Post by Layla Ellison on Sept 8, 2014 15:11:09 GMT -5
Lita's already pregnant when she marries Gaenor, not that she realises it at the time. It's an oversight, not a mistake - never a mistake, because no child of hers will ever be a mistake. She's never quite sure how it happened, when she finally realises that her morning queasiness has nothing to do with food poisoning or stress. She can't recall missing a dose of her contraceptive potion, and she always brews it herself so she knows there's no chance it was a faulty batch. She didn't graduate top of her class in Potions for nothing.
In the end though, it doesn't matter how it happened or if she feels that she's too young to be a good mother. She's eighteen and she's married to the man she loves, a man who definitely loves her for herself (because it's not like she brought anything to the marriage beyond herself and the charity Kris and Cleo gifted her with after her own parents disinherited and disowned her). That's a better start than most women get.
"We're going to have to buy a crib," she announces blithely, because that's the only thing she knows for sure babies need, curling up in Gaenor's lap without paying any attention to the newspaper he'd been attempting to read. "And toys. And a kitten, but that's just because I want a cat."
*
Merry smiles throughout her first pregnancy; mostly polite, diplomatic smiles, all too often strained and holding back a wave of hormonal temper as she deals with the rich and entitled bastards who have looked down on her her entire life for being both poor and half-blooded. She doesn't quite fit in her husband's world, with its fancy balls and politic undercurrents. She wasn't raised to this life and, unlike Pip and Rosa, she's too old to adapt with such ease as her younger siblings display. Rister's wealth means little to her, and his bloodline even less; she'd be happy working two jobs to get by as she did only a few short years ago. The people who sneer and murmur about gold diggers are easily disregarded, at least - they know less than nothing about her if they think she loves Rister for his monetary worth.
It's that truth that gentles the sharp, vicious edges of her smile when she's alone with her husband and she has the freedom to look at him without fearing she'll appear weak. For better or worse, she loves this man, and he's worth every cutting remark she bites back.
*
Pregnancy is an internal struggle for Ashlyn in much the same way that marrying Damon was at first. There's a part of her, however small, that forever remains ten years old: alone, unhappy, and crying with bitter heartbreak because no one loves her and no one wants her. It's the worst of childhoods, growing up with the utter certainty that you mean less than nothing to your own family. Even now, she doesn't know what was so lacking in her that her parents couldn't bring themselves to keep her. It could be any number of things; maybe she was too blonde, too quiet, too noisy, too small, too female. Whatever it was, they saw it immediately, and it has overshadowed the majority of her life so far.
She takes a long time to realise that she loves Damon, and longer still to accept that she isn't the worst decision he's ever made in his life. Loving the child growing within her is pathetically easy in comparison; she feels the change within her body and immediately loves their baby with such fierceness that she doesn't know how her own mother managed to mess up the most natural response possible.
"My little Liatris," she murmurs after twenty hours of labour, cradling her daughter in tired arms for an all too brief moment before Damon can snatch her away and leave Ashlyn to sleep. "My sweet, beautiful girl."
*
Honestly, Alaric will just be glad once all this pregnancy malarkey is over and he can have his wife back again. He loves Leandra more than anything, so very much that he willingly looked after a bloody lizard even before he really knew her, because something about that petite, vibrant redhead just drew him in. He's suffered through lectures about boring old stuff that literally no one except his wife would ever be interested in, been dragged along on numerous nonsensical expeditions, and even arranged a few opportunities for her to break into a few houses and offices that belong to his business rivals (because he might be their opponent in the business world, but Alaric is superb at separating business and pleasure, at least until he sinks a few knives into their backs under the guise of patting their shoulder). He'll, he even puts up with the occasional murderous looks he still gets from her brothers. For a man with a reputation for being ruthless and merciless beneath his charming smile, Alaric is almost completely, at least eighty percent, whipped.
He'll love their brats, already loves this one even though it isn't born yet, but he'll be beyond grateful when the nine months are completely over and his beautiful, flame-haired wife stops being sick all the time and looking so pale that he nearly makes the mistake of thinking her fragile.
*
"You're going to have to call it quits after this one," her cousin warns seriously, eyebrows drawn together with worry.
Layla hums noncommittally, not deigning to respond. Ashlyn does have a point, she supposes. As much as she has previously thrived through her pregnancies, this fifth child is weighing heavily on her, sapping the strength from her body too quickly. She's always been petite, both in stature and build, but she's strolled through four other pregnancies without needing to slow down in the slightest. This time, however, it's sometimes a struggle to not just nap the entire day away, curled up on the rug with one of the dogs.
"Just...think about it," Ashlyn sighs eventually. "We all know your husband can be a bit dense but even Jared has noticed, and he's worried about you. If you won't have this conversation with me then have it with him - before Kris or Rister feel they need to step in."
That, at least, makes a faint, tired smile curve Layla's mouth. "I'm not bothered about discussing my body with my father or brother," she murmurs peaceably, a small flicker of defiance flaring in her blue eyes. "Let them try, if they want."
*
Killian is...absent-minded, if one wants to be polite about it. Alaric certainly has several other adjectives for him, but none of those can be used in mixed company, not now that there are little ears pressed against every door, it seems. He's still as intelligent as ever, and good at managing what was once his father's business, but there are days when Morgana is as much his carer as his wife. It's very, very easy for him to get absorbed in his papers and business dealings; Morgana can always capture his attention, of course, just by being there, but not much else can distract him when he's working, thin-framed glasses settled on his nose or pushed precariously upwards to rest on his forehead.
"Daddy," two voices whine in unison as one dark-haired child clambers over the other to get onto his lap and then pulls her twin up beside her. "Daddy, come play with us."
He steadies them carefully with one hand, eyes already creasing into a smile. The little terrors know better than to come into his study when the door's closed but he can't say no to them anymore than he can refuse their mother - and sure enough, Morgana's smirking at him from the doorframe when he looks up, older than she was when they first met but all the more beautiful for the shared memories he sees in her dark eyes. He has three meetings in the morning that he needs to read up on, but that can wait.
*
Nieve has been waiting a lifetime for this. She's loved him since they were nine years old and she was innocent enough to think that kisses were payment enough for saving her from being caught on a fence. She's watched him with too many girls to count, gritting her teeth so hard each time that it hurt. He's damaged her without even meaning to, because how else is she meant to feel when the one boy she loves more than anything looks past her every day for seven years as if she's too plain and boring to catch his eye?
But just as things aren't as simple as they could be just because they aren't nine anymore, she isn't a teenager anymore and things don't have to be that complicated. She's made her own mistakes and hurt people too. She lost her virginity to Robert Alden, of all people, the Slytherin boy two years older who held no interest for her beyond the fact that he actually saw her, and only did it out of spite and jealousy because she was fifteen and stupid enough to think that anything was better than being alone when Gabriel was probably sleeping his way through the female half of Hogwarts.
She's grown and matured; they both have. Loving him has never been a problem, it's learning to trust that has taken the most time and caused her to stumble so often. Now, though, she thinks she's ready. They both are. Nieve rubs a thumb over the shiny new metal of her wedding ring and then brings it to her mouth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood that she swipes over a small black rune inscribed behind her left ear. The mark simply glistens red for a moment before fading away, leaving nothing behind to indicate the previous existence of the magic she and her sister have used to protect against pregnancy since their mum first taught them how.
In the end though, it doesn't matter how it happened or if she feels that she's too young to be a good mother. She's eighteen and she's married to the man she loves, a man who definitely loves her for herself (because it's not like she brought anything to the marriage beyond herself and the charity Kris and Cleo gifted her with after her own parents disinherited and disowned her). That's a better start than most women get.
"We're going to have to buy a crib," she announces blithely, because that's the only thing she knows for sure babies need, curling up in Gaenor's lap without paying any attention to the newspaper he'd been attempting to read. "And toys. And a kitten, but that's just because I want a cat."
*
Merry smiles throughout her first pregnancy; mostly polite, diplomatic smiles, all too often strained and holding back a wave of hormonal temper as she deals with the rich and entitled bastards who have looked down on her her entire life for being both poor and half-blooded. She doesn't quite fit in her husband's world, with its fancy balls and politic undercurrents. She wasn't raised to this life and, unlike Pip and Rosa, she's too old to adapt with such ease as her younger siblings display. Rister's wealth means little to her, and his bloodline even less; she'd be happy working two jobs to get by as she did only a few short years ago. The people who sneer and murmur about gold diggers are easily disregarded, at least - they know less than nothing about her if they think she loves Rister for his monetary worth.
It's that truth that gentles the sharp, vicious edges of her smile when she's alone with her husband and she has the freedom to look at him without fearing she'll appear weak. For better or worse, she loves this man, and he's worth every cutting remark she bites back.
*
Pregnancy is an internal struggle for Ashlyn in much the same way that marrying Damon was at first. There's a part of her, however small, that forever remains ten years old: alone, unhappy, and crying with bitter heartbreak because no one loves her and no one wants her. It's the worst of childhoods, growing up with the utter certainty that you mean less than nothing to your own family. Even now, she doesn't know what was so lacking in her that her parents couldn't bring themselves to keep her. It could be any number of things; maybe she was too blonde, too quiet, too noisy, too small, too female. Whatever it was, they saw it immediately, and it has overshadowed the majority of her life so far.
She takes a long time to realise that she loves Damon, and longer still to accept that she isn't the worst decision he's ever made in his life. Loving the child growing within her is pathetically easy in comparison; she feels the change within her body and immediately loves their baby with such fierceness that she doesn't know how her own mother managed to mess up the most natural response possible.
"My little Liatris," she murmurs after twenty hours of labour, cradling her daughter in tired arms for an all too brief moment before Damon can snatch her away and leave Ashlyn to sleep. "My sweet, beautiful girl."
*
Honestly, Alaric will just be glad once all this pregnancy malarkey is over and he can have his wife back again. He loves Leandra more than anything, so very much that he willingly looked after a bloody lizard even before he really knew her, because something about that petite, vibrant redhead just drew him in. He's suffered through lectures about boring old stuff that literally no one except his wife would ever be interested in, been dragged along on numerous nonsensical expeditions, and even arranged a few opportunities for her to break into a few houses and offices that belong to his business rivals (because he might be their opponent in the business world, but Alaric is superb at separating business and pleasure, at least until he sinks a few knives into their backs under the guise of patting their shoulder). He'll, he even puts up with the occasional murderous looks he still gets from her brothers. For a man with a reputation for being ruthless and merciless beneath his charming smile, Alaric is almost completely, at least eighty percent, whipped.
He'll love their brats, already loves this one even though it isn't born yet, but he'll be beyond grateful when the nine months are completely over and his beautiful, flame-haired wife stops being sick all the time and looking so pale that he nearly makes the mistake of thinking her fragile.
*
"You're going to have to call it quits after this one," her cousin warns seriously, eyebrows drawn together with worry.
Layla hums noncommittally, not deigning to respond. Ashlyn does have a point, she supposes. As much as she has previously thrived through her pregnancies, this fifth child is weighing heavily on her, sapping the strength from her body too quickly. She's always been petite, both in stature and build, but she's strolled through four other pregnancies without needing to slow down in the slightest. This time, however, it's sometimes a struggle to not just nap the entire day away, curled up on the rug with one of the dogs.
"Just...think about it," Ashlyn sighs eventually. "We all know your husband can be a bit dense but even Jared has noticed, and he's worried about you. If you won't have this conversation with me then have it with him - before Kris or Rister feel they need to step in."
That, at least, makes a faint, tired smile curve Layla's mouth. "I'm not bothered about discussing my body with my father or brother," she murmurs peaceably, a small flicker of defiance flaring in her blue eyes. "Let them try, if they want."
*
Killian is...absent-minded, if one wants to be polite about it. Alaric certainly has several other adjectives for him, but none of those can be used in mixed company, not now that there are little ears pressed against every door, it seems. He's still as intelligent as ever, and good at managing what was once his father's business, but there are days when Morgana is as much his carer as his wife. It's very, very easy for him to get absorbed in his papers and business dealings; Morgana can always capture his attention, of course, just by being there, but not much else can distract him when he's working, thin-framed glasses settled on his nose or pushed precariously upwards to rest on his forehead.
"Daddy," two voices whine in unison as one dark-haired child clambers over the other to get onto his lap and then pulls her twin up beside her. "Daddy, come play with us."
He steadies them carefully with one hand, eyes already creasing into a smile. The little terrors know better than to come into his study when the door's closed but he can't say no to them anymore than he can refuse their mother - and sure enough, Morgana's smirking at him from the doorframe when he looks up, older than she was when they first met but all the more beautiful for the shared memories he sees in her dark eyes. He has three meetings in the morning that he needs to read up on, but that can wait.
*
Nieve has been waiting a lifetime for this. She's loved him since they were nine years old and she was innocent enough to think that kisses were payment enough for saving her from being caught on a fence. She's watched him with too many girls to count, gritting her teeth so hard each time that it hurt. He's damaged her without even meaning to, because how else is she meant to feel when the one boy she loves more than anything looks past her every day for seven years as if she's too plain and boring to catch his eye?
But just as things aren't as simple as they could be just because they aren't nine anymore, she isn't a teenager anymore and things don't have to be that complicated. She's made her own mistakes and hurt people too. She lost her virginity to Robert Alden, of all people, the Slytherin boy two years older who held no interest for her beyond the fact that he actually saw her, and only did it out of spite and jealousy because she was fifteen and stupid enough to think that anything was better than being alone when Gabriel was probably sleeping his way through the female half of Hogwarts.
She's grown and matured; they both have. Loving him has never been a problem, it's learning to trust that has taken the most time and caused her to stumble so often. Now, though, she thinks she's ready. They both are. Nieve rubs a thumb over the shiny new metal of her wedding ring and then brings it to her mouth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood that she swipes over a small black rune inscribed behind her left ear. The mark simply glistens red for a moment before fading away, leaving nothing behind to indicate the previous existence of the magic she and her sister have used to protect against pregnancy since their mum first taught them how.
