyes meet properly and there is something brightly adoring in Halwn’s gaze. Brighter than the sun above them / the snow around them : beautiful.

Dorian, helpless, can’t help but smile back in return : equally as soppy, he’s abruptly aware, and infinitely revealing. His stomach twists / heart lurches / nausea swelling yet it’s as if the frenetic energy of his body is a SECOND THOUGHT, distant and far off as he looks at Halwn / several seconds too long.

Laurie pulls at his sleeve and his reverie is broken, attention splitting from the Inquisitor to the children around him as a question is posed and he continues / the ever dutiful teacher.

( ... )

He doesn’t think of them as their quarters for all that he stays in them more frequently than his own, now ——— a fallible form of self defense, he knows, useless in the highest caliber when he’s already submitted himself to the impossible tide and pull of THIS and IT and whatever you may wish to call it, but. It remains to be said that in the privacy of his own mind he thinks of these rooms as the Inquisitor’s quarters, utterly absent of himself, for all that his own clothes are folded into the drawers and he has, imperiously, chosen a side of the bed, though he ends up draped over Halwn or, otherwise, pulled into his arms so it’s all moot fucking point.

Well. That’s neither here nor there.

He walks into the Inquisitor’s quarters, rubbing his wrist absently as he goes, dispelling his own enchantments about himself to alleviate any sharpness that may arise from the anchor and its close proximity ——— already he can feel his magick flaring as he turns into the room and their eyes meet, compulsive and automatic, as Halwn looks up from his desk. Dorian can feel himself SMILING AGAIN, and thinks vaguely of when Cole had told him he looked happier. Of when Cassandra commented that he had been smiling more, recently.

The smile is returned and something within his chest, unsettled and disquiet, sighs. A heaving sort of thing / to accompany the lurching of his heart. Closing the distance is easy enough, Halwn remains seated, the weight of his gaze remaining on Dorian as he crosses. ❝ I saw you watching my lessons earlier, Halwn, ❞ he speaks rather tartly, as if they weren’t both aware that they had ACKNOWLEDGED EACH OTHER for far too long, across the courtyard, heavy with something that he could only label yearning. ❝ You seemed as curious as the unwashed masses, though marginally less furious with the gall of the evil Magister intent on poisoning the minds of vulnerable and impressionable children, ❞ a grin plays on his mouth as he leans his hip against the desk, eyes peering over the papers scattered along it, somewhat curious but setting it side.

All day he has been ——— alight? Wondering. Wanting. Et cetera, pointless things and useless things but effervescent things which lay heavy in his chest. The weight of that stare. The meaning thereof. The way that Halwn had been watching him ——— it was with WANT, openly so, that yearning that Dorian had labeled it, not something so base nor primal as carnal desire ( which would have been disturbing and ill—placed given the setting ) but something far simpler. Yet far more complicated. To look at him like that while he interacted and taught children could only mean ———

Dorian does not think of the future. Not in any concrete terms. The future is amorphous and strange and ill shaped, impossible to pinpoint and impossible to ponder in any meaningful fashion. Today he lives / tomorrow he may be dead / likely he will be dead before the end of this conflict, of that he has no doubt, but ——— it’s fucking difficult to avoid thinking of the FUTURE when you’re in love, he’s come to realize ( and, in hindsight, that really should have been a sign, shouldn’t it. ) When you, in spite of all sense and reason, crave a future with another. When you, through denial and self—rejection and morose acceptance, cannot imagine a future where you both live and you are not together.

He imagines Halwn with children. Plenty of them, at least two though perhaps up to five ——— there’s no conceivable future where he wouldn’t have children, where he wouldn’t gather them around a piano and play or laugh with them or boost them into the air, swinging and screaming and joyous. It’s a thought that he keeps well preserved and well wrapped and well hidden, tucked into the recesses of his mind, furtive and wanting. Dorian’s not surprise to find that he wants. Not in the least.

❝ If you were hoping to join I may be able to handle another student, ❞ he continues talking as he’s wont to do, mirth sparkling in his eyes and there’s that softness that descends upon Halwn’s expression, the richness of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the brief tip of his head as he does smile, amused by Dorian’s antics. Dorian, for his part, twists upon the desk and shuffles closer, papers crinkling carelessly beneath them as he props his foot between Halwn’s knees, balancing on the edge of his chair. ❝ Yes, yes, I know : you are not a mage, though basic magickal theory could prove helpful with the Anchor. Where better to start you than with the children? ❞ he grins, teeth flashing as Halwn chuckles and hands curve around his hips, always reaching. Always touching. Loving. Always loving. Damned to love.

All day he has been ——— alight? Lovesick, feverish thoughts tripping in his mind : he imagines Halwn with children.

Dorian wonders how long he’s wanted to have children with him. To have a ——— family, daughters and perhaps one son, to build a life together somewhere where the sun is bright and a lake is nearby, where his beloved can work the land and he can organize a mass collection of books in a sprawling library that he’ll demand, where children can run rampant on the grounds, laughing and screaming and tumbling, joyful and loved. Loved, and sheltered, and adored by their ——— fathers.

He doesn’t think he wants to know just how long he’s craved that. Finds the answer lacking. Instead : he curves and kisses Halwn hello and i love you and i want to be with you, forever. His heart constricts, terrified. Dorian drags his hands through Halwn’s hair, grounding, smiling against his mouth. ❝ Though I suppose we could organize some... private lessons. ❞

#inquistior #[ i lost my Fucking Mind while writing this ]#[ i'm not proof reading ]#[ when do i ever sdkgjsn ]#[ here take this... gay... disastrous... mess ]#[ local idiot realizes he wants to build a family with the love of his life and is ]#[ distracted and lovesick and freaking out for the rest of the day ]

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naromoreau · 5 years

Note

I'd love to see some soft Joe smut with f!Dep 😊

Thank you so much for your request! I hope you like what I wrote for you _____________________________________________Pairing: Joseph Seed x F!DeputyRating: NSFW

It’s amazing how less cooped up the bunker seems with every passing month. She watches Joseph fumbling with a pickle jar, trying to prepare the scarce dinner they share every night. Rook can't stop noticing alarming new things day in and day out, just like she’s doing right now. It’s the twist of his hand. Definitely. Or the flush of his cheeks. Or perhaps the way his brow furrows, wracking the immutably calmed expression of his face. Rook isn’t sure and can’t pin down the exact motion that makes her gut stir, but there it is. He grunts under a heavy sigh and she titters at how ridiculous the whole situation is.

“It’s stuck,” he apologizes, giving a final try, flexing his biceps under the mild exertion, another sign that doesn’t go unheeded, as her fluttering stomach can vouch.

A tinge of color blooms on her cheeks. “God, you’re so useless,” she blurts out in the middle of a jag of laughter carefully elicited to hide her state.

She swings her legs on the stool, finally coming down and reaching for the jar. “It’s not about brute force.” She grabs a spoon, giving gentle taps to the side of the lid for a few seconds. “There, try now.”

Joseph takes the jar from her hand, grazing her fingers while doing so. There’s a small quiver somewhere in her chest that she tries desperately to stomp down. Yes. She still balks at the idea, thinking whatever she may feel is bound to be repaid with a sharp rebuff from Joseph’s part. They have a history together after all, and it’s not a good one.

“Praise the Lord! We have pickles.”

Rook jolts out of her inner dilemma to see him smiling. So genuinely. She smiles as well. “Dinner has been significantly improved,” she says serving herself from the bowl they share, silencing her floundering thoughts, “god, Joseph, really, how have you managed ‘til now?”

He knits his brows, a hint of amusement on his face. “What do you mean?”

“You are bested by pickle jars, you hate peanut butter sandwiches-”

“I didn’t think you noticed,” he says with a glint of mirth in his blue eyes, “we usually don’t have breakfast together.”

“Well, I uhm-- I did notice,” she plainly states, hoping the creeping blush on her cheeks won’t belie her hidden feelings.

He says nothing, just doing what she expects and hopes for every night. “It’s time to say Grace.” Joseph extends his arms over the mantelpiece, palms up, and waits for her to do what she knows must be done. A little something she indulges in, because after all these months she still sinks and drowns in a morass of guilt for her past actions.

She reaches forward and places her hands over his, enjoying the contact and the current of electricity that careens through her just by the mere touch. Which is silly. Rook stares at him intently as Joseph recites verses with that faint lilt she has grown fond of.

So few months. Yet so many things had changed, time dwindling her reservations, disrupting everything she believed in and allowing her to see-- to see him. To see him just as Joseph. Forgiving and kind, in equal contrast to her bitterness.

“I have something for you after dinner,” Joseph says after finishing his prayer, his hands still trapping hers.

Her cheeks turn red yet again, her mind trudging through a skew alleyway at his words. Hoping-- “Oh?”

“It’s a very small thing,” he says venturing his eyes back down to his plate and gently pulling his hands away.

Suddenly Rook is very aware of every inch of space between them, as forks clatter against plates, and the buzz of the generator buffers the heavy silence.

When the meal ends, Joseph clears the dishes out of the table, taking them to the small sink and then crouching in front of a cupboard, retrieving a small bag that he promptly places on the table.

“These are for you,” he says, voice almost wavering, as she finally realizes what he has in his hands.

A bag of chocolate cookies.

Rook can’t stop the annoying butterflies flitting in her stomach. For such a small gesture, it’s incredible the amount of things it’s stirring inside her. “Thanks, I uh-- where did you get them?”

“I found them while organizing the pantry,” he says smoothly, and Rook truly feels the pull of his charisma while looking at those captivating eyes in front of her. “I remembered you said-” he clears his throat, a fist in front of his lips, “I remember you said those were your favorite.”

She blinks, taking in the whole gesture. “Did I?”

Joseph nods, and Rook clutches the bag, swallowing a bit of the nostalgia choking her throat, memories clashing with reality. A small gesture at the other side of damnation, doesn’t quite taste the same and yet-- She can still see yonder, and have hope. With him. Because of him. “Thank you Joseph-- God, I love you.”

She instantly stiffs before throwing herself to reach the door over the loud clunk of her stool hitting the ground. But he is faster.

“What did you say?” Joseph asks, clasping her wrist and moving just to a few torturous inches from her.

Rook is exhausted. Of hiding it. Of nitpicking things about him to help her navigate their life together. “You heard me,” she says, chin held high, but unable to hide the hangdog expression on her face. Her next words gush out unbidden. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t look nonplussed or even rattled, the corner of his lips quirking in a tender smile. “Never be sorry, my dear,” Joseph says cupping her chin with calloused fingers, brushing her forehead with his. “I love you as well,” he whispers on her mouth.

Rook gapes at him for a short second, but she doesn’t have much time to go about the ifs and whatnots before he’s pressing his lips against hers. They’re soft and moist, eager and fervent in their caresses. His tongue is deftly and smooth against hers, tracing the seams of her mouth as his hands travel to her hips to draw her closer. Her heart quickens its pace, feeling his control tattering with every movement. His maddening taste blows open in her mouth and sweeps already threaded sentences off her mind, making her gut clench in anticipation when he pulls her closer.

“I love you so much, my dear,” Joseph finally says breathless, and it makes her chest swell with warm bliss, just realizing her arms are already laced around his neck. “You’re everything to me.”

“I- I didn’t--” She stutters finishing with a moan when he melds their lips again.

The kiss stretches for long seconds, a hot blush washing in a prickly wave from her cheeks down to her chest. Joseph is flush to her, one hand waved in the soft locks of her hair, the other at the small of her back and his erection pressing against her lower abdomen.

“Joseph I need- I--” She says, inhaling sharply.

He swallows audibly. “Come.”

They make the way to her cot in a silent rush, under flickering lights. Everything resumes when they fall on the bed, Rook straddled atop Joseph, hands exploring and roving over unfamiliar territories. He groans in her mouth, and grinds his hips against hers as the floor soon is strewn with discarded pieces of clothing and she can feel every inch of his bare skin in contact with hers.

“I’ve been waiting for you, loving you, wanting you,” he rasps with hot breath against her neck, every word stressed with a searing kiss on her skin, “for a long time now, my love.”

He grounds her hips against his lap, her folds pressing against his cock. For a moment he lets her go, switching his position until his back is resting against the headboard. “Come,” he says reaching both hands towards her.

She lets out a shuddery breath when her fingertips brush against his palms. God, she wants him. Has she always wanted him? Perhaps, but it’s not something to consider right now.

She clambers into his lap, and kisses him as he slides his hands down her back, anchoring them at her hips. His fingers dig in her flesh a little when he grinds up against her. “Are you sure about this, my dear?”

“Yes,” Rook moans between kisses, goading him to keep nibbling at her collarbone, “please, yes--”

And just to show him her want, she raises up on her knees and takes his pulsing cock in her hand, the perfect, thick curve arching towards his belly. He gasps as she pumps him, reveling the small drops of pre-come oozing from the tip. Rook hovers over his lap, clasping his neck to hold him in place and pushes down. Her mind tumbles, overwhelmed with the tidal of emotions arrowing through her, and she shivers seeing his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth falling open.

He moans, burrowing his face into her neck, but doesn’t move, allowing her to go as slow as she wants. Their gasps blend into the sweltering atmosphere once he’s fully seated inside her, and she’s taken aback by the raw emotion in his eyes, as he finally starts moving. Rook can feel his girth testing her limits, the stretch stinging a mite with every lazy downstroke, her cunt full and tight around him. She creases her brow and looks down, tracing the place where they’re joined together, sliding his fingers just where she stretches to accommodate him.

He looks at her face, gaze flitting between her eyes and her bottom lip, that she’s chewing in concentration. “I’m not hurting you? am I?” Joseph asks, his breath puffing against the line of her jaw, stilling inside her.

She smiles at him. “Not at all, you feel amazing.”

Rook sets a slow pace, but the little sounds Joseph makes every time she drops down, hips slapping against hips, are driving her to speed up. His moans are heartfelt, almost longing and she’s certainly touched by it. Leaning forward he catches her nipple in his mouth and she arches when he starts sucking hard, his beard scratching against her skin. Her heart thumps in her ears, as she goes faster and harder, now practically riding him among helpless moans and airy grunts Joseph makes every time he bottoms out.

She’s sure she’ll lose her mind. His hands grip her hips, and she’s sure her cheeks are flush hearing the rich wet sounds of his powerful thrusts. “Oh, my love--” Joseph says, words shadowed by a strangled moan, “you are exquisite.”

She's lost in his starry blue eyes, her mind shrouded by how good he feels inside her, and how his lips gingerly brush hers, his kisses reverent.

The familiar pleasure uncoils in her belly and her wailings bounce off the bedroom. “Oh, god, Joseph,” she says, “oh yes, please!” In other circumstances, she would’ve tried to tone down the high pitch of her voice, but they’re all alone. At the other side of tomorrow.

She feels Joseph clinging to her as the movement of his hips become more frantic and he buries a grunt in her sternum, bucking his hips against hers as he finally spills inside her.

They lay in each other’s arms, trying to regain their faltering breaths as she melts in his embrace, Joseph carding his fingers tenderly through her hair.

“We’re made for each other, darling,” he whispers in her ear, languorous caresses across her back, “it just took us the end of the world to find out.”

She smiles, drooping her head on his shoulder, thinking that maybe, just maybe, things can start anew. At the end they have each other. They’ll be ok.

#far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #joseph seed x f!deputy #joseph seed x deputy #joseph seed #deputy rook #nsftumblr #request #my writing #thefathersbride

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araminia16 · 5 years

Text

Not An Illness After All (New Little Bairn)

XxOxX

Callum could only stare at the little creature currently nestled in a loosely wrapped bundle in Rayla’s arms. He knelt down next to the tub on his knees and watched his...their child move awkwardly with little hands and feet as it fussed.

It was almost unconscious for her to bounce the child gently in her arms though she had never held one before. The residual cries began to fade as she started to croon gently to the baby, “Now then, what is all this about? Am I really that bad?”

Callum reached over with just the tips of his fingers and stroked a pale pink cheek. The newborn’s face turned towards his touch with mouth open and he jerked back in surprise.

“Calm, young prince. It’s a reflex. When a new babe’s cheek is stroked it searches for a breast to suckle from. There are a few such reflexes we grow out of in time. This helps them to find food.” Emily spoke from his left as Gellie sat up on the edge of the tub.

“All we have to do is wait for the afterbirth.”

“Afterbirth?” Rayla looked up from her study of the child’s face to the midwife in confusion, “Yeah. I almost forgot.”

“You aren’t done yet but this should be easier. Putting the child to breast should speed the process. It will make you contract a little to ease it’s way.”

“How?” She looked back at Callum beseeching who shrugged in reply.

“I don’t have breasts. This is entirely not my territory.” He opted to place his finger in the tiny palm and watched as fingers curled over it and he couldn’t help the bubbled warmth as it exploded in his chest.

“Here.” Gellie waded over to where Rayla sat with the soaked towel and babe wrapped in arms. “Unwrap the babe and place this over the two of you. Your body heat will keep the both of you warm enough.”

Rayla, with Callum’s help, unwrapped the towel from the baby and jostled it which caused the baby to cry again. When the child was fully unwrapped Emily moved over with a clip and two hands as she placed it along the child’s cord near the base. With a sharp pair of scissors the cord cut easily and Rayla looked below with a bright smile, “Looks like you were wrong.” Rayla couldn't seem to stop stroking their daughter's skin either in soft reverence.

“A girl.” He hummed. “As beautiful as her mother.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and Gellie maneuvered the towel over their fussed daughter.

“Congratulations.” She leaned in and used her hands to demonstrate in air, “This will take practice but place a hand on the back of her head and I will hold her up. Take your breast in the other hand and apply pressure to flatten your nipple then brush it along the cheek as your husband did. Do not lean in. When the child opens her mouth and searches you will need to brush the child’s nose and lips and when she opens wide bring her down and direct your breast to the top of her mouth. Ready?”

Callum watched as Rayla managed to do as the midwife ordered and directed then with a few unlatches and adjustments on depth and technique their daughter nursed happily at pale purple flesh. Her little jaw moved as she pulled deeply and Rayla looked down with a sense of strong peace. Her skin was lighter than Rayla’s. More pink than purple but still small and perfect.

She brought her now free hand up from where it now rested as her other arm crooked where her daughter’s head rested and placed it in her hand as Callum had.

Alarm made her heart race as she stared at the small appendage. “Somethings wrong with her hand.”

Callum was quick to intervene before the midwives could come over and splayed his hand out close to where she held their daughters, “Nothing’s wrong. See. Does it look familiar?”

Rayla stared at his hand then her daughters and realized with some embarrassment, “Ah.”

“It’s terrible right? Pinkoes. Your worst nightmare.” He joked and she glared at him. “What’s this on her head. Does this look right?” Now Callum worried as he brushed his fingers gently over their daughter’s head. Two darker raised spots on the top of her head through sparse light hair made him pause.

It was Rayla’s turn to roll her eyes. “Don’t they look familiar?” She pointed a free finger upward and nodded her head in emphasis.

Callum’s eyes followed the line up and found curved horns, “Those are horns?”

“Horn buds, yes. Did ya think we came out all pointed like this? What terrible time our mothers would have getting us out. Think those are dangerous to your eyes. It’s tender flesh down there.” Rayla winced a little as she felt a contraction begin.

“Speaking of tender flesh--” Emily began and they both looked over to her, “You will need to rest for a few days. Things will be quite tender for some time. Sitting on hard surfaces will be rather uncomfortable and you will bleed for up to six weeks as your body heals. This mixture will soothe the tender flesh of your nethers if you apply it to your napkins and things will being to feel better within a week. You are not to engage in any type of intercourse for at least six weeks. I cannot tell you the number of impatient husbands who cause further injury to new mothers by not listening to me. Infection namely and pain. You have an open wound in your womb and it will take time to heal. You may feel contractions in the next week as things go back to normal. Feed every two hours through the night until the next appointment with the midwife to weigh.”

“You didn’t weigh her.” Callum chimed in.

“Not yet. It is important to get the first feed in before the excitement of birth wears off. There will be time to perform checks as long as the child seems to be in no danger.”

“She’s feeding well. Do you feel it?”

“A little. It’s strange.” Rayla looked back down at her daughter pressed to her skin. “Horns and five fingers. What a perfect little mix ya are.” She winced again as another contraction came on but these were so much better than the ones before. It was then she felt something sort of strange within.

“There we go.” Gellie tugged gently on the remainder of the cord, “Give a little push now. Excellent.” Rayla felt something very strange come away and out of still abused parts and she pulled the afterbirth from cloudy water.

Callum recoiled in horror from the huge blue and red glob in her hands with vessels in her hands. It was larger than her hands, “What in the gods names is that thing?”

“That.” She held it up further before she started to make her way out of the tub. “Was the organ which grew and kept the tiny child in her arms alive. The body grows an entire organ in the first part to aid in nourishing the child. It is why women are so exhausted in the beginning.” Gellie stepped out and placed the afterbirth in a clean container. “How would you like it then, girl?”

“Like what?” Rayla stroked lazily at any part of pinkish flesh she could reach as she gazed utterly in love with her daughter.

“The afterbirth. How shall I prepare it for you to consume?”

“What?” Callum barked then felt a little ill. “She’s going to eat that?”

Gellie rolled her eyes, “You humans are so strange. Have you never seen an animal in the wild or even in the farm consume their afterbirth? It has good nutrition in it. Helps with energy and with milk coming in.”

“I could use some energy though right now I feel as if I could run across Xadia with no more effort than a walk across the room.”

“That will fade. So. With eggs? Cooked? Dried? Fried? Baked?”

Rayla looked back at Callum rather wickedly, “Can ya dry some of it and give me about half with some eggs then? And a good portion of moonberry juice.”

“Good.”

Callum’s eyes widened as the urge to vomit rolled through him again and he decided he would not look at Gellie as she pulled out a large knife. Instead he filled his vision with his entire world in the tub.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel her little body safe in his arms more than he wanted to breathe. This was the little formless creature which he would play with from time to time. Where he would tap at the flesh and it...she…would tap back. Now she had a face and hair and fingers and toes. Ten of those too from what he could see.. She was so tiny. It was hard to see with the newness of her how her fine features were. If she had Rayla’s nose or cheeks, or his eyes as she had yet to open the still scrunched lids.

His palm encompassed her head as he stroked down the softness and the marvel of how the dark spots felt hard and smooth though nearly flush with her skull. Perhaps the sparse hair looked white in the light but he couldn’t be sure. All he could be sure of was the steady, though now not quite as strong way her jaw worked at the breast.

“You are magnificent. The most wonderful woman on the earth. How is it you can be so perfect at so many things? I don’t think I could love you any more than I do now. I...I…” He stopped his ramble while her purple gaze met his and he didn’t have to speak for her to know everything and she to him as well. All the pain and discomfort and the months of worry and wait had come to a head and it was a marvelous one.

“When the child comes off your breast we will help you get out of the tub. The water will soon turn cold.”

“Do I have ta move? I don’t think it will end well.”

“It’s either that or stay in with the blood and other substances within the water. A cesspool of infection one might say.”

“Fair enough.” Came the reply.

Callum didn’t just stroke whatever soft skin he could reach on their daughter. He also used his free hand to rub his palm and fingers lightly over Rayla’s exposed shoulders and arms in a soothing manner. “How are you feeling now?”

“Like I did not just push this out of a space far smaller than she is. Much better. Better than I have in months honestly.” It was ernest and she smiled at Callum as their child’s jaw slackened though still held on to her meal with light motions.

“I think she looks like you.” Callum whispered.

“Those fingers have something of you ta them but it’s hard ta tell. Everything is a bit mashed together.”

Soon enough their newborn relaxed and pulled fully away from her meal and Rayla was won’t to move from her seat. She was sure her muscles would not thank her for it after being so still for so long but she could feel her energy start to flag and the now murky water continue to slowly pinken with blood and other things.

Gellie had left the room some time ago with the afterbirth and Rayla was sure she was on her way to bring it back after she had prepared it. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Let me take the little one and hand her to da now so I can help you to bed.”

Rayla couldn’t help the instinctive reaction as her arms tightened around the bundle in her arms. “Why?”

“It will be hard enough for you to rise on your own and have to hold something so slippery as well.” Emily leaned in, “Your husband’s been gazing at her like she’s the sun in the sky as well. Might give him a bit of time to meet her as well while we clean you up and get you settled into bed.” She seemed ernest and Rayla relented.

Emily lifted the wet newborn from Rayla’s arms and at first she started to fuss as Emily lay her down on a flat long table with a towel to dry her. It was little work to move her to the side while her parents watched. Callum stood and came over to scrutinize her movements as their daughter began to fuss in earnest being moved around. She used a strange contraption and wrapped her up in a towel with loops on the end before she hung those from a single metal hook and lifted bundle and all. She seemed to make a note of the notch and set her back down.

He had taken classes on how to change a diaper as well as feeding and basic care the same as Rayla and watched the midwife fasten a cloth diaper to tiny hips as little fists shook in the air and long legs stretched awkwardly. He observed her as she started to swaddle the baby and took in each movement into his easy memory before she turned with a freshly wrapped newborn in green blanket and suddenly he felt nervous. Sweat pooled on his brow as she came closer. “Now dad. Just like mum. She’s all bundled up and secure now.”

Callum had no choice despite his new fear and put his arms up in what he thought was a good cradle. When she was placed in his arms he expected her to be heavier maybe. More solid. Instead she felt light and so very breakable. One hand on her bottom and he rested her head in the crook of his arm with the other hand to make doubly sure he wouldn’t mess up.

Once the whole thing was over he suddenly felt embarrassed at his fear and instead his heart raced with another emotion. This was his daughter. A piece of him and Rayla. The most important people in his life aside from Ezran and Amaya. He looked up with wide, bright eyes at Rayla who shared his expression and his vision blurred a bit while her eyes welled with tears as well. “You look so happy, Callum.”

“So do you.” He looked down at the baby. “And so do you, little one. Belly full and snuggled up warm with dad. Woah. Dad. I’m a dad.”

“Don’t faint now. Your wife would not thank you for it.”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to sit down.” Callum walked gingerly over to the chair next to the bed and watched Emily help Rayla to stand. Rayla groaned with the effort under exhausted, stiff legs as she shook while she lifted one leg and the other with several groans of discomfort. They made slow progress to the bed and a wince one she had sat down on the soft mattress. Naked and wet with more than just water he couldn’t have thought she looked prettier though he knew better than to tell her just yet.

Instead he stole glances at soft cheeks and long lashes and shifted the weight of her around as best he could while Rayla continued to move around and dress. He took in the instructions on how to apply the cream, to use the syringe of water to wash her nethers with instead of the paper, and to take it easy for a few weeks, but make sure to walk often to help with fever and blood clots.

“Any visitors I should send in?” She finished after Rayla had dressed in a loose gown and laid back in the bed with her back propped up in a sitting position. “The General or your other friend? They asked after you during your labor.”

Before Rayla could speak, “No. Not today. We just want to be left alone for now. It’s almost night isn’t it?” Callum looked out the window for the first time in hours and it was well into sunset. “They can wait. Rayla’s exhausted and we need some time to bond with her before we have to share her with the rest of the world.”

Rayla stared at him in surprise. “Are ya sure? I wouldn’t mind a quick visit.”

“I’m sure. Besides, Gellie should be back with your after birth meal soon and I don’t think anyone would want to see you eat that.”

“You have a point there.” She agreed, “Now give me the baby back.”

Callum grinned and stood gingerly before he passed over the wrapped bundle which shifted and sighed before she settled down in Rayla’s arms. “She really is perfect.”

“Of course she is. We made her. How could she not be? Our daughter. I wonder if she’ll have full sized horns.”

“Could she not?”

“I don’t know. There hasn’t been a half elven babe in ages. Since before the Breach was formed. There’s books on it of course but they are few in number from what the other healers told me. What are ya doing?”

“Getting into bed with you.” Callum walked to the other side of the larger bed and crawled up. Rayla hissed when the side of the bed dipped and Callum froze, “What is it?”

“Emily says I tore a bit. Nothing to need stitches but enough to hurt. It’s just a little tender.” She assured him. “Come here. I’ll miss your warm human body.”

Callum moved with more care as he settled down next to Rayla on the bed. “Now we can share better.”

“Indeed we can.” Rayla adjusted their daughter across their laps as Callum put a hand on the bundle.

“So names. I had a whole list of them in my head but none of them sound right anymore. Elizabeth, Hailie, Amilia, Luna.”

“I already told ya no to those anyway. Luna. Ya fool human.”

“Do you have any ideas then? Cause she needs a name.”

“She doesn’t have to have one right now. It won’t hurt her to be nameless for the first day of her life. Better than than to give her one without meaning.”

“You said before names were important to Elves. Way more than to humans.”

“Yes. So we can wait. Maybe it will come to us in a dream.” In the low light from the torches upon twilight their little girl stirred and opened her eyes to the world for the first time. Bright newborn blue regarded them with surprisingly little emotion compared to her parents who both could not help the burst of adoration at first sight. Rayla picked her back up then and they both had a good look at each other, “Ryna?” A pause, “No.” Then with suprise, “Her eyes are blue.”

“Human babies have blue eyes usually if they are lighter skinned. Do elves not?”

“Sometimes. Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t seen many babies.” Dread pulsed through her joy, “How am I supposed to do this? I’ve never even held a baby before. How are we going to keep her alive?”

Callum placed a finger over lips about to part again, “Shhhhhhhh. Everything will be fine. We have a lot of help with this stuff. For now how about we just rest.”

Rayla nodded and yawned suddenly exhausted when the door opened again and a strange odor flowed through the open door. “Dinner is here. For her. Not you.” Gellie walked in bearing a tray of plates some steaming and some not with glasses of what looked like Moonberry juice. “Give the newling back to her father and eat up. I’m drying the rest and will crush it after and place it in a tin for you to mix in with food. It should be tasteless. This...will not be.”

Callum lifted the baby greedily and placed the bundle across his chest while the smell sort of made his stomach roll as the tray placed over her lap. “Thanks. I suppose.”

“You are welcome. Now da, listen here. This is for pain. No more than a tablespoon every four hours. She should need it more in the next week or so then less. If there is any trouble with fever you call right away. Everything looks good for now and the human and I will be nearby until you leave so just fetch us if you need anything. Baby will likely be tired for the next day or so but rouse her to feed every few hours until your milk comes in. Right now it’s colostrum which will help her for now. Put her skin on yours often as well to help your milk. This dinner should help as well. Any questions?”

“No. I think we will be alright until morning.”

“Excellent. In the morning then.” Gellie exited quietly while Rayla eyed the meal in front of her with a fair amount of distaste but with some prompting from Callum she took a bite of the off colored bowl of eggs and placenta. Her face twisted in a scowl but she continued to shove food in her mouth and swallow as quickly as she could without tasting the vile concoction.

“This is worse than your cooking.”

“Hey. My cooking isn’t that bad.” He pouted.

“It is.” Another mouthful with little chew and preamble and she managed to finish off the plate though not without some nausea. She nearly knocked over the moonberry juice in her hurry to wash the taste of her first meal as a mother out of her mouth and sighed as she pushed the tray away.

“Let me get it.” Callum handed the baby back and lifted the tray to place it on the floor of his side of the bed.

Rayla opened up her dress over a stomach still swollen but no longer round as she unwrapped the bundle and placed the pale skinned newborn against her skin and covered them both with a blanket. “I love you.” She gazed with blurred eyes at Callum as she blinked a few times then closed her eyes and did not open them again while her breathing began to even out. Both arms rested atop the baby in two places to keep her still on her chest. Callum watched over the two of them for three hours until he roused Rayla to rouse their daughter and place her onto a breast with some fussing but ultimately she managed to make it work.

Callum stood and brought over a larger basket on taller legs to place it next to him on the bed. When Rayla’s eyes drifted shut and head lolled with exhaustion he took the baby from her and checked the cloth diaper for any soilage. Finding none he wrapped her up the way he watched the midwife and set her into the basket. They were both too tired to make sure they did not harm her while they slept.

With morning brought more exhaustion and a better look at their daughter, “She has your nose.” Rayla commented with a soft tap to the appendage in question.

“Your ears. I wasn’t sure about it last night with things being a little squished but they definitely have a point to them.”

The newborn in question unwrapped from her blanket and set in between Callum’s spread legs and dressed in a utilitarian outfit with a single opening on the bottom to assist in diaper changing. She was awake though very unengaged in everything with eyes which stared ahead as she twitched and moved awkward limbs unhindered by blanket or womb. Her head, now a bit rounder sported those two dark spots and what Callum knew now was rather light colored sparse hair on her head.

“Do you think her eyes will change?”

“They could.” Callum shrugged as he placed his finger in her open palm and watched as she tightened her hand into a fist on instinct.

“Five fingers. Was it the extra pinko that too ya another week to grow?”

“It was fine. Everything worked out.”

They were about to lie back when a knock reverberated through the door. “Open up in the name of your king.”

Callum, with a glance at Rayla to make sure she was covered up picked up their daughter and handed her to Rayla with a soft blanket to cover them both before he scooted off the bed and hurried to the door. With a sigh he opened it to find Ezran with a wide grin and excited eyes. “Hey, Callum.”

“When did you get here?”

“Last night.”

“How?”

“Claudia sent word. So here I am! The midwife came out to tell us we weren’t to go in tonight so I waited though I really really wanted to see my new---.” He gestured for Callum to finish.

“Niece.” A sigh though he couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s exuberance. “It’s a girl.”

He pumped a fist into the air, “Yes! I totally won the bet. I can’t wait to rub it in Aanya’s face.” He puffed his chest happily and Callum could almost see him vibrate with pent up excitement.

“Good to know.”

“Are you going to let me in?”

“Callum! Let our little brother in.” Rayla called from behind him and he pushed the door open the rest of the way. He would have told Ezran to leave if Rayla had wanted it though he really wanted to show off his new daughter to his second...now third favorite person in his world.

Ezran darted, still young, across the room and came to a halt at the bed where Rayla now had their baby wrapped in a less than neat fashion with little face visible and the sound which came from Ezran was nearly otherworldly.

“She’s so cute.” He half squealed, “Look at her face and the cheeks and are her ears pointed?” He leaned in and Rayla laughed but pulled the baby away a little, “What’s her name?”

“Ummm. Well. We’re still working on that.”

“She has to have a name, Callum.”

“I know that. We just need the right one.”

“You can name her after mom if you want. I know you’ve thought about it.”

Callum had but he waved Ezran off. “Nah. She needs her own name.”

“Well whatever her name will be she’s so cute it won’t matter. What’s those spots on her head? Are they horns?”

“Look at him. He’s smarter than you were.”

“Yeah well check this out.” Callum, now sitting by Rayla’s feet pulled on the blanket to expose thin arms and hands.

“Five fingers. She’s like the perfect mix of the two of you. Can I hold her? Please? I need to hold her. She’s going to be so spoiled by her uncle Ez. Aren’t you?”

“Sit down.” Callum ordered and Ezran dashed over to find a chair and carried it over without tripping over his own feet. He waited with patient enthusiasm as Callum lifted the baby from Rayla and with instruction on how to hold his arms he placed her into his brother’s embrace. The first time she had been held by anyone besides her parents and the midwife.

Both new parents were anxious at the idea and watched every movement of both Ezran and the baby though it was adorable the way he talked quietly to her with a smile. It was something Callum didn’t know he would enjoy so much to watch his brother and his child bond.

After some talk between the three of them over how their ambassadorial duties went and the tale of their on the road start to labor and how things in Katolis were going. Some needling from Rayla about how Aanya was doing much to Ezran’s embarrassment.

About an hour into the easy visit the baby began to fuss and put her hand to her mouth.

“It looks like she’s hungry.” Callum commented.

“I’ll go and come back later. I can’t wait to snuggle you some more, no I can’t.” He talked in that high pitched baby voice that usually grated on the nerves but Callum took her back. Ezran pulled Rayla into an embrace with a quick word of love and encouragement before Callum handed their little one to her and hugged his brother he hadn't seen in months before he led him over to the door, “Let me know when you are ready for more visitors. Claudia and Amaya are both chomping at the bit to know things too.”

“Will do.”

Rayla had some trouble this time with positioning and latching their daughter on but managed to get things moving and after another nap they asked for Amaya to come.

The look of adoration on his aunt’s scarred face warmed Callum the same as Ezran’s had and she held thier daughter expertly with joyful congratulations and hugs before she left as well.

Claudia made a sound similar to Ezran as she gushed over the new baby.

“At least we know it’s not some kind of mutant. Soran will be happy to know.”

“Soren?” Callum gave her an odd look but Rayla grinned knowingly.

“That Sunfire elf that always kicks his ass? I knew it. Has he beaten her yet?”

“No.”

“Wait.” Callum thought about it for a minute. There’ weren’t that many Sunfire elves in Katolis, “Zaleria? I didn’t know he liked her.”

“To be fair you haven’t been paying much attention to us, but that’s okay. You’ve been busy.”

“Your da is rolling in his grave. Did he ask her ta marry him then?”

“Not yet. He’s trying to beat her before he asks her but honestly that will never happen. It’s one of the reasons he’s so totally in over his head about her.”

“She’s so quiet.” Callum commented still confused about the whole romance which happened under his nose/

“Stranger things have happened. Stranger pairings.” She looked pointedly at him. “I never would have thought you were going to go for anyone of Rayla’s personality. No offense.” She added quickly while she adjusted the baby in her arms.

“None taken. I know I can be a bit abrasive. It’s part of my charm.”

Callum looked with wonder at the friendship the two women seemed to have developed and it was one he never would have thought possible. Maybe it would be a good thing. She needed more female friends anyway.

With Rayla’s recovery and bleeding they waited a few more days before the decided to back up to go back home. She took the medication for pain and applied the salve and the midwives came and massaged her sore belly a few times a day while they waited for her milk to come in. It was a day of tears on Rayla’s part on day three when all the baby did was scream and she thought she had failed her daughter and wanted to give her a formula of goats milk instead of hearing her cry. Her diapers continued and it was a sticky business to clean off the first stool as it came and her wet diapers pleased the midwives. Callum took over with their unnamed baby and walked her in the hall and around the room after each feed, changed the diapers and listened to the squall with a twisted belly of anxiety.

On the fourth day Rayla awoke to two throbbing, tight, lumpy, leaking breasts and couldn’t get the baby on fast enough for the engorgement. It eased them both though once she started to nurse on one side, the other side let down as well and soaked her shirt, the blanket and the baby’s blanket as well. It was easy enough to clean but Rayla’s embarrassment was less so. Callum had to assure her through tears she was fine. It was nothing to worry about and he loved her no matter what leaked out of her.

Emily brought her a sort of strange suction cup with a reservoir to place over her the breast she wasn’t feeding from for the next feeds and Rayla began to collect milk to store in the cold. Breastmilk had a variety of uses she assured them and saving it was better than wasting the precious fluid.

Claudia brought them a wrap made in an elven fashion she purchased from Xadia and showed Rayla how to wrap the long cloth around her body and made a pouch for their daughter to rest in on her chest.

With hugs to Amaya and more luggage going than when they came Ezran, Claudia and several of the the guard awaited them. “I wouldn’t ride if I was you, girl.” Gellie told her just before they made their way out.

“I’ll be fine.”

Rayla managed to sit on the horse for a total of one minute, unmoving, before she had to be assisted off with pained noises. “I was not fine. I’m riding in the carriage.” With a strange waddle she managed to lift her body into the carriage where Claudia joined her. A pained noise escaped her as she sat down on the modestly cushioned seat while she held a hand over her wrapped infant.

The ride was uneventful though they kept the windows open and everyone chattered happily through the trip. It was easy to go back to when they were on the road those few years ago. In all of her wildest dreams she couldn’t have imagined this is where her life would have ended up. A lifetime ago she stood in front of Runnan with their Moonshadow elf brethren with enchanted ribbon round her wrists to slaughter the boy who would become a fine king and a wonderful brother to her. She wonders less of late how things would have ended up had she slaughtered the human who spotted her. How they could have extinguished such a vibrant soul as Ezran is and was? And it would have been for nothing. Not when the Dragon Prince still lived. A soul for a soul.

She looked down again at her sleeping daughter. It wasn’t an easy peace since Zym had returned to his mother but it was a reprieve from the death and destruction of both their peoples. There were still those who certainly hated elves and visa versa and many who would not see this child as a bridge between them. Royal or not but they would cross those bridges as they came. More humans and elves were beginning to start anew and forge ahead. Even Soran who though a good person at heart had many voices whisper to him and not all were kind.

Ezran chattered away to whoever would listen and Callum checked back frequently with Rayla and their daughter. Each look of adoration made her heart swell all the greater with love. How could there be so much of it in one person? She thought her heart full with Callum and her found family here but they both began to learn of the bottomless well it truly was.

Katolis came into view and they entered the city with as much fanfare as usual though now people looked in the carriage and took in the wrapped bundle in arm and the whispers began with some smiles and some less than sweet looks at her daughter.

Callum sat tense on his horse while they rode through almost as if he expected something to happen and though it hadn’t he still couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes at his back.

He helped Rayla out of the carriage as her gait hadn’t yet returned to normal and she passed the baby to him to carry into the castle. As the days went on the wrinkles continued to smooth out and he found her to look more and more like her mother with each day that passed. Eyes opened out of the sun light and he took in the newborn blue eyes as they stared up at him. “Hey there, little one. It’s a brand new day and you get to see your home. Your mother had a nursery set up just for you.” He spoke quietly to her as they walked.

“You better not be plotting against me now.” Rayla warned from behind next to Claudia.

“You guys have to name her. There’s like a deadline now. She’s almost a week old. My advisors are going to start badgering me about alliances and peace and the naming announcement ceremony so you better start thinking of something.” Ezran trotted up to Callum and he looked over at the young king. He couldn’t stop wondering if Ezran would ever stop growing. He was nearly as tall as Harrow was and he wasn’t done yet.

“Yes your majesty.” Callum made a show of bowing and Ezran snorted a laugh then sighed, “There’s one of them now. I’ll see you guys later.” Ezran darted off a second hallway and Claudia also took her leave and they opened the door to their quarters with little preamble.

Everything was just as they left it aside from the new furniture they were sure was Ezran’s doing. A sort of side crib sat along Rayla’s side of the bed small enough for it to not get in the way, a table to change diapers, several drawers and blankets stacked atop things with outfits galore.

“Finally home.” Rayla hummed, “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

“We went way long than this before without our own beds.”

“We were younger then.”

“We aren’t that much older now.”

“Says the person who did not push a tiny person out of their nethers.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of a tiny person I think she’s going to be hungry soon.” Callum noticed the awake newborn with a bit of her fist in mouth as she sucked on it. “I’ll get her a change and then hand her over.”

“I was just about ta suggest that myself. My breasts feel like they are going ta explode soon.”

“I’m hurrying.” Callum took her over to the padded table and made quick work of the soiled cloth as she started to fuss with being unwrapped. “Yes I know it’s terrible to be naked.” Callum crooned as he snapped a fresh diaper in place and wrapped her back up to hand to his wife.

As soon as Rayla, with some difficulty, had baby firmly attached to breast and happily feeding she caught Callum’s attention, “Ezran’s right though I don’t much like a spectacle of her birth she needs a name.”

“I’ve been trying to think of one.”

“I think I might have one.”

He brightened, “Tell me.”

$#$#$#$#

Ezran looked over the crowd of nobility gathered in the hall down the steps from his perch with the royalty of the other human kingdoms and some high ranking elven nobility as well. He peeked back as his sister and brother with a small smile as they held their new babe dressed in white. The pinkish skin still present though darkened a little with pale hair and dark spots where horns were to be were the only thing he could see aside from the Archmage robes Callum wore and the complicated wrapped shirt and pants Rayla had on. “We come here today to celebrate the birth of what I believe is the first half elven half human child in longer than any can remember. A symbol of what may happen when the two work together in harmony. What peace can achieve with new life. It is customary to have a naming day seven days after the birth to allow the parents to recover and renew and to make sure the child is healthy. With horns, hair, and ears from her mother and five fingers and bright eyes from her father I present to you--.” Ezran allowed the two of them to come forward and in unison, “Saraya, Princess of Katolis.”

Aanya was the first to begin to clap as the rest followed suit while little Saraya slumbered peacefully oblivious to the excitement around her.

XxOxX

So I haven't had to push a kid out. Mine was removed like a tumor and that's a whole nother kind of recovery. It sucks. But I do know the gist of the vaginal birth recovery and I'm almost positive I had it spot on. I thought I would add something a little different with elves and afterbirth for fun as most mammals do eat theirs after they have their offspring. It can help with energy and milk production I've heard.

There is a little bit of my own struggle built in with milk production. I had a bad experience around day 2 where my son just wouldn't stop crying so I thought he was hungry as my milk hadn't come in. My husband fed him formula but that didn't seem to help and only made me feel like shite but the very next day I had more milk than I knew what to do with.

Not everyone has the same instant love reaction that everyone says you should have. I did, then didn't. But this seemed to flow better.

I only had one guess. One. Come onnnnn. But it's a girl. And her name is pronounced Sar-ay-yah.

I might bring more to the table as the mood strikes but for now the story is finished as I am working on book 2 of my series.

If you enjoyed my work and like grumpy elves and snarky humans travelling together you might give Awakening a read. Thank you so much for your support and I hope I entertained well! Have a good summer!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MDR52RH

I may also make a masterlist. When I figure out how. Good night Lovelies! Link to Ao3

#rayllum #Not an Illness After All #newborn #rayla x callum #callum x rayla #rated PG #mentions of afterbirth #eating afterbirth #breastfeeding #bonding #swaddle #recovery from childbirth #the dragon prince #claudia #ezran #amaya #Aanya

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postapocalypse13 · 7 years

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sex as power (#MeToo)

Rape is a political statement. It says: "I am everything. You are nothing." God of Sky and Rain Women hold up half the sky? In His world women hold up the sky. Men sit around, masturbate, watch football, occasionally, go out and rape lowering that small part of the sky. Rose Red I am prickly, admittedly. I come by it rightly. Organically evolved defensive weapon (note, no offensive weapon attached). You must approach me with care. Feel the velvet of my vibrant leaves, gently. My flower, radiant in grace and wonder. Musical poetry wafting, my enchanted perfume calling for the discerning touch. But grasp too hard, too clumsily, without reflection, a thousand tiny cuts push you far away. In no time, you will heal, leaving me to bleed forever, attempting to clear from my system your poisonous residue. Bitter Dregs You don't get it. You don't want to. It would be too much to bear if you let your thought go there. Briefly unconscious, awakened to hard concrete ground surrounded by heels and toes, amazing they don't crush me, but no, like clockstep they walk around though occasionally a(n unmeaning?) shove -- I'm not a someone, just a minor obstacle unnoted in their busy day. No worries. Not like shoved down under hard muscle, jutting bone, stinking of beer and rage; or waking from too brief oblivion, broken pain, bleeding tears, torn, bruised, a colorful toy made for pleasure. Then the voices, echoes. Harpies and Sirens, Furies and sad old women. Fingers shake in disapprobation. Shrill voices call me beautiful, in the way that ugly things are. So bad, so pitiful, cardinal status among the neverweres. Struggling shadows, whispering curses demurely lest anyone notice and throw them further down, below duration. Never easy, confessing degradation. The sin adheres. No one wants to know. logic of rape culture I don't know. Would it be morally acceptable to destroy a person's mind while they sleep, because they'll never know they had one? Would it be morally just fine to cruelly use people's lives while keeping them unconscious without consent or prior knowledge, because unexplained pain won’t rise to legal proof? Is there value placed on personal integrity? Must boundaries that make individual beings complete with self-control, define a zone of self to be respected? Do conscious beings own a right to privacy, a zone of personal integrity, sacred space for self-discovery: “This is mine. This is me.” When we choose to agree for common utility, what inner prize do we remember to defend? Or do we prefer to behave as a bunch of random beasts, subject to convenient moral rules, precepts to defend hierarchy of self-proclaimed reasonable men? I am beginning to think that this whole anti-abortion, anti-contraception idea is about rapists who want to impregnate their victims and then have access to torture them for life. Mighty big hate on. Dazzling glitter of star light is doing its job: distract and divide while they rape, kill and rob. Ascending spiraled steps in hope of eventually reaching a solid surface, more a chore than a mission as we continue inexorably day by day. Or is that eternity by eternity? There's not much choice, as these stairs, though solid and seemingly endless, do not provide enough solidity, enough surface, for other sustained activity. There is not even room to climb by twos, thus enabling the solace of close companionship. Certainly there is no room to make love between, stair to stair, to find what respite or pleasure such loving might provide. Perhaps for some of the more daring an occasional rearguard rape may be accomplished, coming from behind as it were, never seeing the face of the victim, so that's alright. A temporary digression from the rote work, hand over hand, leg up and leg up, monotonous unfulfilling dance. The land, when we found her was warm and inviting. We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow. We ate of her fruit, fish, herds. We built with her trees, stone and clay. We drank from her beautiful streams which we soiled with our waste. Gaea was saviour and womb. We repaid her with rape. We didn't understand, thought her merely land, thought ourselves masters from afar. Perhaps it is not so much a war on women as another front in the war on people with lesser means. I mean, how dare a woman be raped if she can't afford her own treatment? Women are raped by husbands, strangers, dates, bosses, family members, often seriously injured or killed in the process. Implying we have nothing more serious to protest about than "glass ceilings" is a macabre insult. Small girlchild, rags and dust – follow her morning of traverse, this tiny world allowed. Each tent flap reveals fester of wounds deep and shallow, ravage disease. Senses, thought, subsumed to beat of breath outside rational context. Stuck in the dirt, her worth a hole where she bottoms out, tributary blood expelled. It could be rape; it could be terrifying violence. But you got it wrong. You blamed yourself. And the reasons you got it wrong go back to that world, not to you. Cross Purpose At time's crossroads, Reason drowns in rage, pain, radiated rain, treasonous air. Weary of care, of punishing, bottomless anger, of sobbing men robbed of their right to give birth. Taken from Mama's warmth, from the cave, to play brave. And it's ladies' choice as you squirm in fool's corner. Such a chore -- kissing at this and that for a chance to score the shame, the blame from stuck-out tongues, the bloody laughter "I could bite off that little thing -- make you squat to pee." Wired to fight, at any cost, because, of course, the Cross proclaims "We're right. They are inherently wrong." "Those below must be taught to obey our superior tools, to be broken, that we may ride." Against our better fate, our race divided along strict lines, by difference nature instilled to make us strong Our Gang Outrage Depression facing outward Taking power to give it away. This entrained impulse See them crackling, jangling puppets at puppy play, bite, bark, entangle, grab and tussle, growl, muscle in for the kill. Bloodlust arousal. Natural as puke, as death, violation as violent orgy violation as ecstatic initiation to the brotherhood. Life elevated to dreams, goals, careful weighing of coin and hours, dependable plans, actions that honor can favor, love, duty, allegiance to the rules of sanity and kind regard have no purpose here. Men of blood and battle fluid need no fine speeches, no valor -- only food and receptacles for their waste. Capital Crime Sweet old daddy Doing his will in the night Keeping the mamas afright for the plight of each beloved child, so tender so young He really oughta be hung! so say the neighbors, clicking their tongues Take him to the magistrate Fill his ears with the voice of hate while he's tied, defanged, prostrate Let our will be done! Tie him down in a prison cell Make him feel the wrath of Hell 'til we all are bloody well exhausted of our fun. No need to delete old daddy sweeping shit and burning bones any toil we deem atones to repay society's loans of wicked sowing days assuring he damn well pays for the pain and loss his wicked ways marred our happy homes. Trial It was said, everyone knew, some whispered in my presence, that I was born a bastard of rape. My mother, a pious maiden, in penance gave me into servitude to the Brotherhood. Thus she was allowed to return to her Sisterhood’s life of humble ministration. I never knew her, or have no memory of such an early time in my life. I knew nothing of the treasured childhood that comes with family. I was a low thing, circumscribed by duty. I was educated, taught to read, write, do sums, memorize long passages of scripture, sing in the Holy Choir, take my part in ceremonies, taught for useful service. I was taught to please my masters as my only worth. Any modification to please their plans was my sacred duty to undergo. Any master. Any metamorphosis. Any mutilation. Accept. When he bit me, as the fast-acting soporific emitted from his fangs entered my artery, I hoped this was my end. It wasn’t. He did not drain me, but woke me to force his blood into my sagging mouth to remake me in his image: immortal, powerful, supernatural, outside of the laws of man. I learn to create my own sacred place, free of duty, free of the yoke of belief. I am my own silent sanctuary beyond the touch, the reach of their world. What good am I, have I, what good does it do me to have a conscious me apart from my puppet role, plaything of powerful forces and men? Perhaps after all the trials of my journey, it is enough to have a consciousness that knows me so well and feels a kind of comforting love. Perhaps the kind of love a mother feels for a child she never wanted, who is yet of her, a companion to her trials. They arrive, enter a door next to a large glass window decorated in bright colored paint. It is a portrayal of a man on a cross. Bloody red holes mar his hands and feet. A thorny green crown sits on his head. Inside are cakes and hot black drinks on a short table. A few others are also eating and drinking. On the floor, next to a large, tattered chair, a woman sits, rocks, dirty and worn looking. Her shaking hands make attempts to feed coffee to her lips, but more is spilled on her worn and spattered dress. She has been mumbling incoherently. She is getting louder. Renata starts to make out words. "They fill yer belly with their babies. No more babies. They hurt and make me so sick. The men, they fill me with their nasty liquid babies. They make them grow in me, take over my body, make me sick, and cut so hard to get out. I won't take them, horrid demons. So they throw me back in the street for the men to fill me again, hurt me again. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. No more babies. No more pumping out their nasty babies. I won't. I won't go there. You can't make me leave." She burbles, gasps, cries, mumbles, and repeats her litany. She rocks her body, suckles on her fingers and strands of long, lank hair. She seems in a trance, perhaps poisoned, perhaps cursed. From further back in the room, a man dressed in black, prominently carrying a black book, approaches the group around the table. "Don't mind Betty. She's a hard case. We can't find anywhere that will take her." He seems perturbed by this inconvenience, embarrassed by this woman's plaint. Thoughts of keeping still while learning how to blend in have flown from Renata's mind. She goes quickly, yet with gentle motion, to sit beside this Betty. Close up, she is surprised to see this woman is young, certainly no longer a child, but not the old used up hag she had appeared to be. Her burbling snot and tears mixed with spilled coffee and older stains make her an unappetizing sight. Yet, there is something so fragile, so sad and affecting in her defiantly defeated form, Renata can not help but reach out her arms to comfort. Nobody likes to talk about Betty; but you can bet we cream over her (secretly, all cozy in our beds, in our heads and groins). Nobody likes to admit what casual cruelty we are capable of. Gang-raping children because we can doesn't appeal to our desired self-image. Her mother allowed it in exchange for food, a place to sleep, the blessed drugs to keep away the pain of knowing the endless, hopeless misery life had become. Or, she was alone on that dark street, lost and frightened, with nowhere safe to go, no one protecting her just then. Her sexuality tempted me, in all that frenzy of bonding blood cries, heightened primal energies, hot insistent bodies falling under ritual spell. She is but a sacrifice, a holding cell for sin. There is no freedom for will to grow within her, only unwanted, tainted seed, thrust outward from the nauseous collective psyche to poison her potential. Does she need to be defined by what has been done against her nascent will? Is there salvation in finding a slim, hiding, healthy cutting from her core, carefully planted and watered in hallow grounding? And what of all those other sacrificial lambs? What cosmically sympathetic vibration can be turned to healing, calling forth a will to grow whole, to become one's own desired destiny? Mothers' Night cascading shards uneasy echoes falling "It's our calling." Rape of Earth, hot spurts of words savage knives Abiding Mothers, sacred and mundane twist into harridan cold stars wail, hurtling waves Sad, old, crust of ages sliced, screwed, carved up for profit "It's not the color of the skin, the culture of the smile" the scent of danger, the inborn stranger -- all excuses for Us (superior) and Them (inferior) "They are not like we; but lower curs." we may harm with unfettered glee Cursed to be cut to our requirement. Borders clear "Here, fear fences in our livelihood and wives." Leave THEM to putrid pits cunning jabs, our pleasure. Thus, all treasure that might regale, heal, reveal true worth, of man and Earth sold for pittance of potash to dance a weary jig Post-trauma A child of my own rape, it shaped me, made me less and more Memories stored, to when I can't go on implore: "You'll feel better when you're gone."

#MeToo

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