#and one half of the platonic husbands getting traded

[tysonsquared]

my dears, there will be no gtapot update for another week, probably, as I have three exams looming and need to lock in. so all my joel lovers, you are save from the heartbreak of That being discussed for seven more days

(french vocab and ice skates will be updated regularly, I already have those chapters written)

send me good vibes for my exams, I'll be more active soon <3

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Are we going to get to meet Aunt Edith? She sounds like a delight!

Aunt Edith is Vox's father's older sister. She's also the black sheep of the family. An archeologist by trade, her studies send her all over the world and back again, though she spends a significant amount of time in South America. She's slowed down a little over the years, and writes a lot of travel journals about the places she been and especially the people she's met. She's a very worldly type. Vox absolutely adores her.

She's also the one who gave Vox a lot of his advice on things, like the sand dollar story. Vox learned a lot about acceptance, both of himself and others, from her.

Anon asked: Did Al meet Aunt Edith? If so what did he think of her??

Anon asked: What's Vox's aunt Edith like? Has she met Al yet? Did they get along?

Yes, Al has met Aunt Edith. He loves Aunt Edith. She's strong like Vox, but almost half the height. She can drink Al under the table, no problem. She doesn't take crap from anyone. Annnd she's constantly telling her brother that if he doesn't shut his trap, she's going feed him to a swarm of piranhas. Al thinks she's amazing. And insane. Which makes her even better in his book XD.

Aunt Edith adores Alastor. Vox still writes to her as often as he can, and when Al started showing up in his letters, she knew right away what that meant. (She was already well aware of Vox's sexuality by that point ;)) She was dying to meet Al, honestly. He's as good as gold in her book for making Vox so happy.

As a quick aside, Aunt Edith doesn't speak to the rest of the family either. She really only stayed for Vox. When he cut them off, she did too, happily. She also has absolutely no idea about the murders. Also, also, Harry is her platonic husband. He's a nature photographer and amateur entomologist.

Thanks for the asks!

[canarypoint]

maybe reader is bestfriends with yelena and finds her to be the most badass person she knows, but kate has a crush on r and is stupidly jealous trying to impress her skdkakdmasm

a/n: hcs are not my thing but i had too many ideas that wouldn't fit one drabble lmao anyways i got super carried away and forgot all of my ideas as i was writing. i have no idea what this is i'm sorry. one more thing, i will d*e before i have yelena call kate anything other than "Kate Bishop" exactly like that

warning(s): poor attempt(s) at humor, i'm not funny lol, jealous kate is adorable, all lower case bc i felt like it, yelena is asexual and aromantic, HAWKEYE (INCLUDING EPISODE 5) SPOILERS, mentions of (nat's) death, the snap/blip/whateverthefuck the iw/endg*me events are called, not proofread, let me know if i missed anything

pairing(s): kate bishop x fem!widow!reader, yelena belova x platonic!reader

you met yelena a few months after she and her family took down the red room

you were a widow too, which really sucked, but on the bright side-

instant best friends

melina and alexei adore you

eventually yelena introduced you to nat, and now you have a big sister :)

a/n: my hcs my rules nat survived or got brought back or whatever idk you decide

yelena and you worked together to get integrated into society (she was much better and much faster than you at it)

nat also helped a lot

she introduced you to the james bond franchise

very disappointed (but also highly amused bc she's actually just a softie under her rough 'i'm-an-ex-assassin-turned-shield-agent-turned-avenger' persona) when all you did was whine about the inaccuracies

but now it's your thing :)

anyways back to yelena-

she's the neediest person you've ever met

fanny (her dog) is less of an attention wh*re than her

like honestly you could be doing anything and she'll walk into your room, sit on your bed (regardless of whether you're still in it or not) and just cuddle whatever part of you she can reach

she gives no fucks about awkwardness

it gets to a point where people don't know if you're dating or not

which is like, fine, y'know? neither of you really try to correct people (at least not anymore), except she's ace and aro and isn't interested in dating, and at this point it would be weird to date you

(she said that in the nicest way she could and nat still scolded her for half an hour about politeness and manners, all while you stood in a corner laughing your ass off at the entire situation)

plus you're convinced she's way out of your league

like that woman (yelena, nat too, but specifically yelena) is so. fucking. awesome.

you've watched her take people out with nothing but a paper clip and a teddy bear

(the teddy bear was just for show)

so yes the woman is a badass and you will fight anyone that argues otherwise

excluding nat, but even she knows how badass her sister is

but anyways the snap happens while you and yelena are at some widow's house or something (you're not entirely sure the situation was very confusing)

and then you return and five years have passed?? and the widow-maybe-not-widow has a husband? and a kid?

and apparently nat died but then somehow got brought back to life? or was like... unkilled?

at least yelena used the word "unkilled"

nat said her soul was traded for the soul stone and then captain america traded it back for her soul??? it was a very very rough conversation

so anyways after you and yelena got caught up you met hawkeye

that was interesting

you accidentally scared him bc his hearing aids were off so he tried killing you with a quarter

that was fun

you're now 25¢ richer (more like less-poor)

and then clint's partner? sidekick? protege?? walked in

instant heart eyes

from both of you

neither of you knew

the others immediately started making bets

you... did not realize you were in love

you've never been in love before! how were you supposed to know that feeling was romantic attraction!? no one taught you that!

kate on the other hand

fucking WHIPPED

like you got a papercut once (it was yelena's fault :( she threw an envelope at you instead of nat)

kate flipped out

literally almost flipped a table trying to get to you with an entire, brand new first aid kit

it was hilarious but you were too busy pouting at yelena to notice

a week later yelena and nat were sparring, so obviously you were sitting on the bench taking notes because oh my god it's THE natasha romanoff in a spar right in front of you???

also yelena had this one trick you couldn't master so you were studying her fighting moves (also just so you could finally beat her in a fight)

kate did not like that

well more like she didn't like that she was like 10 feet away sparring with clint and you just barely missed her flipping him over her shoulder (and accidentally almost dislocating his in the process)

it's fine he was fine clint is FINE

but yeah you didn't notice her and it hurt :')

clint finds the entire situation hilarious

yelena wants to help but she's protective and doesn't want kate to break your heart (you're fragile. even if you aren't. you're fragile, to her at least)

nat is also protective, but she also has more confidence in your ability to recover from heartbreak than her sister does LKSHFKGDF

so she decides to take pity on kate (for your sake) and help her

but nat isn't really one for "dating" all that much and only really knows what she's had to learn for missions, so she tells kate to just "put the truth out there. no big deal, she feels the same way. you're welcome"

kate did not follow nat's advice

she just kept pining

and getting jealous

somehow it became a vicious cycle

but then one day, team widowhawk (clint and kate voted for team hawkwidow but it was 3 vs 2 so guess who won 🙃) had to take down a smuggling ring or something

and you and yelena ended up having to pretend to be each other's date to the event

it was awkward for everyone

but it was the push kate needed to finally admit her feelings

only she got scared, started rambling, and then kissed you mid-sentence (it was her sentence?? she cut herself off by kissing you and it was so funny yes the others recorded it)

then you started kissing her back (just because you know nothing about dating doesn't mean you don't know how to kiss, kate learned that night)

and suddenly she realized she was kissing you without consent

so she pulled back and started apologizing

which only led to more rambles and she was literally on the verge of tears

"katie it's fine, you can kiss me all you want" -you

"i thought i told you not to call me that" -kate, wiping her tears

"you did, but i'm not gonna stop unless you make me" -you said with a wink

she did not get the hint until yelena yelled, "Kate Bishop, she wants you to kiss her again"

and then she did

and yelena said "see? you are funny sometimes, Kate Bishop!"

and now you have a reckless dumbass of a girlfriend to look after and kate has a dumbass ex-assassin girlfriend to look after

[petrichormeraki]

AITE BET LETS GO MAGNUS ARCHIVE DSMP AU

Tommy; Protagonist bc Tommy, no one knows how he got hired but he does good work in the field and is practically a supernatural magnet. May end up getting taken by either the Lonely or Spiral (Yes I know the JonMartin parallels but it is PURELY PLATONIC)

Tubbo; Archivist who is much more Bastard than Baby once you get to know him. Tommy’s perpetual armrest. Will bite you.

Wilbur; Tommy’s missing brother. Avatar (Arsonist) of the Desolation who frequently sets old monuments and bars on fire.

Niki; The Only Smart One. She is half the reason these idiots are still alive. Will stab as a warning. May or may not join the Hunt. (fuck this is another parallel but it Just WORKS)

Captain Puffy; The other half who keeps these idiots alive. Hardly remembers her past but remembers working on ships a lot and doesn’t like cloudy weather. Could also be the one who saves Tommy from the Lonely should that become A Problem.

Technoblade; Avatar of the Hunt. Still an anarchist but also keeps tabs on most cult activity in Britain. Probably does hits on other followers. Has worked with both Dream and Wilbur but usually leaves the Magnus Institute alone. Usually.

Philza; Probably one of those poor souls who bargained with a Reaper and chooses to remain. Is often seen around Tommy.

Dream; The Distortionist

George; Legit just some normal guy. Maybe, potentially.

Sapnap; Pegged as part of the Desolation - and nearly does become an Avatar - but is pretty chill and works with Tommy alongside his husbands.

Quackity; Not yet an Avatar but he’s got the influence of the Eye. In the middle of rooting out agents of both the Hunt and the Spiral for the sake of his other husband.

Karl; Unwitting Avatar of the Spiral who may or may not be able to time travel. Alternatively, is an Avatar of the Eye but whatever happened to him fucked up his powers which gives the trade off of Knowing while also Forgetting equal parts of knowledge.

THIS IS SO GOOD ALL OF THESE JUST FIT SO WELL

[deanssexplorations]

MFFFF(F) Turns Into an MFFF (Part 1: The Buildup)

I’ve already blogged about the setup to my planned MFFFF(maybe F) party, a little post-Covid birthday present I’ve been planning for myself. 

I gotta say. These things are ridiculously difficult to pull off. Like to the point where I’m almost thinking they aren’t worth it. But then I keep in mind what’s in store. Yeah, I guess it’s definitely worth it. I’ve done one MFFFF, and had an MFFF fall into my lap, but I’ve had just as many fall through for one reason or another (although in fairness, one of them fell through because of the Covid lockdown). 

And true to form, this one had its logistical struggles. I always knew that Heather was an unlikely attendee, hence the parentheses around that fifth F. Sure enough, the morning of the party I texted her, only for her to confirm that with everything she had going on that day she was planning to just go home and crash. She would not be partaking that evening. 

Okay, that I was expecting. I still had four Fs. I was still happy. But then not an hour later, Gabi texted to say she had woken up with a sore throat and needed to sit the evening out, out of concern for everyone’s health. While I was very disappointed to hear it, I knew she wasn’t just blowing me off and I appreciated her concern for the group. I knew she was really disappointed, so I thanked her and told her I hoped she would feel better soon. 

Which meant we were down to an MFFF. Grrr. Yes, I know that’s an incredibly privileged sentiment, and most men would give their left nut to have three beautiful women fawning over them - figuratively. But still, I’d been excited to top or at least equal my previous party, but this time was not to be.

Realizing how snotty I was being, I - figuratively - dusted myself off, reminded myself of my good fortune, and opted to focus on the positive. Which consisted of three gorgeous women who were about  to fuck me every which way that evening. Dean was one lucky guy.

It was hard for me to concentrate as I went through my daily routine. At my weekly fencing lessons that morning I eased off by half a step, lest I tear a hamstring and be incapacitated for my big evening! I wonder what my opponents would have thought had they known why they were having it a bit easier against me that day. 

Finally it came time to shave, shower, and head out. I wore a sharp blue suit, with a crisp white shirt, dress shoes, and no tie.  Trunk full of goodies for the evening. 

I had given a lot of thought to the venue, and arriving at the hotel, was very pleased with my choice. I had selected the Hotel Nia, an Autograph Collection hotel in Menlo Park with impeccable, modern design and a perfect, sexy, upscale vibe. I met Bella in the lobby, where we checked in and headed up to the suite.

Bella was dressed in a red carpet-worthy, off-the-shoulder, form-fitting gown of what appeared to be slinky blue satin. It showed off every one of her sexy curves. It certainly grabbed my attention, as well as, I later learned, the hotel staff as well. 

[Editor’s note: when I turned my car over to the valet, he asked if I was checking in or just there for the evening. I told him I was checking in of course. When Bella handed him her keys though he didn’t bother to ask, assuming she would be departing later that evening - the implication of course being that she would be, shall we say, working her trade that evening. She certainly looked the part.]

Oh, there is an important wrinkle I haven’t mentioned yet. This was Bella’s and my first (real) date. We had met online less than two weeks before, and had one platonic lunch meet and greet, along with her husband. We had been hot and heavy via text, as new relationships are, and now that we were finally alone together we could barely keep our hands of each other, beginning our hot and heavy make out session in the elevator.

We managed to get to the room, drop our stuff off, and were more or less immediately back at it. Bella is an amazing kisser. I felt jolts of electricity as we locked lips, along with an unmistakable shudder running up and down her body. I pressed her up against the wall of the hotel room and ran my hands down the curve of her hip, hiking her oh-so-tight dress, fondling her amazing ass, erect cock pressing against her hip. Relocating to the bed, we continued to make out like two horny teenagers as I hiked her skirt even higher, my fingers finding their way to her pussy.

She was incredibly wet.

We eventually dragged ourselves away from the bed and started setting up the room. I had brought a nice bottle of champagne for each woman, along with a handwritten note thanking them for giving me such a fabulous gift and letting them know why they are special to me. I then set out some lube, condoms, and sex toys, while Bella set up the several dozen votive candles she had brought. Liz arrived right then, looking stunning in an extremely form-fitting LBD made of a stretchy material that struggled to contain her amazing rack. She was breathtaking. She had come straight from a daytime obligation, and told us she had to wriggle into her dress in the parking lot

What I would have paid to see that!

Liz had made a playlist for the evening and brought a speaker as well as a beautiful set of champagne flutes as a birthday gift. I was so tickled by her thoughtfulness.

Meanwhile, Bella was kicking herself for forgetting the card she had found for the occasion. The cover revealed a peek-a-boo glimpse of a line drawing of a naked woman, which upon opening the card, was revealed to be a whole clutch of naked women with a single man in the corner.

The caption read “Thanks for inviting me to your orgy.”

I don’t know where you find cards like that but I need to start shopping with Bella.

A few minutes later the room was all set up, and there was a knock on the door.  We opened it to find the lovely Jennifer, looking fabulous in a short, slinky black dress studded with silver sequins. And amazing, sequined come fuck me shoes with three inch heels that put her right my eye level.

Jennifer is nothing if not statuesque.

I was so happy with my three beautiful dates and was secretly, not-so-secretly excited to show them off to the other patrons in the hotel bar. Liz seemed to have similar thoughts, remarking that with the four of us decked out the way we were, everyone would think I was there with my three hookers. 

“Sex workers,” she quickly corrected herself. 

The bar was moderately crowded. It had an clean, modern aesthetic befitting the upscale elegance of the rest of the hotel. We found a corner table not far from a number of other patrons where we squeezed into an L-shaped couch. We had fun sipping fancy cocktails, eating fancy appetizers, and regaling each other with stories of how we met and how we’ve fucked each other. We did play a little Never Have I Ever, but having done that as an icebreaker at more than one sex party I’ve come to the conclusion that it seems like it should be sexier than it actually is. I certainly found playing Never Have I Ever significantly less sexy in that context than it was in mixed crowds back in high school and college.

I’m sure that wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that my bar of what constitutes sexy is significantly higher now than it was back then. Nothing whatsoever. 

After an hour or so, we went back upstairs, gathered on the suite’s couch and played spin the bottle in the candle lit outer room. Now that was sexy as hell. Probably because I got to see three gorgeous women kissing each other. And I got to kiss them myself. At that point I may as well have just died and gone to heaven, because that pretty much seemed seemed to be the pinnacle of anyone’s sexual experience.

But as it turns out we were just getting started...

[adventures-in-poly]

An addendum to yesterday’s post, because I forgot to add a part about the multiple-life-partners setup that does not make sense.

Communities face a struggle between the good of the group vs. the good of the whole. In a typical two-partner household, the assumption is that the two partners will stay together as a unit, which crucially involves cohabitation. If one partner needs to move (due to a job offer, family needs, or any other reason), the understanding is that the couple will discuss their options and then choose the same one: either both partners move or both partners stay. Obviously that does not work out perfectly in every situation. For example, my parents have lived separately at least twice due to jobs vs. moving not lining up, and same with me and my husband. But the understanding in all of these cases was that the couple would reunite eventually. A friend of mine in grad school had to move across the country for her school, with her husband staying behind as he tried to get his shit together to move. He never did, and eventually they divorced. Same thing happened a friend of mine from work. (Note that I’m not describing what has to happen - long-distance marriages/partnerships without the understanding that the two will reunite can certainly work in the right circumstances - but I’m describing what the norm is.)

It’s hard enough to work out life circumstances with only two adults in the partnership. The more adults you add in, the harder it gets. For example, one of my best friends used to live a 5 minute drive from me. Then I moved to be closer to my husband and our work. Then she eventually moved even further to be closer to her��husband’s work, which is in the opposite direction from where my work is. We now live an hour and a half away from each other because of decisions made so we could each be closer to our husbands. I’d love to start up a platonic partnership with her, but given our current living situations (she owns her house, and if M and I are ever lucky enough to afford a house, we’d be moving further away from my friend, not closer), it just isn’t feasible.

Let’s say, though, that M & I and my friend and her husband had been in a four-person platonic partnership back when we all used to live in the same town. Then friend’s husband gets a tenure track position and eventually tenure at his current job an hour away from where we all used to live, and M & I both get tech jobs an hour in the opposite direction. This was back before remote work was an option for anybody. We would have had to decide to either (a) all move together, likely forfeiting at least one of the job offers, (b) live together but have at least one person drive huge distances to get to their work, (c) live separately in a long-distance partnership, where we could not necessarily rely on each other for everyday things that require people to be physically together, or (d) dissolve our partnership in favor of individualism. None of these options seem great. It’s some absolute shit that teleportation doesn’t exist yet.

We see this same thing in so many coming-of-age/hero’s-journey stories. Our hero comes from a small community where everyone is happy just doing the same thing all the time and doing what’s expected of them, but our hero needs more, so they break away and go on their own quest and eventually start their own life. I’ve seen so many of those stories, and few if any stories where the moral flows in the opposite direction, towards preservation of the community. I do come from a white western upper middle class society though, so that’s not a surprise, and I bet the situation is different in cultures where the good of the group is valued above individualism. Moana actually does this really well in my opinion: she has her hero’s journey, but at the end she is able to tie it back to her community so they can come with her, and they all grow and evolve together.

I just don’t see a way to form a multi-adult cohabitation partnership in my life, though, where everyone feels both supported and fulfilled. If one person wants to pick up and move to another state, do we really expect all the other adults to pick up and move with them? If folks are allowed to just pick up and move, given how difficult it is to build community, do we really expect the group to sustain itself, or will it dissolve over time the more people take opportunities that bring them further away? If the group comes to some agreement at its formation that all members are to stay in one location to preserve the group, do we really expect that all adults in the group will feel fulfilled for the rest of their lives and not stifled? Perhaps it can work, for example if everyone’s trade in the group had dependent upon where they live, if everyone’s can be done remotely, or if the group contains only a few high-paid members who provides the financial support and the rest work on the land or in the home, and everyone is happy staying where they are and don’t need to uproot. OR IF UNIVERSAL BASIC INCOME WERE A THING. OR IF WEATHER PATTERNS WEREN’T SO COMPLETELY FUCKED THAT PEOPLE NEED TO MOVE BECAUSE THEIR TOWN BURNED DOWN OR THE SMOKE IS GIVING THEM BREATHING PROBLEMS. But that situation absolutely does not describe my group of friends, when everyone is moving further and further away and making more and more individualistic decisions each year.

TLDR, and this is by no means a novel statement: Community is stifled by capitalism and also by global warming, aka fuckery that most of us who want the commune lifestyle didn’t even choose.

(An aside: Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota book series contains exactly this kind of group structure that I’ve described. I think some of the reasons it works in the series are (a) transportation is massively improved, such that it takes something like an hour to drive [yes, drive] [be driven in an automatic flying car actually] from Chile to Japan, (b) everyone works only 20 hours a week, (c) every group home has a kitchen tree, so the food situation is sorted out and nobody goes hungry, and (d) poverty and global warming don’t really seem to be a thing anymore.)

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

Prompt: Going to a Fair Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Teen Audiences And Up Content Warnings: None Summary: A beautiful thing about Toussaint is the fairs and masquerades the dutchess holds every now and then. And the big canopy beds. Oh, those are the best part.

[This one turned out to a little all over the place but I still really enjoyed writing it. Hope you’ll enjoy it too, my darlings.]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Geralt, my love, you look wonderful, stop being so hard on yourself," Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around the witcher's waist and hugging him from the back, locking eyes with him through the mirror.

Geralt doesn't really share the bard's enthusiasm. He's used to his armour, to thick black leather with only a few elements of silver, and that is what feels natural, what feels right.

A dark-crimson - almost wine-red, really - doublet with intricate embroidery in gold thread does not.

He knows that he'd agreed to this himself, knows that Jaskier had told him that if he doesn't want to go, he won't get upset with him and just go with Barnabas-Basil or one of his friends. But Geralt always went out of his way to make his husband happy.

So, naturally, when Jaskier told him that there's going to be a masquerade and a fair in Beauclair, he couldn't say no.

"The dutchess herself is said to be there," Jaskier murmurs against his neck, smiling encouragingly. "I'm sure she will be delighted to see you. After all, we were personally invited, weren't we?"

"Isn't the whole point of a masquerade is for the participants not to recognise each other?" Geralt tries, weakly.

"Oh, don't be like that," Jaskier huffs, waving a hand dissmissingly. "It's going to be fun, I promise. Besides, isn't Regis going to be there?"

That's true, Geralt supposes. Regis is going to be there, which makes the event slightly more bearable. It's always nice to talk to an old friend.

"He is," he hums, adjusting the collar od his shirt. "Going to keep me company when you run off to flirt with the next pretty little thing you see."

Jaskier just laughs at that, circling Geralt to stand in front of him and take his face into his hands, getting a stray strand of silver out of his eyes.

"You know that never leads to anything," he smiles, leaning in to touch the witcher's dry lips with his own. "I can innocently flirt with everyone I see but it's only you I love, my darling. And only you I want."

Geralt does know that. He's not even jealous, never doubting Jaskier's faithfulness but missing an opportunity to tease would've been a waste.

"I know," he finally says, stealing another kiss. "And yet, if the dutchess herself is going to be there... She's got an eye for you, you know. Would be terribly rude of you to turn down such an important woman."

Jaskier snickers and shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Then it's a good thing that she's not going to recognise me."

-

When they arrive, the event is already in full swing.

Jaskier's eyes light up at the music that flows through the garden and the way he squeezes Geralt's hand suddenly makes the entire thing worth it in the witcher's mind.

Jaskier looks breathtaking in his dark-blue silk suit, the silver mask hiding just enough of his face for it to be almost impossible to recognise him yet leaving enough open for Geralt to still have the option of pulling his close and kissing him. in the witcher's mind, it couldn't be more perfect.

"May I hear the password?" asks one of the guards at the gates, his own face hidden behind a mask with a long beak.

"Waterlilies," Jaskier says, repeating what's been written in their invitations.

The guard nods and gestures to the doors.

"If you'll be so kind as to follow me," he says. "Our most generous dutchess Anna Henrietta has arranged a room for you so that you don't have to make a long journey back home at night."

There is nothing about Jaskier's expression - half-hidden by the mask - that gives away his delight but Geralt knows him well enough to be able to smell it on him. Jaskier is, after all, of a noble family, a court man, and Geralt knows just how much he loves it when he's treated like one, even though most of the time he happily trades it for the life on the Path.

Corvo Bianco, it seemed, was the perfect middle ground.

They follow the guard through the garden and into a big, richly decorated estate with stained-glass windows and luscious flowers hanging in big round pots. The guard takes them to the upper floor, opens the door with a key and gestures for Geralt and Jaskier to step inside and make themselves comfortable.

"If there shall be anything you need, the servants are on the ground floor, you need only call," he says, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and handing Jaskier the key. "Enjoy your night, gentleman."

With that, he bows and leaves, leaving Jaskier and Geralt alone in the room.

"Oh, this reminds me of home," Jaskier sighs, a smile on his lips as he falls onto a truly enormous canopy bed covered with red velvet.

"Of home?" Geralt echoes, almost feeling out of place in such a rich interior.

"Well, you know, my childhood home," Jaskier says, propping himself up on both elbows. "I have to be honest with you, Geralt, I miss all of this from time to time."

The witcher comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed, runs his hand over the velvet and sighs, content. It does feel nice.

"Do you think we could get a bed like this for the vineyard?" Jaskier asks, pushing him down onto his back and lying down next to him, finding Geralt's hand and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. "It's not only amazing to sleep in but also-" his eyes light up behind his mask, and Geralt knows a little too well what that means. "Look at those poles, my love. I could let you tie my wrists to them if you were to wish for it."

Oh, that sounds tempting.

"Hmm," Geralt hums, non-commital. "Sounds intriguing. Though I might need to try first and then decide. After all, finding this kind of bed is not easy."

It takes Jaskier a second to understand what exactly it is that Geralt is saying but then he gasps in mock offence and shoves him in the shoulder with no real force.

"Preposterous!" he gasps, a hand over his heart. "This is the dutchess' cousin's summer residence, and this is, I'm more than sure, the best guest bedroom. Anarietta herself might be sleeping in this bed while visiting."

"Yes," Geralt says simply, knowing that all of that only adds to Jaskier's interest. "And tonight this bed is ours."

-

Before that conversation can take them anywhere, Jaskier demands they go back to the garden.

Geralt doesn't object, just follows the bard down the stairs and helps him adjust his doublet before they step out the door. He feels just a little strange with his hair done up in a complicated bun but then again, Jaskier told him that it will help the witcher be even less recognisable, and there was never anything that Geralt could deny him.

The disguise was, it seemed, working effectively for they've almost bumped into Anarietta - Geralt recognised her by smell - when passing the gates again but she didn't notice them. Or, at least, she didn't come up to them, to Geralt's immeasurable relief. He'd only ever said it to Jaskier but the dutchess was getting on his nerves and if he could avoid her, he gladly did just that.

"There's a Gwent tournament somewhere in the north side of the garden, as far as I'm aware," Jaskier says, making a non-descriptive gesture in the general direction, as they walk past a table with all sorts of baked sweets. "If you're interested."

Even with Jaskier, Geralt feels somewhat out of place at an event like this. And a few rounds of Gwent sound like a perfect way to forget about it.

"Sounds tempting," he says, reaching to brush his fingers over Jaskier's and take his hand into his own. He's still getting used to it. "Though you know I prefer to play with you."

Jaskier rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.

"That's because every time we play, you insist that we play strip Gwent, knowing perfectly that you're a better player than me," he chuckles. "Honestly, Geralt, all you need to do for me to undress is ask."

"I know," the witcher grins, pulling Jaskier closer to shamelessly press a kiss to his cheek. "But where's the fun in that?"

-

He plays a few rounds without Jaskier, winning effortlessly every time while the bard is making new acquaintances by the wine vault where there are multiple tables with all the best blends of reds and whites.

Geralt can't see him but he can hear him, Jaskier's voice soft and beautiful as he tells a group of young women stories about Skellige. They all gasp almost in unison when the bard tells them about that one time when they've been travelling between the islands on a boat and nearly drowned when a pack of sirens toppled it over.

Geralt chuckles to himself, knowing perfect that they were never in any real danger for it was near the coast of And Skellig and if anything happened, fishermen or sailors would've picked them up almost immediately.

Jaskier refers to him as "my husband", not giving away any names, including his own, and every time the witcher hears that, a little piece of his heart seems to melt. It's been more than five years since they've gotten married but in a way, Geralt is still not used to it.

When the time is moving towards late evening, Jaskier joins him at the table, nodding a greeting to Geralt's opponent and leaning down to brush his lips over the witcher's cheek.

"Winning, my love?" he asks, blushing just a little when Geralt pulls him into his lap.

"As usual," he grins, to great displeasure to the man across the table.

Jaskier murmurs something content, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and sneaking a look at his cards. Geralt tries to hide them from him but the bard scratches his shoulder through the doublet and that's all it really takes for the witcher to give up and let him see.

Geralt's a long-time player and his deck is pretty much as good as it gets, nearly every gold card there is being in his possession but it's the final round and Geralt's opponent's got four cards in hand while as the wither only ahs three. By now it mostly depends on luck. But Jaskier might just know a way to get it onto their side.

"Win this round for me," he murmurs into Geralt's ear, quiet enough only for him to hear. "And I'll think about what you said back in the bedroom."

Geralt's golden eyes light up with a flame that Jaskier knows well enough to know that his words have been effective.

It all goes very fast from there. Though Geralt's only got one gold card in hand, it's a Cirilla card which has the power of fifteen and that is what ends up getting him the win, when the man across the table, with his overall score of sixteen, throws a water card onto the table, making both of Geralt's archers drop from four to one.

He wins by just one point, but he wins.

Jaskier can feel his heart flutter with anticipation as Geralt grins at his opponent, reaching over the table to get the coin they've put up. It's a rather impressive amount. The other player must be a count or something like that.

He's clearly not too happy about losing his gold but he takes it as a good player, standing up and shaking Geralt's hand with a congratulation. Then, he wishes them both a pleasant evening and leaves, waving to someone by the fountain.

"I won," Geralt states, still grinning and oh so pleased with himself. "What was it that you said, bard? If I win, what is it that you're going to think about?"

Jaskier laughs and pulls him into an affectionate kiss, one hand coming up to cup the sharp of the witcher's jaw.

"You just wait until we're back in the bedroom, my dearest."

-

It's closer to midnight when they finally find Regis.

Or, rather, when Regis finds them.

"Fascinating how people always seem to want to disguise themselves," he says instead of a greeting, appearing out of nowhere, just like he always does. "And how they seem more attracted to each other when they don't know who is hiding behind the mask."

He's got a full-black velvet suit on, adorned with raven feathers, and a matching mask that hides most of his face. If it wasn't for his voice, Jaskier would've never recognised him.

"Mystery is always thrilling," the bard smiles, taking a sip of his Est-Est. "There's something irresistibly captivating about a man in a mask. A woman, too, of course, but women are mysterious creatures in general."

Regis nods knowingly and also raises his wineglass.

"Yes, women are... A mystery no man will ever solve."

They all fall silent for a couple of moments, and even though Jaskier knows that Geralt is thinking about Yennefer, there is no more pain. There hasn't been, for years now.

It took them a long time to figure it all out, to talk everything over, and though it would come with tears what seemed like every time, eventually, it was all over. And it brought them so close that if Jaskier had to go through all of that again twice, he would.

"Well, my dearest friends," Regis finally says, breaking the silence. "I've heard that there are prize-winning games starting at midnight, would you care to join me in testing my luck?"

-

Regis turns out to be a rather talented fisherman.

That is, given that what he's fishing for is a gold ring with a bright-red ruby in the centre - one of the three main possible prizes in the game.

The other players look at him with both jealousy and fascination, loud applause echoing through the garden.

Regis looks very pleased with himself - as much as Jaskier can tell, keeping the mask in mind - but it's only when they leave the deck of the pond that he asks for Jaskier's hand and places the ring into his palm.

"Beautiful work," he says, closing Jaskier's hand around the ring before he has the chance to refuse. "But it just so happens that gold suits you better, my friend."

"Regis-" Jaskier breathes out. "I cannot accept this. You've won it, it's yours."

Regis smiles - one of those tight-lipped smiles of his that doesn't show his teeth.

"I'm afraid I must insist," he says. "If it puts your mind at ease, I don't wear jewellery at all. It gets in the way of making my medications."

"Of making your moonshine, you meant to say," Geralt chuckles teasingly.

"The most effective out of all of my elixirs, my friend."

Jaskier knows said elixir a little too well and shakes his head with a fond smile, opening his hand to examine the ring closer.

"Thank you, Regis," he smiles. "I shall treasure this gift forever."

-

Geralt refrains from any other games, saying that he's very happy with his winnings from Gwent and doesn't want to push his luck any further.

Jaskier, however, overhears that there is a bardic competition about to start and he nearly runs, having grabbed Geralt by the hand. They get there just in time for him to take one on the last remaining places.

All of the participants are given their preferred instruments and are told to improvise for three and a half minutes. Whoever comes up with the best song and gets the loudest applause, shall win five long ribbons of the finest Toussaint silk that the winner can then take to a seamstress and get their clothes adorned. Jaskier's eyes shine like the stars above when he sees the royal-blue ribbon.

Geralt and Regis take their places in the audience, the witcher secretly worried, and try their absolute best at hyping Jaskier up by rolling their eyes at the other participant's songs to indicate just how non-impressive all of those attempts are.

Jaskier smiles at them from behind his mask and giggles when Regis implies that he's so bored by one of the songs that he's about to turn into smoke and disappear.

When it comes to Jaskier's turn, the bard adjusts the collar of his doublet and the cuffs of his sleeves, stands up because he hates to perform sitting down, runs his fingers over the lute strings and takes his first note, practised and beautiful, as always.

He sings about two people meeting at a masquerade and falling on love with each other immediately. Sings about them kissing in the dark alleyways of the garden and promising each other the stars. And sings about them not recognising each other when they cross paths the next morning while also searching for one another. They part, having nearly touched hands at the gates, to always look for each other, aching with love, but never meet again.

By the time Jaskier touches the strings one last time, half the audience is wiping at their eyes, including Regis.

It's an immediate win and Jaskier shines with it when the judge hands him his silk ribbons and compliments both his singing and his lyrics.

"Such a beautiful story," Regis says when Jaskier joins them. "Tragic romance is never going to get old."

Geralt can almost smell Jaskier's blush.

"Thank you, my dearest," he smiles, only a little coy. "I'm going to make sure to write more pieces like this."

-

When they part, it's nearly dawn.

Most of the games and shows are over, the tables with food and wine nearly empty, and all the guests start slowly making their way home.

Jaskier isn't necessarily tired but he's grateful to all the gods he knows that there is no need to ride back to Corvo Bianco.

When they're saying their goodbyes, Geralt invites Regis to come visit them for a day or two - or even a week, he says - and Regis, in turn, suggest they come visit him at his crypt. Jaskier realises that they've knows each other for so long now that it doesn't even sound strange to him.

Nearly all the guests are already gone when they get back to their room.

"Remind me to send a note to the dutchess to express our gratitude for being so considerate," Jaskier says, shrugging off his doublet and rolling his sore shoulders.

Geralt just hums, non-commital.

"That song you've played," he says, letting his hair down which is a gorgeous sight to see. "Had it really been an improvised one?"

Jaskier blushes under the gaze of his golden eyes, untying the laces of his mask. Geralt's always read him like an open book.

"No," he admits, averting his eyes when the witcher comes closer. "I've composed it a few weeks ago, when we've just gotten the invitations."

"Hmm," Geralt hums again, his half-grin making Jaskier's heart stutter for what seems like the millionth time. "Thought of me?"

The bard blushes even further, grateful the dim light of the fireplace is making it less apparent.

"Always think of you," he says, leaning into the touch when Geralt hugs him from the back and noses at his neck.

Geralt breathes a pleased noise against his neck, low and rumbling, knowing a little too well just how much of a weakness it is for the bard.

"Of course you do," he murmurs, undoing the buttons of Jaskier's shirt one by one without looking and leaving long hot kisses on his neck.

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, throwing his head onto Geralt's shoulder and just forgetting about everything else for a few long moments before the witcher slips the shirt from his own shoulders to take it off, and he has to put the silk ribbons he's still holding down. They're all incredibly beautiful, they really are but as he sets them down onto a small round table, it's a pale-lilac one that catches his eye.

"What are you going to do with them?" Geralt enquires, letting the fabric of Jaskier's shirt fall to their feet and trailing his kisses down, onto his shoulders. "Order a new doublet from the court seamstress? Or change up one of those that you already have?"

Jaskier picks the lilac ribbon up, unties the bow that's keeping it folded, wraps it around his wrist once, twice, and pulls to see how it feels. The silk is pleasantly cool against his skin.

He bites his lips and turns around in Geralt's arms to lock eyes with him and run his hand through his hair.

"I might have a better idea."

[tloujm]

Part XVII: Funnel of Love

Author’s Notes: Sorry it took so long.

Genre: Fluff + Angst = this chapter

Summary: This takes place right after the last chapter. The newly engaged couple share the news with their loved ones. The wedding planning pressure is on. 

Ship: Joel x Reader

“Well, well, well. Big bro is doing it for real this time, huh.” Tommy began with a wide grin on his face. “Congratulations, Joel. I mean it. I always knew it was gonna be the two of you since the first day y’all showed up at the gates.” Joel relieved one of the watchtower guards so he could talk to Tommy about the proposal. They were both up in the small wooden shelter, rifles in hand, glancing between each other and the world beyond the gates.

“Thanks, brother.” Joel donned a bashful smirk.

“So do I get to be best man?” Tommy asked.

“Weren’t you already best man?” Joel countered.

“Yeah, but that time didn’t really count.” Tommy explained. Joel shot him a glare as a response to the dismissal of his first marriage. He knew that this time was different though, so he couldn’t blame him.

“‘Course you’re my best man.”

*****

“Joel? Miller? Of the infamous Miller brothers?” Jesse exclaimed.

“You knew we were together.” You said. Jesse was your closest friend at the settlement, therefore, he was the first person you told. You had reservations about sharing the news with him because, for a moment while you and Joel were broken up, you grew feelings for Jesse. It was something you never shared out loud or in your journal. Not sure of whether the feelings truly stemmed from Jesse himself or your emotions from Joel, you didn’t feel right giving weight to those thoughts. Despite Joel’s suggestion, you always figured Jesse’s feelings were purely platonic anyway.

“Yeah, I know. It just seems very official. I didn’t think people still did that these days.”

“He did manage to surprise me. It was very romantic. You should take some notes just in case you feel compelled to do the same with a special somebody.”

“Take notes? From Joel? Miller? I can be quite romantic on my own, thank you.” Jesse turned to you. “But listen, I’m happy for you. Whatever you need for your upcoming nuptials, let me know.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” You responded. It fell silent for a moment while the two of you were cleaning up the stable. 

“I bet you Joel can get you guys a senior discount on a wedding cake from the bakery.” Jesse spoke up. He broke into a fit of laughter as you dropped your broom and threw a handful of hay at him.

“He is not even that old.” You responded defensively.

“No, no. He’s just regular old.” Jesse reasoned jokingly.

“He’s young at heart!”

“(Y/N), He plays the guitar on a rocking chair and whittles for fun.”

“He does other things for fun that I can tell you right now he is not too old for.” You replied with a coy tone in your voice. 

“Alright, alright.” Jesse shook his head playfully and continued sweeping up the straw on the ground. “The jury is still out on how old he is, but I suppose we can both agree that he’s not geriatric.” He reflexively ducked when he heard you drop the broom again to pick up some more hay. 

“So I’m invited to the wedding then?” He asked seriously.

“Of course you are! You’re my best friend.” You replied.

He clears his throat. “Yeah…”

*****

“Honey, I’m home.” Joel said. The words flew out his mouth in a jovial tone. He had never said those words before. It reminded him of a husband from the 1950s coming home from a day at the office. That particular visual didn’t enthuse him, but the idea of seeing you again did. He knew that he’d never wear a suit and work in an office, but he hoped that the rest of his life consisted of coming home to you.

“My love, I’m in here.” Your voice carried from the kitchen. He quickly followed until he stopped right behind you. His arms snaked around your waist as he kissed the top of your head. “What did you do today?”

“I spent some time with Tommy.” He went to go sit down at the island.

“Oh?”

“He asked how our trip went.” He began. You turned to face him.

“You told him about us?” You asked, smiling. He nodded.

“Yeah,” He chuckled. “He asked to be my best man. Did you tell Maria?”

“Yeah, I told her after Jesse.”

“Oh good. He knows.” He began sarcastically. “I better stop catchin’ him gazing at my bride then.”

“Joel, stop. He always knew we were together. But as for Maria, she was super excited. She started talking about wedding stuff like we weren’t living in some fungal zombie infested world. It’s not like I can go dress shopping, or cake tasting or pick out venues. I mean honestly, what’s the point of a wedding?”

“You don’t wanna have a wedding?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “All I want is to get married to you. She was just planning it all out the second I told her and I was feeling overwhelmed.”

“She’s just excited. Take a breath then go back and talk to her. If anyone’s got the connections to throw a wedding, it’s her.”

“What was your wedding like?” You asked.

“You wanna know?” You nodded. He sighed. “It wasn’t much. We cut costs wherever we could so I wore a hand-me-down suit from my dad and Tommy wore a hand-me-down suit from me. The only thing that matched on our suits were the buteniers. It was in one of her aunt’s backyard. It was dead in the middle of summer after school let out, but the only decorations were red, green and blue Christmas tree lights that she put on the bushes. I remember her aunt tasked me and Tommy with going to get some flowers. She gave us some money, but my God, I had no idea how expensive real flowers were. I bought Sarah’s mom a bouquet from the florist while Tommy dumpster dived for some dying flowers that they had just thrown out for the rest of the wedding party.” He shrugged. “The ceremony was quick. The reception was a potluck; everyone brought a dish and their own fold out chairs. Outside of my cousin singing a song, the music was from a boombox. It was simple, but it all came together. I had my own issues with my parents and her side of the family didn’t like me much after I knocked her up, but for that one day, we all got along and it was nice.” 

“Oh. Wow. At least everyone got along.”

He chuckled. “I know it was nothing impressive. It was a shotgun wedding for a couple of teenagers. But I don’t want you to worry about how that went. What matters is now and how we want things to go for us.”

You smiled. “Our wedding can go the exact same way and I wouldn’t care so long as you’re there.”

****

“So,” Maria slammed down a stack of wedding magazines on the coffee table. “I think looking through these would be a good start.”

Maria invited you and some other women over one evening to have a girls night. She had never done this before, but she felt your impending marriage was a good excuse to have one. You didn’t have many female friends. Most were acquaintances, so none of them were as close as Maria and Wendy to you. They were there, but so were a handful of others you’ve only ever spoken to in passing.

Maria had a growing wine collection. She would trade for a bottle or two every so often. For your special occasion, she dusted off two bottles. Wendy made you a homemade pin that said “Bride to be” which she insisted you wear all night. Maria passed the magazines all around the circle you guys made on the floor.

“Maria, where did you get all of these.” You asked.

“I’ve had them all this time. While I was on a scavenging trip one day, and this was years and years ago, I saw them and grabbed them. It was impulsive. I don’t know. Me and Tommy had been together for a while and you know, naturally I started hearing wedding bells even though he never really proposed. I know it's silly to expect happiness in the middle of all this craziness, but it became normal for him and I and despite all this, he stuck by my side. I spent my whole life pre-outbreak wanting a wedding. I mean I wasn’t obsessed with it, but what girl doesn’t want a little fairytale wedding?”

“Tommy never proposed? I thought you guys were married?” Sheila spoke up in between sips.

“We’re basically married. Obviously not under law, but we committed ourselves to each other. I wanted to stop running and just build a future, even a tiny one, for us. He wanted the same. So we settled down and built this place. Well ‘settle down’ as much as we can in this type of world now. But, it was all casual. He brought it up one day while we were eating. He asked if I’d ever want a husband. He asked if it mattered to me.”

“What did you say?” Wendy asked.

“I told him, of course it mattered. At least to me. He gave me that famous Miller half smile,” Maria looked to you as to say ‘You know what I’m talking about’. “And asked if I thought he was husband material. I kinda strung him along for fun. I told him ‘As close to husband material as he can get’. He let out this little laugh and said ‘Well it’s settled then.’ and I thought to myself, I get to be someone’s wife! But not just anyone’s wife, his wife. At that point I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t a proposal in the traditional sense. I guess it still counts, but we never did anything about it since. I guess we just assumed marriage from that point on. We expressed our love for each other, but never spoke the traditional vows. He never called me his fiance. As a matter of fact, the first time I heard him call me his wife to another person was when you and Joel showed up at our door.” She spoke in a roller coaster of tones, switching between enthusiastic and disappointed. “So I want you to have something special to commemorate this moment with. It’s not going to be a big, fancy wedding, but something nice nonetheless.” She said to you.

“Thank you.” You replied.

“Ohhh, look at this dress! I think this would go great with your figure, honey.” Darlene stated as she handed you the opened magazine. You admitted it was nice, but you couldn't see yourself in it. 

“That’s a bit plain, don’t you think? How about this one.” Maria handed you her magazine. The dress was exceptionally grand. It had a train and was adorned with crystals and lace.

“That’s quite the dress, Maria.” You commented, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“But do you like it?” She asked.

“I do,” It wasn’t a whole lie. “But what’s the point in looking at dresses? I’m not gonna be wearing any of them from these magazines. I don’t own any white dresses at all. Just a white t shirt with sweat stains and holes in ‘em.”

“It doesn’t hurt to fantasize a little bit. Besides, maybe we’ll go out and find a store with something nice to wear inside.” She replied. 

“Drink up, honey, you're supposed to be happy.” Darlene said as she watched you nurse your glass.

“I am happy.” You replied with a straight face.

“Let’s play This or That and let’s pretend it was 13 years ago and the world was normal again. I’ll ask you to choose between two different things, wedding themed of course. I want you to give me an answer quickly to ensure it’s the truest answer.” Maria suggested.

“What were you doing 13 years ago?” Darlene asked you.

“Just graduated college. Didn’t even get a chance to apply my degree anywhere.”

“Oh, you were just a youngin’. Still had milk ‘hind your ears.” She playfully slapped your thigh. “And let’s see...Joel must have been how old…” She pondered seriously.

“Vanilla or chocolate?” Maria spoke up.

“What?” You asked.

“Cake. Vanilla or chocolate for your wedding cake?”

“Uh, chocolate.”

“Outdoor or indoor venue?”

“Indoor, I guess.”

“DJ or band?”

“DJ?”

“Lillies or Peonies for your bouquet?”

“I don’t think I know what peonies look like, to be honest.”

For the rest of the night, you and the other women played wedding themed games that you were sure Maria made up. They fiddled with your hair and dabbed beet juice on your lips and cheeks to appear as makeup. Despite Darlene rubbing you the wrong way, you took her advice and ‘drunk up’. Getting loose helped, but it still was all a bit overwhelming to you. Part of you wanted the fairytale like Maria said, but part of you didn’t even want it at all. While a fairytale would look nice, it would come with too many cons and then you would think ‘what was the point’. There would be too many people, and as an introvert, you weren’t prepared for that. Having to coordinate a large amount of food to feed the party, acquire a form of entertainment to keep everyone busy, ceremony rehearsals, picking loyalties when choosing between your sister in law and your good friend for made of honor and so on. Honestly none of your female friends were as close to you as Jesse, though, but you didn’t think he nor Joel would be cool with him being your main bridesmaid. 

Still buzzed, you walked into your empty house and beelined it to the bathroom. You sat at the edge of the tub, warm water running through your fingers as you watched it fill up. You grabbed your portable CD player and headphones out the drawer next to the toilet. You adjusted yourself into the inviting bath and immediately slipped your head under the surface. Being underwater was always a relaxing feeling for you so long as you knew you were in control. Your hands held onto the sides of the tub, keeping you under. You stayed there with your eyes closed until you couldn’t take it anymore. The curls of your hair laid flat against your head as you took in a large breath. As weird as it was, it helped the anxiety that you were currently harboring. The cherry on top was your music. You reached over the edge and felt for the play button before sliding the headphones over your ears. Again, you closed your eyes. You weren’t thinking about anything in particular: your patrol duty tomorrow morning, your promise to have lunch with Maria and Darlene, and sure as hell not your wedding. 

The buzz was wearing off, but the warm water took over the job and continued to relax your muscles. You were three songs into the album you were listening to when they abruptly tensed up. Your eyes popped open at the sudden splash of water that landed on your chest. It felt as though only a moment ago you were alone in the world and now sitting on the edge of the tub is Joel. He watched as you scooted up, sloshing the water around. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to splash you that hard.” He chuckled before pointing to your CD player. “You gotta be careful with this, (Y/N), you know. Gotta have your wits about you even in a place like Jackson---”

“I know, I just wanted to unwind for a moment---” You butted in.

“I don’t mean to chastise you like you’re a child, but I just want you to be safe. What if it wasn’t me here.”

“All the doors are locked.” You reasoned.

“Still.” He gave you his famous glare for a solid moment before his eyes drifted down to your body in the water. “Room for one more?” He lifted his eyebrow.

You frowned. “I was about to get out.”

“Didn’t look like that to me, darlin’. If I’d chosen to watch you for longer, you’d still be laying there with your eyes closed.”

“How long were you watching me for?” You asked, starting to feel a mix of self consciousness and arousal.

“Doesn’t matter.” Joel’s face was rid of emotion save from his eyes. His eyes were lit up with lust despite your rejection.

“The water was getting cold. I was just waiting for the song to end before getting out.”

He lifted the same eyebrow. “Is that so?” His eyes followed your body as you stood up in the tub. He unfolded his arms and grabbed the towel on the back of the door. Holding it out, you stepped out of the tub and into the soft fabric. He slid his hands up your arms before massaging your shoulders. His hands were rough and ungentle, but you still let him continue. “Baby, tell me what’s wrong. Who hurt you? I’ll go grab Tommy’s bat and smash their kneecaps in.”

You chuckled. “While I’m sure you would,” You turned around, releasing your shoulders from his grip. “No one hurt me. I’m just...I just got some stuff on my mind.”

“Care to share?” He asked. You shrugged. “Was it something that happened at Maria’s?”

“She threw me a bridal shower.”

He sat on the toilet and pulled you down onto his lap. “That was nice of her.”

“I mean yeah, it was nice. It just...It felt forced. Women were there that I hardly knew. We were planning the wedding, imagining details I knew would never work. I feel like Maria wants this to happen more than I do and I hate that. I should want this the most. I mean I do want this,” You point between you and him. “But I just don’t know how I want to go about it. I thought seeing her again would help me make up my mind about things, but I feel just as confused and flustered.”

He kissed your shoulder. “I don’t want you to stress out over this. It’ll all work out, because the most important thing in the end is that we have each other. I promise,” He kissed your shoulder again. “Ok?” He waited for you to say it back before tapping your thigh. “Now, just because you didn’t want me to get in with you doesn’t mean I don’t want a nice, relaxing bath too. Last chance before you put your clothes on.” He pointed between you, him and the tub as if asking for you to join him. 

You smile with a shake of your head. “No, my skin is all wrinkly but I promise to only keep the towel on if you promise not to make me wait long.” You winked at him. 

[salty-stories]

In Love and Friendship, you play as a young lady named Miss Merritt, a veteran of Regency society. The season--a period of year designated for arguably excessive social interaction and wasteful displays of wealth and status--is yours for the commanding. Decide how you want to spend the next few months among society’s richest, well-sculpted upper echelon. Though the outcome of the season may determine the rest of your life. 

Miss (determinable first name) Merritt

A Young Lady

Miss Merritt is one and twenty years of age, embarking on her fifth season in town or London. Being a single child to two well-off parents, growing up in large and covetous property in the countryside, has afforded her the lifestyle to pursue those attributes considered nonnegotiable among respectable young women. And while the Merritt’s hold no title, they are highly regarded as one of the older, settled families in society. 

This season holds particular merit as most young ladies are expected to be attached or actively engaged in searching for a life partner by their third season. Miss Merritt has let that aspect of herself languish in favor of cultivating her skills and experience. But the external pressures do not come alone. A cunning ploy orchestrated by one of the Merritt’s closest(in blood, not attitude) relations threatens to wrest control the Merritt estate unless the young lady can find herself a suitable match by the season’s end. 

“What’s a lady to do?” 

“why...follow her heart.”

Samantha Renolds

The Childhood Best-friend

Growing up only a half or so from mc’s home in Easton, Sam is Miss Merritt’s first and closest friend. The pair have been nearly inseparable since infancy, engaging in all sorts of mischief and fun as they’ve grown. Sam can be quiet and rather shy, which made her the perfect partner in crime. The pair got up to all sorts of mischief; sneaking away during events, playing the piano-forte in a crowded assembly room, sipping stolen brandy as teens, etc. Not without getting into trouble, of course. While Sam would eventually admit her involvement, most of the time, Miss Merritt took the fall for their shenanigans. The relationship deepened to the point, Sam held off her own debut a year to align with Miss Merritt’s. But the merry times ended rather suddenly with Mrs. Renold’s illness. The family was forced to leave England and seek treatment abroad. This season will be the first time in over five years that the two will have spoken as correspondence to the continent was spotty and Sam seemed to neglect all of Miss Merritt’s letters. There’s no telling what remains of their friendship after such a gap, if anything at all.

Despite only being a year older than Miss Merritt, Sam stands nearly a head taller than her friend. Although her golden waves draw more attention from others than her height. If one were to peer even closer, they’d be struck by the openness of her light-brown eyes and the fullness of her smile. 

Lord Warren Hind

The Roguish Rake

Very few can fascinate and repulse in such equal measure as London’s most infamous, Lord Warren Hind. A second son, no one actually expected Warren to ever hold the title. But the mysterious and sudden death of his elder brother a few years prior has shaken the order of things, leaving behind a solemn widow and infant. Before taking his brother’s position, Warren was known as unashamed flirt, a man for whom all pleasures, carnality included, were welcomed with reckless abandon. Rumors range from his deflowering of several fresh-faced debutantes to swindling thousands of pounds from London’s seediest gambling parlor. Though even the most stanchest of his detractors admit the Lord as been quiet, almost sullen, as of late. To the dismay of wagging tongues, Lord Hind may be better behaved than his reputation claims. 

Wicked green eyes, that accounts for much of the speculation surrounding Warren. But it’s rather unfair to the rest of his equally attractive features, his causally tousled brown locks, his slightly athletic tanned build, his vulpine smile. But with baggage like that, who wouldn’t abandon Regency-sanctioned good sense and take a second look. 

Vivian Fortescue

The Jaded Widow

Vivian’s story is harder to tell. While many in society know her, her family, her husbands(oh yes, plural!) for many years, no one can claim a particular closeness to the thrice-now widow. The charitable bleeding-hearts pity her; to marry and settle down, only to lose it all, again and again. The petty and envious whisper conspiracy and concoct extreme theories, blackmail, murder, and affairs. Everything and anything outlandish enough to erase her unfortunate tragedy. Although one does wonder...three husbands dead in succession. Three very rich, very influential husbands dead. Vivian, for her part, seems indifferent to society’s speculation and grieves, well, maybe a little too much. Since the death of her third and final husband two years ago, Vivian has worn nothing but mourning colors. More ammunition for the charitable and the petty to pick apart. As for the lady herself, no one is close enough to know the truth.

No one in court has the gumption to get close enough to look Mrs. Fortescue in the eye, to peer beneath the black of her lace mourning veil. But if one was brave, one might note the slight curve of her mouth, the sharpness of her dark--near black eyes, the strength behind her stature, the gravity of her voice. But, of course, society only has their eyes on her dress, her black wardrobe colored only by the deepest shades of purple, red, and green. 

Hugh Langley (Platonic Friendship Interest)

The Red Herring Dandy

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Hugh Langley is not. Not in a way that matters, but that won’t stop the hoards of mothers springing their daughters upon him. His income, his family history, his address, all up for public discussion, it seems. The Langleys did not come into their riches through exploitation of tenant farmers but rather through...trade. A horrid concept to the more traditional heads in Regency. But it was Hugh’s grandfather that did the hard labor of building the family business. All Hugh has to worry about is picking which shade of maroon his cravat should be, that and making sure his income doesn’t disappear with neglect. Now he wants to get through the season without entangling himself with someone he cannot stand, and maybe have some fun, if he can find a moment of peace.

A stranger might describe Hugh as a not-so young man in his early-thirties with dark brown skin, effortlessly braided black hair, and striking blue eyes. But a friend could tell you about his obsession with red-colored clothes, or the small scar on his upper lip he hides with his facial hair, or how his cane is more than just a fashion statement. 

PLAY THE GAME HERE

[valentinax]

[ VALENTINA ALVAREZ.   30.   CIS WOMAN.   SHE / HER ]  is here!   They’ve lived in Silver Lake for  [ 12 YEARS ]  and are originally from  [ PASADENA,  CA ].   They are a  [ BARTENDER AT DUNGEON & YOGA INSTRUCTOR AT 24/7 FITNESS ]  and in their downtime love  [ PLAYING VIDEO GAMES ]  and  [ UPCYCLING CLOTHING ].   They look a lot like  [ EMERAUDE TOUBIA ]  and live  [ IN OASIS APTS ].

content warnings:  mentions of alcohol and underage drinking,  pregnancy and labor,  allusions to nsfw content.

timeline.

december 10, 1990  --  valentina elena maroun is born.   half-sister to four older brothers,  her biological father misses her birth and is almost entirely absent throughout valentina’s youth.

1990 to 2008  --  valentina spends her formative years in pasadena,  ca with her family.   during this period,  her mother gets back with her previously separated husband  ( valentina’s brothers’ father )  for good.   valentina considers this man to be her real dad,  and at the age of 9 valentina’s surname is changed to his:  alvarez,  matching the rest of their family.   upon her high school graduation at 17 years old,  she prepares to move to silver lake with two of her friends:  they’re both to attend usc,  while valentina attends ucla on a partial athletic scholarship for softball.

2008 to 2010  --  spends her first two years of college doing exactly what most expect:  going out with friends,  experimenting,  drinking whatever she can get her hands on,  and so on and so forth.   she still takes her studies and softball seriously,  and works part-time at paco’s tacos in silver lake during this time.

2010 to 2011  --  falls pregnant at 19 and gives birth to her daughter,  rosa torres,  shortly after turning 20.   has taken the fall and spring semesters of this school year off to prepare for her daughter’s birth,  as well as to be home during rosa’s infancy.   has a strenuous,  lengthy and difficult labor.   it’s under pressure from her parents that valentina pursues a romantic relationship with rosa’s father,  lucas torres,  for rosa’s sake.  by 2012 however,  they come to agree a platonic relationship coparenting works best for everyone involved.

2011 to 2014  --  moves in with her brother in santa monica,  bringing rosa along with her,  to return to school and cut her commute in half.   has lost her athletic scholarship,  yet earns a partial academic one.   valentina relies heavily on family to help out with rosa during this period and has reached out to her biological father for financial aid.   their relationship is strained,  but on the mend.   upon her graduation,  valentina gets a job as a server at maria sol on the santa monica pier.

2015 to 2016  --  though valentina doesn’t want to,  she relents to moving back home so rosa can be closer to her father.   valentina reluctantly moves back in with her parents and enters a job tending bar at dungeon.

2016 to 2018  --  unable to stand living at home,  valentina convinces another one of her brothers to let her move in with him in silver lake.   gets a second job as a yoga instructor at 24/7 fitness.   she cuts back her hours at the club when in 2018,  she manages to land yet another job:  as a project-based writer for buzzfeed reviewing and researching sex toys.   this quickly leads to her brother encouraging  ( read:  telling )  her to move out when he’s put in the uncomfortable position of,  to put it as cleanly as possible,  hearing her working.

2018 to 2021  --  valentina finally moves out into a three bedroom apartment at the oasis with long-time friend,  helena,  for a roommate.   still works part-time at dungeon with hopes to quit soon,  and continues to teach yoga and contribute to buzzfeed.

personality traits.

alluring,  assertive,  vehement  --  valentina is a very passionate person and this translates into her sensuality.   she’s never really been afraid to go after the things she wants,  whether it’s in her personal or professional life.  in personal relationships,  valentina isn’t ashamed to make the first move and can be quite flirty at times.   unfortunately,  valentina has yet to be in a relationship that’s lasted longer than a year or two.   while she does want to settle down,  she can be fickle and unsure of what  ( or who )  she wants.

candid,  effervescent,  resilient  --  in general,  valentina is a person who values honesty and respects people who tell the truth when it’s most difficult.   her keen attitude on brutal honesty doesn’t,  however,  get in the way of her easygoing nature:  it’s not hard to get along with her and she’s incredibly outspoken and outgoing.   of course,  this may rub people the wrong way at times.

egocentric,  erratic,  frivolous  --  it may or may not be obvious that valentina has a penchant for changing her mind.   she does her best to think of others first,  especially so when it comes to her daughter,  but she’s entirely susceptible to her own whims.   she’s impulsive and seems to lack purpose.   and,  ultimately,  it scares her to consider that she’s never known what she wants to do with her life:  so she doesn’t stop to think.

recalcitrant,  resentful,  rigid  --  valentina is a fan of grudges.   she tends to hers like pets.   she’s often stubborn and unwavering and entirely unwilling to admit when she’s in the wrong.   fully the type to never forgive,  never forget,  but just move on.   and perhaps it comes from being the youngest,  but she’s also known for being pouty and upset when things don’t go her way.

miscellaneous headcanons.

for about 2 years beginning when she was 25,  valentina was apart of a roller derby team in los angeles.   given that the pronunciation of her nickname valé sounds so close to valley,  she quickly adopted valley hurl as her derby name.   she eventually quit due to no longer having the time to attend practices.

she still roller skates to this day and,  a year ago,  blew up on tiktok  ( along with her roommate,  the one who initially put her on to skating )  when she posted a video of herself skating and dancing down the street.   she’s since deleted previous videos and curated her entire tiktok feed to focus solely on her roller skating.

her social media totals:  1.8m tiktok followers,  178k instagram followers,  2k twitter followers.   most of these were gained within the past year and she’s certainly not famous by any means,  though she has been able to make money off sponsored ads on her instagram.

she’s very into fitness!   she played soccer growing up and still loves a good game of softball,  she loves running,  taking various fitness classes,  etc.   and on the mention of sports,  she also loves going to dodger games and watching sunday night football.

has considered streaming on twitch but ultimately decided she doesn’t have the time to commit to that sort of endeavor.   also has considered starting a podcast.   sort of a jack of all trades,  master of none.

case in point:  got into upcycling clothes a few years ago.   as a result,  got into sewing and began to go thrifting more frequently.   briefly sold stuff on depop before quitting that endeavor a month or so into it  --  now she mainly upcycles pieces for herself and her friends,  as gifts for people,  etc.

has a few tattoos  ( tbd )  that are easy to cover up and generally only visible when she’s wearing certain clothing.   her mother and grandparents were disappointed when they found out but are okay with them now.

is actually a pretty damn good singer!   her entire family is.   at family parties,  you’ll often catch them getting into karaoke or clearing out room somewhere for a dance floor.   it’s not unusual for them to egg you on to join in.

on that note,  a big part of valentina’s enjoyment comes from this type of fun.   even since having a child she’s never necessarily cut back on going out  --  whether it’s to nightclubs,  dive bars,  karaoke nights,  concerts,  anything  --  and has made some technically irresponsible choices.   still makes them to this day.   she’s not perfect by any means.   she’s learned to be more conscientious over the past decade,  however.

ultimately,  valentina struggles with motherhood:  she does the best she can and although her parents are great people,  she wants to make different choices than them.   there’s a lot to be said about how she dealt with parenthood at first and how she still struggles with it now,  but the short version literally is this:  she’s trying.

is afraid of the dark...   like very.   checks under the bed and in the closet at night to this day.   likely stems from the various pranks her brothers played on her as a kid.

currently does not eat noodles.   after a conversation with her daughter about how noodles look like worms,  valentina agreed to abstain from eating them out of solidarity.   is hoping her daughter will get over this aversion soon because valentina loves noodles.

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

So, I don’t post alot of my Lore Based stuff. But, I’ve hit a creative burst since watching Dream SMP. And given, I have a whole truck full of Minecraft Lore/World Building, thought I’d share some of it.

I’ve posted some on my Wattpad, but this post is going into the many species and races of my Minecraft World. Later I might post about how this fits into some made up Lore I did for the Dream SMP. 

I’ve always pulled inspiration from other creators, so I will be sure to mention them should I know who they are. 

Also also, this whole thing was made possible by my long time friends on wattpad. Bloxiegirl123 and @littlewolf651 They both gave me so much inspiration for this stuff through many talks and us just goofing off. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Netherains: These are the people of the Nether, under the rule and protection of Herobrine. They live in the inner cities of the Nether, when we the players spawn there it’s on the out skirts, and look like more taller and ‘humanish’ piglins. Who are there own species  They are a very isolated people, Netherains, having a demonic heritage, are destructive by nature. They prefer the company of themselves or close family over the company of many people. They also prefer their own kind over any other species and races of the realms. 

They have a equal mindset, both men and women are capable of being warriors, merchants, and so forth. Males typically have larger fangs, be them lower or upper jaw, and large scrunched up noses. While females have smaller noses that are flatter and tinier fangs (Think like orcs). Male ears tend to be longer and pointed, while females tend to have short ears that are also pointed. As for body builds, really that depends on parents, some are just bigger and able to gain muscles faster than others, while some are skinnier and take longer to build up. The only real difference between males and females is that the females can give birth and their physical looks.

Strangely females don’t have breasts, actually how their young feed is often from mushed up food as babies are both already with teeth in place and able to digest soft foods.  Young typically grow up fast, and by the time they reach 7 seasons of age, they are given their first weapon to train with. 

All members of the Netherain people are able to fight, regardless of their profession in life. Why do you think not many want to fight Hero’s army, it’s not just because of the mobs.  To know of a human/nether baby is in the eyes and skin tones and sometimes ears and teeth.

Netherains are of the dark/light browns and red skin tone, they are fire resistant, and their eye colors rang from common browns, blacks, to the slight less common golds and red, to the more uncommon silver and grays. Their eyes are narrowed and their color covers their whole eye with the only difference being in their pupil (should their eyes not be black). 

Their hair tends to be of the braided, with gems weaved into them. (The inner nether is very gem rich, there is a reason Hero is also considered the ‘Rich God’). Some even shave the sides for the middle to be in a pony tail. Others prefer the more wilder hair types or even dreads. 

Some facts about them. - They only use gold as a accessory or coin, but it’s considered to be of low value and do trading in gems and items. - They are a culture rich people, with many stories, superstitions, and foods. - They mostly eat spicy foods, to a normally person their ‘mild’ is very hot. - Mostly meat eaters, due to having more fanged filled mouths, babies teeth are duller until they reach 5 seasons old. - Some live in villages while some live in the city, each set of people has it’s own brand of fire magic used, from lava, lightening, and some even coat themselves in fire. However, they don’t see a difference, Village is just like saying ‘I come from the west and use lightening’.  - They used to be at war, until Hero united them.

Valkyries: These are the race of the Aether people, some call them Aetherains too but most prefer Valkyrie. They are under the rule of Notch and some even are his personal guards and fighters.  Their main job however is guiding souls to the afterlife and protecting their homeland , the Aether or Ether. 

Some call them ‘angels’ though this is just a preference really, and really just less of a mouthful for humans. Honestly, Valkyries don’t really care being called them.  Anywho, this race is very social with each other, relationships range from Platonic to Romantic. They help groom each other wings, share the news of the day like this, and they enjoy being touched, held, cuddled.

Valkyries can have relationship and kids with other Valkyries, though there isn’t much need for sex or reproductions due to them being near immortal. However, half babies are considered taboo after the last war with Herobrine. 

Typically ‘families’ have their own looks and styles. But all Valkyries have some form of light hair and eyes.  Wing types also are a family trait, some families have many wings, others have only one pair. Some have darker wing colors, some are speckled, some are just lighter, some are just one color. They range from Large, Medium, or Small in size.  Family trees tend to have their own types of magics, be it better healers, better fliers, or able to conjure weapons, some share these traits but not wing size and looks, or vice versa. (Basically some family can have the same wing look, but different magics, and the same is true in reverse.)

Valkyries have pale skin tones ranging to more yellowish hues or tanish hues. This is in their ‘human form’ in their Valkyrie form they are wind like creatures, made up of elements with vaguely ‘human’ like bodies, though some look more bird like.  Eye color ranges from the common golds, greens, to the less common teals, and the uncommon blues. Hari tends to be blond, dirty blond, or even silver and white. They like long hair, smooth, wavy sometimes, with many small things weaved into it. Some have pointed ears, some don’t, some even have feathers for ears. Some Facts: - They don’t really have a ‘gender’ concept. As they are able to turn themselves whatever gender. Though, unlike like Voidlings and Enders, they do tend to stick with one of the other after a while. Though it’s not uncommon to see some who are non-binary.  - Young grow up slowly, one of the downsides is due to their immortality slowly coming into place. This causes slow aging of the body and sometimes the mind. Unless they are hybrids of another species. - Though immortal, they can be killed through fatal wounds with weapons made by Voidlings or Netherains. But humans weapons, the only one that could remotely harm them, is the Netherite weapons. Due to being a crude recreation of Netherain weapons. 

Humans: Considered to be a pet project of Notch, that was somewhat of a disaster, and was the third creation to walk the Overworld, Villagers being the first, then Players or Spawns and Mobs being the Second.  Humans have a very short life span along with Villagers, confined to a 100 years to 150 years at best. Taking both the qualities of destruction and creation to make a race had them not be as long living.  However, humans come in ‘genders’, thought this is just because some are just born looking one way to the other or a mix. So they came up with ‘gender’s to tell them apart.  Females have breasts and give birth while males don’t. Different sex organs and such. Really this was just made for repopulation means, Notch didn’t really have ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ in mind. 

To keep it brief, as they are pretty much the same as we are. They come in many skin tones of light to dark depending on climate and area born. They also have a very complicated history with other races. It’s gotten better over the years in the future though. And sometimes they fight with each other. Most of these problems are due to Notch trying to use Destruction in their making, then he’s a Creation God. Opps. 

However, they are a culture rich race as well, and in the recent years have done some great feats with the help of other races. But their past is complicated, luckily Hero did help his brother after the second war to curb any problems later, evolution! 

Players/Spawns: This race comes in all shapes, looks, and sizes. They are created by mostly Herobrine with some help from his ‘Father’ and ‘Grandfather’. As Mobs hadn’t turned out the best as he hoped.  Having the power the ‘Respawn’ in a place they made, and can live for a few 100 years. They don’t really have a set gender or look, as they can be any and everything. Some classify them as ‘Shapeshifters’ and that is about as close as we can get to a category for them. 

They can be half Ender, Zombie, Spider, Cat, to even stranger species. Some can even have Netherain or Valkyrie traits. As when they mate, they have a change of making a Player due to near immortal or magical beings mating with humans.  Really Player as a ‘race’ is complicated as genetics play a big factor. Should a human family have any non human blood in their line, it’s very possible to give birth to a Player.

Most tend to worship Herobrine, though some do worship other gods of the world.  Eventually, they do die, but they live for longer than most would think. And their live styles are very diverse, so it’s hard to pinpoint them. They all just go under this category is they are able to ‘Respawn’. 

Not much else is known about them though, and they are very secretive about their creation myths. At least ‘OG Spawns’ are, meaning they have no other genes or blood in them other than ‘Player’ 

Some facts: - The first Spawn ever was a man named Steve, who later became immortal and the husband of Hero.  - They are the second race we know the least about. - Some call them ‘Protectors’ as they are protective of any race who can not protect themselves. - OG Spawns live with Mobs in large cities away from non-player reach. Though, it’s rare for even some Players of today to find them. Due to conflicting feels about Mobs and their need to attack humans and villagers. 

Enders: These are the tall, mysterious people of the End, under the ruling of the Queen and King, Jean and Ignis.  They are lanky, the shortest they can be is 6 feet in height, and the tallest being 13 feet tall. Long arms with claw like fingers for some, and some have very boney appearances. They are naturally skinny looking with sharpen teeth in the front and more flatten teeth in the back.

They have a very scholarly society, putting the pursuit of magics and knowledge as the highest form of profession. Being there is only one way in and out of the End, they aren’t attacked the much, and have a decent relation with their Demonic cousins of the Void. 

Their society tends to be everyone looks after everyone. There are no real ‘families’ as the young are taken care of by everyone and taught by everyone. Expecting bearers are housed in a nursery, and take care of the child, until they are old enough to walk and talk, then the children are to live with chosen Parentals until they reach Apprenticeship age, 13, and choose a profession, and live with their mentor until they are 21. 

Like their cousins, they are very possessive of things, though capable of more empathy than them. ‘Mine’ in their langue has many meanings, often it’s considered a high honor for an Ender to claim you if you are not of their race. As it can mean ‘friend’ ‘family’ ‘brother/sister’ or ‘lover’ and among other means. 

They range from purple tones to greyish tones in skin color, some even have dragon like traits though it’s noted these are of the noble statues. Eye colors rang from common purple hues and some reds, the less common blue and green hues, and the uncommon blacks and white eyes.  Hairs tend of the dark purple, black, and sometimes white, they have shorter hair styles to sometimes no hair at all. Thought long hair isn’t uncommon, it’s just less seen.

Some Facts: - They tend to have a view of being a ‘perfect race’ at least the older generation those, the newer tends to be more open minded.  - Not may outsiders are allowed into the cities, those that are don’t leave that often much less talk about it.  - They are in close contact, allies, with OG Players and Valkyries, though they tend to dislike Netherains.  - They are also a type of Shapeshifter, more so than Valkyries and Players. - They have no gender, and are born without parts to reproduce. Reproduction is done by magic/science and the ‘baby’ placed into the ‘carrier’ to grow until they are ‘cut out’ of the body. - That is considered a big deal, and takes alot out of the carrier, they are treated very well by the whole society. To harm a child or carrier is considering an offense punishable by death.

Voidlings (Demons, Daemons, Dreamons, Pure Ones): These beings go by many names, some we don’t even know of. They are the first race of beings to have ever lived, just under the Gods.  Created by the OG Gods of Destruction and Creation, (Tristan and Terrance), and they live in the Void. 

There are many sub levels of the void, the one we see of the endless pit of blackness. To two more levels that aren’t the well known, it’s thought Voidlings live on this level.  They come in two categories, those of the Destructive and Chaotic nature and those of the Creative and Orderly nature. 

Demons are more inclined to be of the Destructive and Chaotic Nature under the rule and laws of Lord Tristan. They are playful beings, loving to cause trouble and bring chaos with them. Though, they seem to dislike killing their targets. Daemons are more inclined to be of the Creative and Orderly Nature, under the rules of laws of Lord Terrance. They are stubborn, cold hearted, and harsh beings. Some have been known to kill their targets should they be displeased with them.  Dreamons are a mixed bag, some are Destructive and just playful, Some are Creative and enjoy helping, some are Orderly and a little harsh to people they see beneath them, and some are Chaotic and care little for life. It’s unsure who you get until you meet them, so be careful.

They are called ‘Pure Ones’ due to the fact they were the first race to be created by the Gods.  They do not reproduce, they are created and there is a set number of them. They are also extremely hard to kill, most can only be banished back to the Void. They each represent something, with strange names. Example, (And I’m use Dream SMP here) Eater of Dreams or Truth Where Lies Meet. 

Size is everything, it’s indicates power, the bigger you are, wide or tall, the more powerful you are. And they can take many shapes and forms. 

Some facts: - They can’t feel empathy or sympathy, but they can be possessive of things they consider ‘theirs’. - They can look human like or something indescribable, however horns tend to be a common trait - They are true shapeshifters, meaning they can take any shape they please. - They possess people they find a ‘kinship’ with, to escape the void. - In their true form, they can’t walk anywhere but the Void, thus need a vessel to do so. - To fall into the void either results in death, or becoming a Voidling yourself. It’s unsure how this happens. - Some are born a ‘Natrual vessels’ with means they are prime targets for posession from a certain Voidling. - Void/Demonic Magic is the oldest living magic and can corrupt people easily

RACES I NEED TO DO LATER

Gods- Tristan, Terrance, Hero, Notch, Victor. Sub Gods  Villagers Mobs Socrerers/Mages

[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Read it on AO3

A week passed.

Zhenya and his consort did not have sex every day, but it was frequent. Temporarily free from the pressure to conceive, they engaged in a variety of non-procreative activities as they explored one another’s preferences. He learned that his partner did not enjoy having his feet touched (the first thumbs-down signal he received from him) and had to deploy their signal himself when the consort had started to maneuver them into the 69 position, one he found deeply uncomfortable. That still left a lot of options, though. 

He saw Sidney almost every day. Sometimes they took a ride together, sometimes they fished. Sidney made good on his promise to teach Zhenya to spar, and he flattered himself that he was picking it up quickly. 

He tried to keep his outings with Sidney...unobtrusive, and away from too many observers. But he was pretty sure that his fondness for Sidney would be apparent to anyone who saw them together, and he was becoming increasingly confident that Sidney was fond of him, too. He worried about the staff gossiping, or thinking him a cad for socializing with another man, but given that he was literally prohibited from socializing with his consort, Sidney’s friendship was a luxury he couldn’t seem to deny himself. He’d had so few genuine, true friends in his life, and he didn’t want to give it up. Not to mention that whatever people assumed, he wasn’t actually having an affair with him -- his interactions with Sidney were wholly platonic. His attraction to him lay uneasily alongside his intense desire for his consort, and his continued admiration for how his husband was conducting himself in his new life. Seryozha sang his praises at every opportunity, and embargo or no embargo, the palace staff were all becoming very fond of him.

Of course they are, they actually get to talk to him, Zhenya sometimes groused to himself. He yearned for the day when he’d see the man’s face, and hear his voice, and finally share his life with him as they were meant to.

But unveiling his consort would mean losing Sidney. It was a trade he was prepared to make, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dreading it.

His parents had departed on a trip abroad right after his wedding, and the day they returned was the day Zhenya hoped that they’d get news about his consort’s conception or lack thereof. He’d seen his husband several times in the palace that morning, guards in tow (no sign of Sidney, for which he was guiltily grateful)...everyone seemed to be milling around in a holding pattern, as if they all knew that today was important.

“Zhenya, my son, you look good,” his father said, hugging him enthusiastically and slapping his back. Zhenya’s father was nearly a foot shorter than he was, a source of much mirth around the palace, and it made such greetings awkward to say the least.

“You too, Papa. How was your trip?” He bent to kiss his mother’s cheeks as they moved to the settee in his parents’ drawing room.

“Dull, dull, dull. Balls and dinners and meetings and the same boring conversation every time. The only bright spot was the many congratulations on your marriage.”

“We appreciate them.”

“How is your consort, my dear?” his mother asked.

“He is very well.”

“And you are...getting along all right?”

He smiled. “We’re getting along great, mother. He’s a remarkable man.”

His father frowned. “You haven’t broken embargo, have you?”

“No sir, absolutely not. It’s just that one can’t help but deduce a few things about someone you see so often. I hear how the staff speaks of him, and I know how he’s behaved towards me. These things reveal a man’s character.”

“Of course. Just...be cautious. The whole idea of embargo is to minimize attachment.”

“I know.” He didn’t mention that the task of minimizing attachment was already a dismal failure, on several fronts.

The door opened and a page entered. “Your Majesties, Dr. Rjskov would like permission to enter with His Highness the Prince Consort.”

His father sighed. “Was he waiting by the door for a cue? I imagine this is news we should all hear.” He looked at Zhenya. “Embargo will be observed once your husband enters, son. Anything you want to say now before they come in?”

“No, sir.” Zhenya was on his feet and all but vibrating out of his clothes.

The page opened the door and Dr. Rjskov entered. At his side was the consort, draped in his dressiest veils (Zhenya had gotten to know the range of drapings he possessed) over a suit. He bowed to the King and Queen, then came to stand next to Zhenya. Dr. Rjskov was walking ramrod straight, like he was being filmed. “Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness. I come before you this afternoon with the news that His Highness, the Prince Consort, is with child.”

His father whooped and his mother cheered; they embraced each other, beaming wide, happy smiles, his mother dashing tears from her eyes. Zhenya’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest. He stood there stunned for a moment, then looked down into his consort’s upturned face and wished he could see it. He grinned and a fast exhale escaped his chest. He lifted his eyebrows in a “really?” gesture, watching the consort...he nodded quickly, the gesture containing all his own excitement and relief.

If he’d been a regular person with an ordinary spouse, learning that they were to become parents, he’d have been able to kiss him, to see the joy on his face, to babble excitedly with him and talk about what to do next. But none of that was available to him, because he was a prince, and this was his embargoed consort, and he did not even know the man’s name to exclaim it aloud in jubilation. All he could do, all he could think to do, was clasp his consort’s gloved hands and press them to his lips.

“Doctor, do you know when the consort conceived?” his father was asking. 

“Yes, based on our bloodwork, I believe His Highness conceived on the wedding day.”

Zhenya’s heart soared again; that was the best possible outcome, as it meant the shortest embargo. If all went well, he’d see his husband’s face in less than three months.

As his father and the doctor continued to talk about the embargo and the pregnancy, Zhenya just stood and let happiness wash over him. Out of sight of his parents, his consort slipped his hand into Zhenya’s, lacing their fingers together, and squeezed.

----------

Zhenya paced in his bedroom later that night, hoping to hear a knock soon. He considered going through and knocking himself, but he didn’t want to presume. He preferred that any contact they had was initiated by the consort, and he felt pretty confident that contact would be initiated, tonight of all nights.

He’d barely had time to internalize the news before the consort was whisked away by his mother so they could start talking about whatever baby-related plans had to be made, which of course had to be done out of Zhenya’s earshot. His father had immediately started harassing him about plans for the unveiling. Such a large occasion, the formal unveiling followed by a public introduction and a grand ball, required a lot of work and even though there was always a chance it would have to be cancelled, they’d proceed as if it would go ahead when the consort’s pregnancy reached three months.

Zhenya had finally been allowed to retire after dinner, his head spinning, half-dizzy from the emotion of the day.

A child. He’s carrying my child. I’m going to be a father. We’re going to be parents.

I wonder if he’s told Sidney.

The thought drew him up short. He realized with a jolt that Sidney hadn’t crossed his mind all day, which was unusual. He also hadn’t so much as glimpsed him today, which was also unusual. He wondered where he’d gotten off to. He’d seen the consort’s guards, including Fleury and Letang and Crosby (the strong blond ponytailed woman he’d noticed the first day), but not Sidney.

He jumped when the knock finally came, feeling guilty that he’d been thinking of someone else when his consort asked for his attention. He leapt to the door and flung it wide, grinning. He couldn’t see it but he could almost sense his consort’s answering grin beneath his drapings. Zhenya couldn’t help himself; he rushed into their bedchamber and swept his husband into his arms, embracing him fully for what was actually the first time. They’d held each other in bed, but had never hugged like this. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was generally considered bad form to touch an embargoed consort anywhere he or she was veiled, which sort of ruled out all but the most perfunctory hugs, which this was not.

He didn’t care, and judging by the enthusiasm with which his consort hugged him back, he didn’t care, either. He felt broad and strong in Zhenya’s arms, his hands digging into Zhenya’s dressing gown and his face tucking into the side of his neck.

Zhenya pulled back and knelt at his consort’s feet, the man’s hands lingering on his shoulders. He slid his hands to the curve of the consort’s waist, those ridges of muscle over his hips forming a V framing his abdomen. Zhenya leaned in and kissed the smooth skin of his flat belly, feeling a hand card through his hair as he did so. He looked up at him, palming the softness at his waist, and the hand in his hair slid down to cup his cheek, the consort’s thumb stroking across his cheekbone. He pulled Zhenya to his feet and held up a “just a moment” finger, then went over to a table near the door into his bedroom. When he returned he was holding a piece of black cloth -- Zhenya realized that it was a blindfold, a large one molded to fit over the upper part of the face. He looked up, confused.

His consort held up the blindfold, pointed to it and then to Zhenya, and then mimed removing his veils. Zhenya’s heart stuttered -- was he suggesting...? He was. Zhenya nodded eagerly, and between the two of them they stripped him quickly of his dressing gown and pajamas. The consort sat him down in a chair then hesitated a moment, holding the blindfold. Zhenya squeezed his hand in encouragement. His husband gave a nod, then carefully placed the blindfold over Zhenya’s eyes and tied it behind his head. Its shape, sweeping down over his cheeks and halfway up his forehead, meant that not even a sliver of vision was left to him. He felt a hand stroke down his face and then sensed him step away.

He heard a quiet rustling of fabric and anticipation clenched in his belly. Here in this room, mere feet from him, his husband was unveiled and exposed, naked before him. He felt the warmth of his body as he stepped close again and then...oh, and then.

The consort joined him in the chair, straddling his lap. No drapings separated them now. Zhenya’s hands twitched nervously; he could scarcely believe he was allowed to touch him freely. His husband had to pick up his hands and place them on his smooth, bare chest. Zhenya shuddered and his hands trembled against his consort’s warm skin. The consort slid his own arms around Zhenya’s neck and leaned in; there it was again, the smell of him, clean and strong, earth after a thunderstorm. His breath ghosted over Zhenya’s face, bearing a hint of the spiced hot tea that he liked to drink.

The consort cupped Zhenya’s face and leaned even closer. Zhenya craved him; he was desperate to close the gap but he didn’t dare -- he could barely bring himself to touch him. Then, barely louder than a puff of air, his mate whispered “Husband” and pressed his mouth to Zhenya’s.

The touch sent a shock through Zhenya’s whole body. No kiss in his long history of kissing men had ever felt like this, had ever felt so consuming, so earth-shattering. He fell into his husband’s mouth, Zhenya’s arms winding around his back and holding him close. The consort’s lips were full and plush; he was solid and strong in Zhenya’s arms. His mouth opened beneath Zhenya’s and they tilted into each other, breath coming faster and hearts thudding against each other’s chests. 

Zhenya slid one arm underneath his hips and stood up, bearing the consort with him. He felt a slight gasp escape the man at being hoisted up like this. He wrapped his legs around Zhenya’s narrow hips and kissed him harder as Zhenya carried him to the bed and laid them both down. For an indeterminate time they writhed together, hardly able to contain their mutual excitement at this newfound freedom to touch.

But that freedom did have its limits, Zhenya realized after a few moments. Several times he lifted his hands to his partner’s face and had them gently redirected. Clearly his consort didn’t want him forming a visual picture of his face through touch. Zhenya could have told him that his fingers weren’t so skilled that he could see with them as a blind man would, but his consort wasn’t taking the chance. Zhenya could kiss his face -- and kiss it he did, all over and then again -- but touching it was off the table.

He kissed down the man’s throat, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his lips, and then down his chest. His nipples were flat and soft; Zhenya’s tongue flicked over them, wondering when they would begin to distend in preparation for their child’s arrival. His consort’s hands were all over him, in his hair, on his face, clutching at his shoulders, as if he couldn’t touch enough of him. Zhenya’s hands roamed his back and chest, sliding down to his ass; they were both hard but the novelty of this new contact was distracting enough that neither of them were paying much attention to their cocks.

Even without touching his face, Zhenya gleaned a little new information about his husband. He had short hair, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. His features felt strong, his jaw sharp and well-defined. None of this told Zhenya much at all, but he hoarded any morsel of intelligence about his consort that he could find.

It didn't help that his mind insisted on conjuring up Sidney’s face, much as he commanded it to discard the image as irrelevant. The two men seemed to be merging in his subconscious to the point that if he imagined what Sidney’s cock looked like, he saw it as like his husband’s, and when he imagined his husband’s face, there was Sidney. 

They rolled on the bed, kissing wildly and grabbing at each other, for what felt like a very long time before Zhenya’s arousal began demanding that he move things along. All at once, he knew what he wanted. He pulled his consort on top of him and parted his legs so his partner’s hips slotted between them. The consort pulled back a bit, moving his hips forward carefully, his body asking if this was what Zhenya wanted. Zhenya nodded and wrapped his hands around the back of the consort’s neck, pulling him back down into a kiss.

His husband slipped a hand between them and positioned his cock, then thrust forward into Zhenya with a shuddering sigh. Zhenya couldn’t help it, he cried out a little before biting it back and grabbing the consort’s ass, hoping he’d get the message that he wanted it, and hard.

He got the message. The consort dropped his head into the hollow of Zhenya’s shoulder and fucked him just as he wanted. The day’s news freed them to reverse their habitual roles without concern that Zhenya could become pregnant as well; pregnancy left the consort temporarily sterile. Zhenya couldn’t seem to hold him tight enough, his hands roamed restlessly over every part of him he could reach. His husband had a fantastic cock, and he’d taken great pleasure in it before now, but nothing could have prepared him for what it would feel like inside him.

Nor for the sheer athleticism of his consort. Zhenya was taller but his partner was broader and stronger; he felt wholly surrounded and dominated by him, and to his surprise it was touching a place of arousal he’d never reached before. Being pressed down into the bed by the solid, heavy body of his mate woke a deep desire he hadn’t known he had. His whole body shook and his orgasm snuck up on him, breaking and crashing over him, his cock jerking and spilling between their bodies. The consort kissed the gasps out of his mouth, slipping his hands underneath him to seize his shoulders as he thrust in harder; his body shuddered, he held deep and came into Zhenya.

They sagged into a sweaty, sated heap together, pulling in fast breaths and stroking each other’s skin. Within a few minutes the cooling perspiration felt uncomfortable, and both their bellies were splattered with Zhenya’s come. He felt his husband sit up and get off the bed, then he grasped Zhenya’s hand and pulled him up, too. He led him to the door -- not the door to his own chamber, but to Zhenya’s. Still unable to see, Zhenya let his consort lead him into his own bathroom and then into his large walk-in shower.

Still a bit muzzy-headed from the frankly life-changing sex he’d just had, Zhenya let himself be taken charge of. He stood in the shower while his consort started the water and began washing them both, clearing the sweat and fluids from their bodies, stopping frequently to kiss him. It was an odd sensation to be bathed while blind, but Zhenya was finding it pleasurable. There was something about being cared for like this. Usually it was him looking after his consort, who was embargoed and seen as a precious treasure to be protected and coddled, but having the roles reversed was pleasingly subversive.

They dried each other off and then Zhenya was led to his own bed and sat down on the edge; the consort pressed one finger to his lips in a “wait” gesture, then Zhenya heard him walk away.  He returned in a few moments, untied and removed the blindfold. Zhenya blinked as his eyes readjusted; his consort’s drapings were back in place.

The consort leaned closer, stroked his hand down Zhenya’s face again, and turned to leave. Zhenya caught his hand and held him back; he jerked his chin back over his shoulder at the bed and tugged at his hand.

Stay. Stay here with me.

The consort’s head cocked, questioning. Zhenya nodded. He wasn’t sure his husband would agree. If he stayed, he’d have to sleep in his veils. The consort hesitated, went to the door that led back into the royal bedchamber and his own bedroom...and shut it, staying in Zhenya’s room.

Zhenya grinned and got up, holding out his hand. His husband joined him and they peeled back the sheets and blankets, climbing in together, the consort careful to keep his veils secure around him. It took them a few tries to maneuver into a comfortable sleeping position but they finally spooned up together, Zhenya behind with his husband curled against his chest. He slid his hand over the consort’s hip to rest low on his belly; after a moment, his consort covered Zhenya’s hand with his own.

Next Chapter

[caelesjjk]

Push (Part 4)

So basically, I’ve tried a million different way to get this to work, but it wont stop posting this huge space between the photo and the text for the fic every time I copy and paste, so just scroll down until you get to the text lol. Its there I promise. Hope every one enjoys! Leave some feedback if you can, it means the world!

Almost a month had gone by since my birthday, and now it was nearly Christmas time. I loved this city during the holidays. It was magic in every sense of the word. But the air was cold now, and the ground has been dusted with a few small layers of snow. The trees have traded in their colorful leaves for bare branches, and that part was always a little sad for me. Winter was funny that way, everything outside was losing layers while people were forced to add layer after to protect us from the elements.

The kids in my class were all extremely restless throughout the week, itching for Christmas break to finally arrive. Kindergartners were difficult enough as is to keep engaged, but throw in some sugar from all the treats they’d been consuming and it was a bit of chaos. But a chaos that I gladly welcomed in my life, I loved seeing them so happy. And truthfully, the promise of Christmas break excited me as well.

It was Saturday evening now, and I had been looking forward to this night for months. My erratic mother had gotten me tickets to see my favorite musical that was in town this weekend only. I couldn’t believe that I was actually going to see Wicked on the big stage. I had woken up far too early, but I couldn’t sleep any longer knowing that I was going to see something so amazing today. I had made sure to ask Michael weeks ago if he would go with me, and he was more than happy to accompany me. And things had been good between us.

Ever since Calum and I had talked the night of my birthday, things seemed to cool off. We still met at the coffee shop almost every morning to talk, but it was nothing more than that. I was learning more about each other in a complete platonic way. That’s something that friends did.

I wasn’t a huge fan of shopping, but I went out a few days ago and bought a dress to wear to the theater. It was a deep green color and made of the softest silky material. The thick straps lay loosely on my shoulders and the skirt was very short but I was confident in the way this dress made me feel.  So I slipped it on and took my time styling my dark hair in loose curls, pulling it up slightly and pinning it in place. I kept the make up that I applied as simple as possible, only putting on some light eyeshadow and liner and just a bit of rose colored lipstick. Once I was completely ready, I grabbed my long leopard print trench coat in hopes that it would keep me warm in this tiny little dress.

Soon enough, my heels were clicking up the driveway to Michael and Calum’s house. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Michael much this week because I was so busy finishing things up at school, but I knew there was no way he could forget something like this when he knew how excited I was about it. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door, unable to wipe the huge smile off of my face as I waited for it to open.

When the door finally swung open, the person on the other side of it was barely recognizable.  They were dressed in some kind of costume with blue paint all over their face and arms.

“Michael?” I ask, my voice laced with confusion.

“Hey babe! What are you doing here?” He asked, stepping aside for me to come inside.

“We’re going to see Wicked, remember? Why are you dressed like that?” I was so confused, and I could feel my emotions start to bubble up in my throat.

“Oh shit, Iz. I forgot that was today. I’m literally heading out the door to ComiCon right now.” He motions towards a bag sitting next to the door.

“ComiCon? Mikey this is important to me. We planned this so long ago.” I sighed.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. You look so pretty though.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head before he moves to pick up his bag by the door.

“I um…I guess I’ll go by myself.” I force a smile.

“You’re the best, Izzy. I’ll see you in a couple days okay?” Michael backs out the door, leaving me standing in his living room completely dumbfounded. He obviously had no idea how much this meant to me.

“That was awkward to witness.” I hear Calum’s voice say behind me, I almost jump out of skin. I turn towards his voice, even though I know there are tears pooling in my eyes about to betray me.

“Sorry you had to see it.” I sniffled, dabbing at my eye with the sleeve of my coat.

“What was all that about anyways?” He asks, sitting his book face down on the arm of the couch.

“It’s stupid. I should just go.” I dab my eye again.

“Try me, Bambs.” He stands up, and comes to stand in front of me. I can’t help but to start blubbering when I meet his eyes.

“My mom got me tickets to see Wicked.  And Michael promised weeks ago that he would go with me. Now I’m all dressed up so I can go to the theater alone.” I’m half laughing, half crying at this point.

“Let me see the dress.” He takes a step back so he can look at me.

“What?” My eyebrows scrunch.

“Let me see the dress you’re wearing, Bambi.” His eyes widen expectantly. I look at him a moment longer before reaching down with my somewhat shaky hands to undo the buttons of my coat. I hold onto each side and pull it open slightly.

“Is it…is it okay?” I ask. His eyes wonder up and down more than once and his teeth sink into his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“It’s perfect.” He sighs. “Which is why I’m going to go put on something much nicer than sweatpants, and take you to the theater to see your play.” He steps around me and walks towards his room.

“Calum…you don’t have to do that.” I walk after him, my heart pounding at the thought of spending an entire evening with Calum Hood. Just when I thought I’d gotten past this.

“I’d be a fool to let that dress go to waste.” He smirks. “Wait here, I’ll make it quick.” He walks into his room and I’m left to my own devices in the living room.

I pace for a few minutes until my feet start to ache from the damn shoes I have on. I convince myself to sit down and do some deep breathing. Calum was just being a good friend. This wasn’t a date. This was just two friends going to see Wicked together. And no sooner had I started to breathe normally again, Calum comes walking out of his bedroom. His hair was styled to the side instead of the natural curls I was so used to seeing. His long legs were covered in black dress pants that had obviously been tailor made to fit him like utter perfection. His black button up was covered by what appeared to be a black velvet jacket with dark red filigree designs adorning it. I had no idea that anyone could pull off something this like until this moment.

“Holy shit.” I accidentally whisper out loud. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand immediately.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Calum smirks, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants as he approaches me.

“You look great.” I sigh.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks. “We can take my car.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” I smile gently and follow him out to the garage where his car is parked. Calum even goes so far as to open the passenger door for me to get in first. He watches me as I carefully slip into the seat and situate my legs. The feeling of his eyes on me makes every inch of my skin tingle.

The drive into the city consisted of soft music playing, and not a lot of talking. We didn’t need to say anything right now. And once we reached the theater, Calum insisted that I let him drop me off at the doors while he went to park the car. He came around and opened my door again to let me out of the car even when I insisted that I could handle it.

“I’ll be right back, Bambs.” He said as he jogged back around the car, pulling away to park the car. I walked up a few steps and waited in front of the revolving doors, until a soft voice interrupted my thinking.

“Your husband is quite lovely.” An older woman with silver hair and a black shawl wrapped around her said.

“Oh. He isn’t my husband.” I laughed nervously.

“Boyfriend?” She questioned.

“No. He’s just a friend.” I explain.

“Your friend is in love with you.” She states boldly. I almost choke.

“I’m sorry?” My voice cracks.

“I was standing here, watching him watch you. Friends don’t look at each other that way.” She waves her hand, so much confidence in her voice.

“Well, he’s most certainly just a friend.” I pull my coat around me a little tighter, turning when I feel a hand touch the back of my shoulder.

“What are you doing out here, Bambi? It’s freezing.” Calum says, motioning for me to follow him inside. And it’s that moment, when I’m not sure if it’s what the crazy old lady was saying  that was getting to me, or if I was just finally seeing things for what they were, but Calum was beautiful. More than just goofy little crush beautiful, he was full blown, heart pounding, stomach in knots beautiful. And I was crazy about him.

I shook it away, smiling and following him inside the theater. I had been here a few times to see other plays, and it never got old being inside. There were golden statues lining the walls and the marble staircases. Enormous pillars could be found here and there touching the high ceilings and leading up to all the intricate crystal chandeliers. The carpet looked like it had probably been here since the building was built but I was still the same lush maroon color it had always been. It was perfect.

“I’m just going to put my coat in the coat check area.” I told Calum, but he stopped me by gently grabbing my elbow when I went to turn away.

“Lemme help you.” He says lowly, using his pointer finger to make a circular motion, indicating he wanted me to turn around. I bit my lip, turning around and letting him help me slip my coat off my shoulders and arms. “I’ll be right back.” He says in my ear as he walks by.

When I’m able to focus again, I see the little old woman walking passed me and winking with a giant smile on her face. I couldn’t help but cover my mouth and laugh a little.

“What’s funny?” Calum says as he comes up behind me.

“Nothing at all.”I shake my head and walk towards the huge gold doors that lead into the theater.

The orchestra is playing quiet music as everyone enters the theater and finds their seats. Our seats were very close to the front and as we sat down, I couldn’t help but to smile as I stared at the giant red curtain currently covering the stage. There was something about the way it smelled inside the theater that made me incredibly happy. And as soon as the music started to play louder, and the lights turned down, everything felt right.

Wicked was one of those pieces of literature that played with all of my emotions. I was laughing one minute and crying the next. I felt Elphaba’s emotions throughout the entire thing. The acting was so spot on. They took the story from the book and turned it into a live action masterpiece. I don’t know how anything will ever top this. At one point during a particularly intense scene, I felt myself literally sitting on the edge of my seat, and when the climax happened I was gasping and grabbing for Calum’s hand, I held it tightly and didn’t even think about the fact that he wasn’t my boyfriend. He let me hold onto him, lacing his fingers through mine and rubbing my knuckles with his thumb to comfort me.

When the whole thing was over, and my mind stopped whirling, I still felt my hand in his. I knew I should pull it away, but I didn’t want to.

“That was so amazing.” I gushed, wiping at my cheeks to dry the happy tears.

“You’re beautiful, Izzy.” He sat forward in his seat in order to get closer to me. My heart clenched, that was the first time I’d ever heard him call me Izzy. It was always Bambi or Isabella.

“I um…thank you.” I breathed, moving my eyes down to our tangled hands.

“I think I watched you more than I watched the play. You were so invested, it was hard to look away.” He admits, still not taking his hand out of mine.

“I didn’t mean to distract you…I just love this play so much.” I shrug my shoulders and laugh lightly.

“I’ve got an entirely new appreciation for Wicked.” He smiles, the dimples next to his mouth and at the corners of his eyes showing. I had never wanted to kiss someone’s dimples before now.

“I feel like I’ve just gotten off a roller coaster. Thank you, for coming with me.” I squeeze his hand in appreciation.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, gently letting go of my hand. And as much as I wanted to grab it back, I let him stand up in front of me.

“What did you have in mind?” I stand up too, straightening out my dress.

“I know a few places around here. Let’s go.” He lets me out of the aisle to walk in front of him to the coat check out.

After we got my coat back, we walked to Calum’s car together, the smile on my face never faltering. The air was cold as it whipped my hair around my head but I didn’t mind it at all. Everything still felt so warm, and Calum stayed close to me the whole walk. His hand was on my lower back, gently guiding me and sharing his body heat. And as soon as we got to the car, he was quickly turning on the heated seats.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked.

“I’m perfect, to be honest.”  I smiled over at him and he did the same in return. I could tell he was thinking about saying more, but instead he backed out of the parking garage and took a left into the city traffic.

Calum sang along to the music quietly. I had to strain to hear him, but his voice was so pleasant. I didn’t want to cross any lines, so I pushed away the part of me that wanted to ask him to sing louder for me to hear better, and just enjoyed the small bit he was willing to give.

“How do you feel about breakfast?” He asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

“My favorite meal.” I say.

“Good. Come with me.” He parked his car quickly, jumping out to come around and open the door again.

“You don’t have to keep doing that, you know?” I tease him about the door opening.

“You’ll never open your own door if you’re with me Bambi.” He helps me out, his warm hand back in mine. I take a moment to look at him, not sure how he really meant “with him”.  He let go of my hand and walked up the sidewalk, stopping to wait for me.

“Coming.” I said quickly, making way to the door and inside the tiny little restaurant. It was warm and smelt heavily of pancake syrup and bacon. The booths were a red and white checkered pattern, the seats were torn in a few spots. I suddenly felt over dressed, but comfortable at the same time.

“Sit wherever you like, folks.” An older woman with her gray hair pulled back into a bun said. There were only maybe 10 tables inside, sort of like the Hatfield’s coffee shop.

I take off my coat before slipping into one of the booths, Calum doing the same on the other side. My  bare legs slightly stick to the booth, but I can’t bring myself to mind it much. I was far too happy with this night to let something so small damper my mood whatsoever.

“Drinks?” The woman says with her notepad and pen in hand.

“Coffee, please.” I say.

“Same for me.”Calum replies as well. She doesn’t  say anything else, just turns to go back behind the counter and retrieve some mugs.

“I still can’t believe this night really happened.” I gush as I scan my menu.

“And you’re happy?” He asks, I can feel his eyes watching me, so I look up to meet his pretty chocolate ones.

“I’m so happy, Cal.” I can’t help but to smile, breaking the eye contact before I find myself drowning in those eyes.

“Here ya go.” The waitress sits down the coffee mugs. “Food?” She asks next.

“Waffles and bacon for me, please.” I tell her, sliding my menu across the table towards her.

“That sounds perfect.” Calum tells her, handing over his plastic menu. The waitress sighs loudly, before she walks back to the kitchen area.

“How’s work for you?” I ask, my stomach is jumping nervously.

“Are we really going to make that type of small talk Bambs?” He chuckles lightly as he leans over the table a little.

“What else should we talk about?” I ask, trying to swallow the lump in the throat.

“Tell me why you’re still with Mike.” He says lowly. It sends sparks down my spine. I’m trapped in his gaze as he waits for an answer that I’m not sure how to give.

“I really like Michael. He’s good to me. And he’s really sweet.” I sigh, pulling my lips between my teeth.

“He didn’t go with you tonight.” He simply states.

“He just forgot we had plans. I didn’t remind about it this week.” It feels like I’m making excuses. And I know it’s because I don’t want to hurt Michael.

“Clifford didn’t give a flying fuck that you had plans tonight. Something better came up and he knew you wouldn’t fight him on it. You’re too nice, Isabella.” He sits back, his arms crossing over his broad chest.

“How do you know? He could have just simply forgot, Calum.” I can feel my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion and a bit of annoyance.

“Mike’s been my friend for a long time. You don’t think I know him?” He scoffs.

“Why do you care, Calum? What does it matter if he did stand me up?” My voice gets a little loud and I look around to make sure no one is listening.

“Because you deserve better than that. He should picked you up at your fucking door and drove you to that play. Because he fucking missed out, Isabella. He missed out seeing you smile all fucking night. You were so happy, and he missed it. Fuck him for that.” Calum’s breathing is a littler faster and his eyes wider as he finishes speaking. My mouth has practically dropped onto the table in shock.

“Calum…I…I don’t…” I start to say, just as the waitress plops our plates down in front of us.

“Eat up, Bambi.” Calum says, picking up his silverware and cutting into his food. I don’t push the issue, choosing to eat in silence the rest of the time we were there.

The walk back to the car was also very quiet, though he still stayed close to me until I was inside the car. But during the drive, he didn’t look over at me. I had too much to time to think.

I thought about what I had done wrong to make Michael forget about how important this night was to me. It was all I talked about for weeks. But maybe I deserved it. I deserved for him to hurt me when I was lusting after his best friend and roommate. It must have been the universe’s way of punishing me. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I released a shaky breath, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks as I did.

“Are you crying?” His voice is laced with concern.

“Possibly.” I sob.

“Shit, Izzy. I didn’t want to make you cry. Please don’t.” Calum pulls into the driveway of the house, parking it quickly and turning his body towards me.

“It’s just…I don’t understand why he couldn’t just come with me. Am I really not important enough for him to remember something like this?” I continued to cry and look down at my hands in my lap.

“Don’t say that shit. Mike’s just an idiot.” His hand comes over across the center console to gently wrap around one of mine.

“Maybe he just doesn’t fucking care. God maybe I’m the idiot.” I half laugh, half cry.

“No. You could never be.” He tries to comfort me, but I can feel my chest heaving harder.

“I’m so stu-“ But I can’t finish my sentence, because Calum leaning across the console pressing his lips against mine. My words are lost on his lips.

It felt too natural. Too perfect. I all too willingly molded my mouth with his, salty tears mixing in with the slow movements of our lips. The rough pads of his thumbs found their way to my tear stained cheeks, wiping away the wetness and pulling me closer to him. I allowed one of my hands to slide up the side of his neck and cup just below his jaw.

It was wrong. So why did it feel so right?

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t of fucking done that.” He suddenly pulls away, opening his car door and stepping out. “Just…sorry.”

He closes his car door, leaving me alone with my thoughts and more confusion than ever.

TAGS: @chilleezliz @slimthicccal @bbycal @kinglyhood @sugarcoated-pain @shower-me-with-roses @c-dizzle-swizzlex

[fairytales-magic]

The gift that is LONG overdue! For the magnanimously patient @kiooart!! You asked for Mitsukiki (i chose romantic instead of platonic cause why not?) as well as a battle scene, so here it is! I hope you enjoy!! :D

It’s also up on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Love Is A Battlefield

“A wedding in the midst of battle.” He told them. “Not completely uncommon, but definitely not something often heard of. When all hope seemed lost some soldier’s final wish would be to marry his beloved.”

She was not so easily convinced. “How can a marriage take place during battle? Wouldn’t their ladies be waiting for them back home?”

‘Not if they fought alongside them.’ He explained, poking at the fire with a stick. “According to soldiers, going to battle with their loved one is what made battlefield weddings so uncommon. Some recall seeing both couples captured and, before being dealt the final blow, they would request to be joined together in matrimony.”

Their group was silent, pondering over his words.

“Buuuut of course that’s just an old war soldier’s tale. Who’s to say if it’s true or not….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kiki gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, pivoting her left foot and swinging her blade to block her opponents strike. One hard shove, a quick slice followed by another, and he was down. A steady fall of rain had began, quickly soaking through her short cloak to her skin. Arms and legs aching, chest heaving, hair undone long ago, Kiki gazed through her bangs to check her surroundings within the courtyard. She caught sight of Zen not far off fighting his own opponent, Obi near his side, fists raised and eyes focused as he took on one after another, vaulting over a half formed wall like he was part monkey. Alongside she found Kai and Shiira—guards of the Poet’s Gate—back to back with swords drawn as they held their own keeping soldiers from overwhelming their prince.

Ex-nobles with a grudge against His Majesty Izana for stripping them of their rank had rallied, whispering false stories to others like them in want of power, encouraging to take part in going to war against the crown. Were it not for the messages sent from Tanbarun with growing concerns over scout reports, things would surely be far worse than they already were. Soldiers on either side fell one by one as they continued to fight, the soil of Clarines stained red with their blood.

It was a very grim sight indeed.

As much as she hoped for a triumphant outcome, Kiki was not so naive as to be certain they would obtain victory. The entire west entrance had been captured by the enemy, forcing Clarines’ soldiers to hold their stance upon the outer east section of Wistal Castle. Numbers on each side were rapidly falling, neither managing to grasp the upper hand for long.

And while she hated to admit it, that fact alone terrified her. Taking up arms once more Kiki fought through the fatigue that tugged at her every limb, working her way back to Zen. The thought of her life ending now appealed to her about as much as it did the next person. She had so much more she wished to do, to protect, to be with.

To think she may no longer have that chance…

A sudden idea came to mind. Something Obi had once mentioned before that at the time sounded utterly ridiculous, but right now might serve as her only chance. Quickly scanning the area once more Kiki found him fighting not half a length from her, cutting down his nearest opponent, wiping the precipitation from his brow. Apparently unaware of the foe approaching from behind she rushed to guard Mitsuhide’s back, striking down the soldier with ease before turning to face him.

“Mitsuhide,” Kiki grasped her partner in a firm forearm grip, “will you marry me?”     

“What?!?” Zen and Obi yelled incredulously, both stumbling fending off opponents from surprise. Of all the things for her to talk of in the heat of battle, that was…not what they expected. Perhaps the fatigue was starting to get to her…

Mitsuhide’s face was the only thing which topped the others shock. He couldn’t have looked more dumbfounded by her words then if she’d just announced King Izana had been turned into a toad.

“I’m really not sure now’s the best time!” was all he could think to reply before the next soldier came at him, metal clashing upon metal.

Never, in the entire kingdom of Clarines, would Mitsuhide have dreamt Kiki of all people would be bringing the topic of marriage up in the middle of battle. And in regards to him no less!

“Now may be our only time.” Raising her sword, Kiki fought vigorously beside Mitsuhide until they had a moments pause, then turned to face him once more. “I love you.”  

A phase said so simply, yet with such affection he beheld in her eyes. Such love.

“I’ve made my choice. What’s yours?”

Mitsuhide gazed hard into his partners deep violet eyes. Her intense stare never wavered. She was dead serious. He felt his heart racing for a whole new reason, and it wasn’t due to adrenaline.

“Zen!” Mitsuhide called, the two aids to the second Prince squinted through the rain towards where he stood atop a short wall fighting. “Marry us!”

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” Zen yelled in exasperation, plunging his sword through the man’s center and withdrawing it quickly as another immediately came after.  

“Zen! Now!”

The only command that had ever been made by either of them. And done in perfect unison no less. Zen let out a growl of frustration. “Fine!” Bloodied sword in hand the second prince began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of our Lord to join these two in holy matrimony!”

“Well this is happening. I’ll take this moment to reserve the right as ‘Best Man’ then.” Obi inserted himself into the mix, striking down three on-coming men with his shuriken.  

Not missing a beat whilst fighting separate opponents, Mitsuhide and Kiki reached out to clasp together their hands not holding a weapon.

Mitsuhide began first. “Kiki Serian, will you take me to be to be your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” A parry, strike, then looked back at her. “To protect our Prince and stay by my side, as not just my partner but also my wife, for long as we both shall live?”

Spinning her under his arm, the two looked as though to be half dancing while fighting. A spin, trade places, slash, stab, duck and block. Their movements were fluid, perfectly timed, as though their minds were one. And at no point did they break hold of each other.

Kiki didn’t miss a beat. “I do.”

“Great!” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but grin, the small smile she sent making his heart take off in flight.

Kiki wiped her wet bangs away from clouding her vision. “And will you, Mitsuhide Louen, take me to be to be your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” Blocking an oncoming sword with her own, Mitsuhide took the moment to thrust his blade into the man’s center. “Health being the less likely.”

Mitsuhide then wrapped his arm round her waist. Secure in his embrace, Kiki lifted both feet off the ground and with a sharp kick to the chest, sent the enemy hurling backwards.

“To protect our Prince and stay by my side, as not just my partner but also my husband, for long as we both shall live?”

His voice was deep, eyes steady with his answer. “I do.”

“Great.” Kiki smiled at him amiss the war-torn setting.

It was funny. They were to be married in the middle of battle, and yet Mitsuhide felt oddly comfortable with it all. Was he insane? Mayhaps so, but right there and then he felt just as she did. If they were to die then it would be joined as man and wife. Marrying his closest friend and confident. Marrying her greatest support and partner. It was oddly fitting in a way.

Their vows now complete His Highness Zen continued. “You have pledged yourselves to one another. May you never forge–i’m trying to conduct a ceremony here you swine!” Zen barked as a soldier made a swipe for his ankles, jumping to avoid the hit. A swift kick to the face and he was down.

“–the promises made this day.” Zen completed. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—“

Zen paused to engage two oncoming men. Mitsuhide stepped wide and lunged at his attacker. Kiki moved a moment after and balanced on her partners bent knee with her own, hand on shoulder, body horizontally stretched to stab her opponent. Feeling Mitsuhide’s arm catch round her waist, Kiki turned to take his collar in her hands, both leaning in towards one another.

Right as she felt his breath brush across her lips yet another enemy came at them, driving the newlyweds to part.

“You may kiss—“ His Highness tried again but his attention was once more forced to focus elsewhere. Sensing movement behind her Kiki quickly struck down her opponent, continuing to turn sharply and swing her sword downward, only to clash against Mitsuhide’s as he turned the exact same moment. The two froze, both breathing heavily and staring at one another, finally a small gap in the endless fighting.  

“Just kiss!” Zen declared exasperatedly.

That was all the encouragement they needed. Taking his sword arm by the wrist Kiki pulled her partner close, his arms winding round her waist and back. They leaned in as one, lips parting in anticipation. Kiki let her eyes slide shut just as they were to make contact…

“Will you stop that! This has gone far enough!!”

Sharp words cut through the warzone’s illusion, bring four companions sitting round a crackling fire into reality.

A strikingly red-faced Mitsuhide glared daggers at Obi, who was taking great pleasure in his friend’s flustered composure.

“What do you mean Mister? It was just about to get good.” Obi grinned mischievously, not at all disheartened at his story being cut short.

“It’s pure nonsense and you know it!” Pointing his stick at the raven-haired attendant, the second prince’s advisor looked to be contemplating on whether or not stabbing him was worth the risk. Friendship be damned.

“I’d have to agree. Either one of us distracting Zen in the middle of battle for a wedding is just ridiculous.”

“That was your problem Kiki?!?”

Zen for his part gave an indifferent shrug, fixing up his bed for a night under the stars. “While i have no problem with a wedding should you choose to, i’d appreciate it being done properly and preferably not when we’re all in danger of dying.”

“We’re not–i’ve never even thoug—i jus–” Mitsuhide let out groan of defeat.

“Ya know Mister, they say the harder one tries to deny it the more true it actually is.”

“Obi!”

The second prince couldn’t help but lightly laugh, setting in for the night.  “Ok ok that’s enough storytelling for one night. Get some rest, all of you. We ride for Wistal castle at first light.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later the soft snap of a twig had Mitsuhide opening his eyes. Not that he had been asleep. No matter how long he tossed and turned, sleep was an elusive being. Rolling over to find his partner’s bed empty, Mitsuhide caught sight of her silhouette a ways off leaning against a tree, her attention on the glittering sky.

“Can’t sleep?” Mitsuhide joined her side, also gazing upward.

“Not yet.” “Mmm. Thinking about what Obi said earlier?”

The corners of Kiki’s mouth tugged up ever so slightly. “Not quite. But i’m guessing that’s all you’ve thought about.”

“I’ve been found out.” Mitsuhide was only mildly surprised she’d guessed what was on his mind. She always seems to gage what i’m thinking. Can even interpret emotions i have trouble putting to words. Perhaps she’s secretly telepathic.

“I’m no mind reader.”

His head whipped back to stare at Kiki. Wait what?! Now she’s inside my head??

Kiki turned to face her partner, her eyes boring into his own, that ghost of a smile still on her lips. “You’re just too easy to read Mitsuhide. Like an open book.”

Oh.

“Yeeeeeah, so i’ve been told.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, catching the shine of a shooting star as it raced across the black sky before disappearing as quickly as it came. Mitsuhide felt a strange sense of calmness in the familiar diamonds twinkling mysteriously. For some reason it reminded him of the mischievous glint in a certain golden-eyed friend. Thinking back on his earlier shenanigans round the fire, Mitsuhide couldn’t help letting out a chuckle, shaking his head fondly. “I just can’t help it. I almost can’t believe the crazy stories Obi manages to spin sometimes. Almost.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think he was that far off on some parts.” Kiki made a show of brushing off her clothes, her monotone voice cool and composed as always.

Mitsuhide tilted his head in curiosity, his eyes still fixated heavenward. “Really?” 

She gave a nod, turning her back towards him once more. “Mmm. I rather liked the idea of us getting married.”  

With that Kiki walked off, leaving a crimson-faced Mitsuhide stammering after her retreating form.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Obi you sneaky storyteller you. :P (hope that wasn’t too sudden of an end!) Please note this was completely, totally, and utterly inspired by Will and Elizabeth’s scene in Pirates of the Caribbean 3, with my own twist at the end.

But can you imagine if that HAD happened? After they’d won, the full extent of what just happened would finally hit Mitsuhide. Sort of a “Oh my gosh i married Kiki.” We’ve seen how flustered he got just sharing the same room as Kiki, can you imagine the scene with him sharing the same bed? ;D

Thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!

[literatureinalibrary]

Moll Flanders

Daniel Defoe

Moll's mother is a convict in Newgate Prison in London who is given a reprieve by "pleading her belly," a reference to the custom of postponing the executions of pregnant criminals. Her mother is eventually transported to Colonial United States, and Moll Flanders (not her birth name, she emphasises, taking care not to reveal it) is raised from the age of three until adolescence by a kindly foster mother. Thereafter she gets attached to a household as a servant where she is loved by both sons, the elder of whom convinces her to "act like they were married" in bed. Unwilling to marry her, he persuades her to marry his younger brother. After five years of marriage, she then is widowed, leaves her children in the care of in-laws, and begins honing the skill of passing herself off as a fortuned widow to attract a man who will marry her and provide her with security.

The first time she does this, her "gentleman-tradesman" spendthrift husband goes bankrupt and flees to mainland Europe, leaving her on her own with his blessing to do the best she can to forget him. (They had one child together, but "it was buried.") The second time, she makes a match that leads her to Virginia Colony with a kindly man who introduces her to his mother. After three children (one dies), Moll learns that her mother-in-law is actually her biological mother, which makes her husband her half-brother. She dissolves their marriage and after continuing to live with her brother for three years, travels back to England, leaving her two children behind, and goes to live in Bath to seek a new husband.

Again she returns to her con skills and develops a relationship with a man in Bath whose wife is elsewhere confined due to insanity. Their relationship is at first platonic, but eventually develops into Moll becoming something of a "kept woman" in Hammersmith, London. They have three children (one lives), but after a severe illness he repents, breaks off the arrangement, and commits to his wife. However, he assures Moll that their son will be well cared for, so she leaves yet another child behind.

Moll, now 42, resorts to another beau, a bank clerk, who while still married to an adulterous wife (a "whore"), proposes to Moll after she entrusts him with her financial holdings. While waiting for the banker to divorce, Moll pretends to have a great fortune to attract another wealthy husband in Lancashire, assisted by a new female acquaintance who attests to Moll's (fictitious) social standing. The ruse is successful and she marries a supposedly rich man who claims to own property in Ireland. They each quickly realise that they were both conned and manipulated by the acquaintance. He discharges her from the marriage, telling her nevertheless that she should inherit any money he might ever get. After enjoying each other's company for about a month, they part ways, but Moll soon discovers that she is pregnant. She gives birth and the midwife gives a tripartite scale of the costs of bearing a child, with one value level per social class. She continues to correspond with the bank clerk, hoping he will still have her.

Moll leaves her newborn in the care of a countrywoman in exchange for the sum of £5 a year. Moll marries the banker, but realises "what an abominable creature I am! and how this innocent gentleman is going to be abused by me!" They live in happiness for five years before he becomes bankrupt and dies of despair, the fate of their two children left unstated.

Truly desperate now, Moll begins a career of artful thievery, which, by employing her wits, beauty, charm, and femininity, as well as hard-heartedness and wickedness, brings her the financial security she has always sought. She becomes well known among those "in the trade," and is given the name Moll Flanders. She is helped throughout her career as a thief by her Governess, who also acts as receiver. (During this time she briefly becomes the mistress of a man she robbed.) Moll is finally caught by two maids whilst trying to steal from a house.

In Newgate she is led to her repentance. At the same time, she reunites with her soulmate, her "Lancashire husband", who is also jailed for his robberies (before and after they first met, he acknowledges). Moll is found guilty of felony, but not burglary, the second charge; still, the sentence is death in any case. Yet Moll convinces a minister of her repentance, and together with her Lancashire husband is transported to the Colonies to avoid hanging, where they live happily together (she even talks the ship's captain into letting them stay in his quarters, apart from the other convicts, who are sold on arrival). Once in the colonies, Moll learns her mother has left her a plantation and that her own son (by her brother) is alive, as is her husband/brother.

Moll carefully introduces herself to her brother and their son, in disguise. With the help of a Quaker, the two found a farm with 50 servants in Maryland. Moll reveals herself now to her son in Virginia and he gives her her mother's inheritance, a farm for which he will now be her steward, providing £100 a year income for her. In turn, she makes him her heir and gives him a (stolen) gold watch.

At last, her life of conniving and desperation seems to be over. After her husband/brother dies, Moll tells her (Lancashire) husband the entire story and he is "perfectly easy on that account... For, said he, it was no fault of yours, nor of his; it was a mistake impossible to be prevented." Aged 69 (in 1683), the two return to England to live "in sincere penitence for the wicked lives we have lived."

[cabiba]

Our Conjugal Class Divide

Marriage has evolved to meet the ideals of the well-educated and left too many Americans unwed and insecure.

Kay Hymowitz | Feb 10, 2021

“Is marriage obsolete?” may have become a hackneyed headline in recent years, but it’s an understandable question. Marriage rates have plunged to an all-time low. Americans are more likely to rate an enjoyable career as essential to a fulfilling life than marriage. Still, the query also signals a widespread misunderstanding about the reality of family life in the United States. Marriage remains a defining landmark in the lives of more well-to-do, college-educated Americans. But it is well on the path to obsolescence only among the less educated poor and working class. Marriage is, in other words, another dimension of the nation’s inequality, one that both explains and perpetuates America’s divisions.

The most well-trod explanation for the marriage gap, and an indisputably correct one, is that trade shocks and automation have devoured the stable, breadwinner jobs that sustained marriages in the past. Joe Lunchbox and his mates clocked in every morning at a local auto parts factory, played on their weekend baseball team, and retired with a comfortable pension. Now their sons spend their working hours at an Amazon warehouse where low pay, an empty savings account, and rumors of imminent automation darken their mood. Whereas their fathers found meaning in supporting their wives and children, their younger sisters and girlfriends now work alongside them earning paychecks that are nearing parity to their own. That would be unambiguously exciting news if it weren’t for the fact that working women who can manage on their own continue to want men who can be financial providers and preferably ones who earn more than they do.

Nevertheless, the precarity of the postindustrial working-class labor market is far from the whole story of the country’s toxic marriage gap. Just as important are the radical changes in our understanding of the age-old institution of marriage, changes that have played to the strengths and aspirations of the well-educated while leaving most Americans stumbling along dead-end paths.

To understand how we got to this point of polarization, it’s best to appreciate why marriage became a universal institution. Early in human history, it became apparent that children were more likely to survive when a mother and father had some kind of quasi-stable union. It was also clear that male competition for mates was a predictable source of conflict within groups. It was in the general interest to have norms that encourage predictable unions. Since the hunter-gatherers, that’s what human groups have done. Marriage customs have varied enormously, of course: polygamy or monogamy, child marriage or adult, arranged or chosen, dowries or bridewealth, and so on. The rules could be harsh. Most societies treated children born outside of socially recognized unions as “illegitimate,” fatherless outsiders with no claim on their paternal name or property. The point was not to “control women’s sexuality” as we sometimes hear, but to insist on the bond between marriage and childbearing by heavily stigmatizing those who strayed from it.

Marriage is, in other words, another dimension of the nation’s inequality, one that both explains and perpetuates America’s divisions.

The decoupling of marriage and childbearing that began in the 1960s in the United States and Western Europe, what scholars refer to as the “de-institutionalization of marriage,” represented a radical break with the human past. In 1960, a negligible 5% of American children were born to unmarried mothers, a disproportionate number of them to African Americans. The number for the general population doubled within a decade and continued to climb until plateauing at the beginning of the new century at around 40%. Divorce rates skyrocketed in the mid 1960s and 70s. “Shotgun” marriages started gathering dust in Western culture’s curio cabinet along with bundling boards. Educated feminists and campus radicals were the first to openly rebel against the old matrimonial order. Middle-class boomers were not far behind. By the 1980s, the working class was on board. Inevitably, the number of children living with only one parent mushroomed.

Still marriage didn’t become obsolete. It was re-engineered as a vehicle for the self-expression and lifestyle of individuals rather than the perpetuation and order of societies. More married couples stayed “childfree;” those that didn’t, were more likely to limit their number of offspring. The “only child” family became commonplace. All in all, the number of births to married couples fell by half between 1960 and 1996. As children became less central to the meaning of marriage, couples developed higher expectations for their own relationships. Now a spouse was supposed to be a soulmate, a Platonic missing half, equal and simpatico in every way. Most cultures have rules about the circumstances in which a union may be dissolved; soulmates decide entirely for themselves. When Ronald Reagan signed the nation’s first no-fault divorce into law as governor of California in 1969, he didn’t simply make it easier for couples to split up. He made ending a marriage the purely personal decision of two individuals—or at least one of them—whose emotional connection had frayed.

Now, the soulmate revolution had obvious advantages. The relaxing of traditional rules made it easier for a woman to leave a violent husband or for a husband to leave an adulterous wife, and for both to relax rigid gender roles. Empowered by the pill and legal abortion, unmarried couples could enjoy sexual relations fearing neither shame, judgment, nor an unwanted child. If a child was born to unmarried parents, he was no longer branded filius nullius (son of nobody) and had the same social and legal privileges as the son or daughter of a married father. Same-sex couples eventually entered officially recognized unions. It’s a reasonable guess that the revolution furthered individual agency and, for many people, a sense of control over their lives; some social scientists believe that these correlate with human happiness. True or not, it’s hard to imagine Americans ever going back.

But these gains didn’t prevent the law of unintended consequences that haunts every revolution from leaving its mark. No one anticipated that either freedom from seemingly outdated mating norms or the soulmate ideal would deepen economic and social inequality, but perhaps they should have. Humans being the communal meaning-makers that they are, it was inevitable that Americans would create norms to replace what they had jettisoned, and equally inevitable that those norms would be designed by the more advantaged members of society. Just as elites had been the trendsetters for the de-institutionalization of marriage, they were the ones to coalesce around the new order.

As children became less central to the meaning of marriage, couples developed higher expectations for their own relationships.

That new order did not entirely thrown out tradition, but it tweaked it in ways ill-suited to less educated Americans. It asked both men and women to put off marriage and children until they had completed their education and headed down career paths; these days that means staying single until one’s late twenties or thirties. During the single years, people date and party—though the ultimate goal is to find a “serious” relationship. They cohabit for a year or two, followed by an engagement, a lavish wedding and then, only then, start a family (assuming they want to). Instead of marriage being a transition into adulthood defined in large measure by childbearing, it is now a personal “capstone,” to repeat sociologist Andrew Cherlin’s useful term. Extravagant weddings complete with catered dinners, flowers, photographers, videographers, champagne, and limousines are the objective correlative of the couple’s capstone economic and soulmate success. The wedding planning website “The Knot” reports that between the engagement ring (a compulsory purchase by the soon-to-be groom) and the event itself, the average wedding costs just shy of $34,000.

Clearly the capstone model of marriage, with its posh wedding and late childbearing, is a poor fit for lower-income couples. For one thing, they don’t spend their twenties going to graduate school or trudging their way up the first steps of the career ladder. Nor do they see why marriage has anything to do with the timing of motherhood. The capstone ideal has taught them that getting married is about making it, being financially set, and they’re far from that goal. A number of the unmarried mothers interviewed by Kathy Edin and Maria Kefalas in Promises I Can Keep: Why Poor Women Put Motherhood Before Marriage announced that they expected to own a home and a car and to have saved enough money for a “big” wedding with all “the works” before considering marriage.

Because marriage is not in the picture and they are not searching for “the one,” the romantic lives of these couples are more aimless. Cohabitation Nation, the most extensive study of the class divide in cohabitation, finds that unlike more advantaged women who date a year or more before living together, less educated women move in with their partners only a few months after meeting them. Sometimes moving in together is a solution to one of them facing reduced hours or a rent hike. Other times, it’s just that they are having a good time together and why not? Pregnancy often follows; lower-income women tend to use birth control more erratically than their more educated sisters. They tend to describe pregnancy as “something that just happened,” unplanned in public health terms, though not necessarily unwanted. “Wait till you’re thirty or forty to have children?” one woman asks Edin and Kefalas. “I don’t think so!”

The educated middle class has emerged from the 1960s family revolution with a cultural script that keeps marriage and childbearing linked, thereby giving their children a better shot at a stable two-parent home. Working-class men and women, on the other hand, have landed up fully embracing unmarried motherhood. Of course, many mothers and fathers are living together when their babies are born, but cohabiting unions break up at far higher rates. Working-class women don’t appear to have deep concerns about their sons and daughters growing up without their fathers in the house. In fact, they look down on women who marry because they’re expecting a baby as taking a sure path to divorce. “The harshest condemnation is reserved for those who marry because of pregnancy,” Edin and Kefalas write. Divorce rates remain higher among lower-income than higher-income couples, but overall rates have declined markedly since 1980. Strikingly, while nonmarital childbearing has become far more acceptable to younger generations, divorce has become less so.

Less educated couples face additional headwinds because of the de-institutionalization of marriage. Older marriage customs and traditions may have been patriarchal and confining, but their requirements were easily grasped by everyone from a chemistry professor to a janitor. Rather than following a gendered script written sometime in an oppressive benighted past, soulmate couples draft their own roles: who should work outside the home and how much, whether to have a joint bank account or keep their earnings separate, whether to take his name, hers, or hyphenate, as well as how to distribute the never-ending tasks of domestic life.

Humans being the communal meaning-makers that they are, it was inevitable that Americans would create norms to replace what they had jettisoned, and equally inevitable that those norms would be designed by the more advantaged members of society.

Most highly educated young men and women have had the advantage of growing up in homes that prepare them for these negotiations. As Annette Lareau showed in her landmark Unequal Childhoods, a comparative study of middle-class and low-income parents, middle-class kids spend their childhood years in highly organized environments. Weeks are plotted ahead on large calendars or kitchen blackboards so everyone in the family can keep track of the soccer games, dance lessons, doctor’s appointments, and family vacations. Lower-income parents don’t see much point in these activities, according to Lareau. They subscribe to a philosophy of “natural growth” where children need little teaching and molding. Moreover, while affluent parents view their children as “conversation partners” who can discuss and opine, lower-income parents are more pragmatic, direct, often giving one-word answers. Middle-class kids argue and explain themselves. If told they can’t play video games for two days after getting in trouble with a teacher, they bargain for one day, and promise to never ever do it again. By contrast, when lower-income children are scolded, “the adult talks; the child listens.” Working-class parents are not as strict as they once were, but it’s still possible that if you question authority, you’ll feel a hard slap across the bottom.

The habits of planning ahead and of “using your words” learned in a middle-class home are power tools in a world where gender relations are largely unscripted. Educated couples are more likely to discuss the timetable for getting serious, living together, getting engaged, and getting married. They “plan, deliberate, mull over and organize their resources, their children and their daily lives,” writes Jessi Streib in The Power of the Past, a study of mixed-class marriages. As we saw, while working-class men and women tend to cohabitate early, with little consideration for what happens next or where their relationship is going, middle-class couples wait a year or more before living together and have a clearer understanding of what their partner expects.

It would be a mistake to ignore the ways economics reinforces these cultural differences. One reason lower-income couples are more laissez-faire may be that their work lives and those of the people around them are more unpredictable. Schedules change, layoffs disrupt planned budgets, overtime possibilities wax and wane, older cars break down, etc. Money anxieties add to stress and conflict. Brad Wilcox and Wendy Wang speculate that because working-class and poor Americans are less likely to own a home or share other assets, there are fewer reasons to avoid a breakup.

But it’s worth remembering that once cash-strapped couples married despite the unpredictable hardships to come. No one thought of a diamond wedding ring as an entrance fee to the institution. Most people assumed that two people together could better withstand the hard knocks life would bring—whether closed factories, injuries, or droughts. That kind of thinking seems to have melted into the thin air of the soulmate revolution.

So here we are in unforeseen territory. The women who can least afford to raise a child are the most likely to be single mothers, and the children who stand to benefit the most from stable homes and reliable fathers are the least likely to have them.