#he likes his woman older and financially well off

[bunnithechubs]

breaking news: she would date men her age but they're all dead!

[berberriescorner]

“Are You Listening?”

Interlude: “Drinks On Me, Yeah?”

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: Issa Interlude, mama. Expect the unexpected.

Warnings: Profanity, angst, fluff, and drinking-little libation for the one, two.

Word Count: 1,700+.

A/N: My lovelies! My babies! Mama’s back and I got a little sum-sum for ya! Let’s start this weekend with a little Rio and the crew, yeah? Yeah. I want to give so many thanks to all of you sweet lovelies who have been rocking with me this entire time. Most of you know that the past year and a half has been quite the struggle. To everybody who took time out of your day to come and check in on me, please know that I’m appreciative and forever grateful to have connected with such amazing people🥹♥️. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks as well💓. I’m a little rusty, so be gentle with your girl. Enjoy my sweet babies.  Before anyone asks, yes, I’ve been working on Pt. 4😂😏😈.

"Are You Listening?" - The Playlist

Apple Music.

Spotify.

Part One Here.

Part Two Here.

Part Three Here.

Inspired By:

Your body pressed down into the plush mattress as you reveled in the comfort and security of being home. Your mind replayed the image of your mom snatching the door open, the two of you hugging tightly, rocking side to side. You had spent the past week trying to survive final exams and warding off the many questions of, “What’s wrong, baby girl?” The woman who gave you life knew you all too well. Sensing that her youngest baby was struggling, her attempts to get you to open up over the phone went unanswered. With the semester complete, being home didn’t leave much space to dodge the knowing gaze in her eyes. 

That master’s degree will probably be a waste of time.

The moment you pulled away from the hug, she cupped your chin, and your poker face cracked as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. Two hours later, you filled her in on everything from the stress of school, financial aid, working doubles, and the fresh crack in your heart that was taking its sweet-ass time to heal. All of which had only taken about forty minutes to stutter out. The talk and her comfort had left you wiped out, and just like any amazing mother would do, she sent you to your room for a nap and got to work on preparing comfort food.

You considered dozing off for a bit more rest, but your bedroom door flew open, bouncing off the corner of your vanity. Your eyes narrowed to mere slits as you started to curse your oldest brother out. His hand raising halted the verbal reprimand.

“Alena’s big-headed ass is here to see ya mean ass,” he snarked about the woman who would eventually become his wife.

These two bitches are so in love. It’s sickening. The attraction is so annoyingly obvious. Shit makes me sick to my stomach.

Before you could tell him you didn’t want company, she was already in the doorframe. “Uh-uh, bitch you are not about to dodge me for another two weeks.” With those words said, you had no choice but to give her a rundown of what had transpired. Not only had she forced you to divulge every last detail while the two of you hugged and cried together. She also took it upon herself to wiggle you into your best freakum dress and head out for a girl’s night.

Being the baby and the only girl in your family made for very over-the-top protective parents. The moment your father saw your attire, he wouldn’t let up. He was hell-bent on forcing your brothers to chaperone.

It wasn’t a horrible idea.  Only you didn’t like your independence challenged. Luckily, the older siblings were pretty chill, so long as no one was overly aggressive. They had taught you how to handle shit for yourself at a young age. You spent the first half hour in the club pouting and ready to go home to wallow in self-misery.

“Hoe! If you don’t fix your face, scaring off every good-looking man in this club!”

“They’ll be alright, so long as they keep their distance. In case you didn’t get the memo after our long talk. Men make my ass itch,” you growled, kissing your teeth.

“Whateva, you and that stank attitude can have a good time together,” she sassed, throwing up a hand and walking away from the bar.”

“Where are you going? Alena!”

“I’ll be back, damn! Let me go on and annoy them, fine-ass brothers of yours. Be nice, and don’t bite nobody head off, sourpuss.”

“Always thirsting after my blood, just triflin’.”

With the flick of a middle finger, she sauntered over to their section. You could see the irritation rolling off them as she seated herself in the middle. The arguing started seconds later. Your eye twitched at the sight. Swinging the barstool back toward the liquor, you were about to pass the time scrolling through social media. Instead, a set of bronzed-colored, muscular digits came into view. They gently pressed your phone to the bar as the matching digits slid another lemon drop into view. Your eyes danced along those muscular fingers, trailing upward until they landed on one of the sexiest faces you’d ever witnessed. If any other man would’ve done this, he would’ve been set straight expeditiously. In this instance, ole boy was just too damn fine, and it left you on mute. The corners of his mouth lifted into a handsome smirk.

The stranger turned his barstool to get closer. One hand rested on the bar while the other cradled the back of your seat. His eyes roamed over your body, lip tucking between his teeth, matching you stare for stare. He chuckled when he noticed your quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t mean to intrude on ya evening, but I figured you could use another drink.”

“Is that so?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your friend. I’m tryin’ to  figure out why these men got your fine ass itching out here.”

Shit, he heard that? Floor, open up and swallow me. That’s so damn embarrassing.

As if reading your thoughts, he continued, “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mama. There’s a lot of boys running around here pretending to be men. Who was crazy enough to fumble you? He gotta be the dumbest man on earth.”

As if on cue, said fumbler’s name popped up on your caller ID. With a swipe of a finger, the phone went silent. You turned back to your new admirer. He had signaled for another round of drinks.

“Either you’re a big spender, or the bartender is your connect,” you teased.

“Connect is one way of putting it. This my spot, darlin’.”

He chuckled as you damn near choked on your drink.

“I’m sorry. Tend to put my foot in my mouth.”

“You good. I like a woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind. Dealing with me, you go to say it with your chest.”

“Oh, so you plan to be around me beyond tonight?”

“Around, underneath, on top. We locked in, mama,” he insisted, licking his lips.

“I don’t even know your name, fool,” you cackled at his cockiness.

“Name’s Rio, but you can call me Christopher, mama. My future wife needs to know my government name. I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t be tellin’ my business, sweetheart.”

“Who says I’m checking for you, Rio?”

“You accepted my company and drinks. Deep down, you’re intrigued by me. Ain’t no need to hide it. When I see something I want, gotta go after it, mama.” he rasped, voice lowering to a panty-dropping level.

“You’re trouble. I just know it.”

Rio planted both hands on your thighs. The gasp that escaped you lit his brown orbs with passion.

“Can I have your undivided attention for the night? Want to get to know you better, mama.”

Grabbing his outstretched hand, he helped you down off the stool.

“Rio…”

Piercing light flickered in the darkness, pulling you from the memory that played itself in your dreams. Your hand snatched the vibrating phone from the table. Your orbs squinted to read the screen, teeth clenching in frustration.

Fucking Rio, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep. Stupid-handsome-asshole.

With a single tap, the phone rested on DND. You closed off from the world to find a peaceful slumber, only to wake from another dream. Throwing the covers back, you startled, feeling the bed dip. His cologne wafted through the air, and your eyes connected.

“Why all the tossing and turning, amor? Hmm,” he rasped, hand trailing up your arm. His warm palm cradled the side of your neck, rubbing away some of the tension.

“Sorry, did my restlessness wake you?”

“No, querida. I’ve been up taking care of some things.”

“Same old Miguel. Everything business. Still don’t sleep much, huh?”

His eyes crinkled with a small smile, but you could also see sadness. It’s the same unhappiness that’s always lingered, only now accompanied by sparks of anger and resentment. Your mind replayed his words in the elevator.

Where’s your wife, Miguel?

She had other plans tonight.

The slightest mention of her had nearly sent his mood spiraling. You weren’t privy to what was happening in his marriage but didn’t want to pry. He would only reverse card uno your ass. Miguel would insist that you vent about your own life and frustrations.

“Thank you for taking the couch,” you nibbled at your lip. 

There was a hint of frustration and guilt lingering in your chest. Not being able to sleep without dreaming of Rio left you feeling conflicted. Part of you wanted to say to hell with loyalty. Being in such a vulnerable state had you craving to be held and cuddled, but regardless of circumstance, the two of you were very much married. Concern swam in the pools of his eyes. Miguel sensed the ongoing dilemma in your head, and his fingers gently cupped your chin.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s all this,” he asked, tugging the lip between your teeth. “Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t,” you sighed.

“You can, and you will. Look at me,” he insisted as your eyes locked.

“Anything you ask me. It won’t leave this room. You need me to hold you until sleep takes over, amor?”

Unable to verbally say it, you gave him a slight head nod. Removing his tie, watch, and shoes, he made it over to the opposite side of the bed. Miguel got right to it, not giving you time to overthink it. He pulled you into his chest, arms engulfing you in a tight hug.

“Were you having nightmares, cariño?”

“No, just happy memories reminding me of the present painful ones,” you replied, voice filling with unshed tears.

“You want to talk about it?”

Silence filled the room as Miguel continued, “We don’t have to ta-.”

His sentence cut short as he felt the tremors and your head burrowed into his side. Miguel’s heart cracked at the sound of the sobs falling from your lips. His arms pulled you further into him until there was no space left, and the palm of his hand rubbed at your head.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I’m here,” he cooed, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head.

Miguel continued to whisper calming words. You cried until your head pounded, and sleep took over.

Hope you all enjoyed that little peek into how Rio pulled up on your girl for the first time. He saw something he liked, and he had to have you🥰. We’ll just call this a vague moment of insight into upcoming events...if that makes sense 😆. If you enjoyed please be sure to hit the love button, comment, and reblog. Spread the love, my babies.

Divider: @firefly-graphics

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[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: i had this idea and needed to write it. it's a bit into the future, much past where i currently am, so feel free to skip. i'm still posting the next part later this evening, but i just needed to get this out of my head and figured i'd share lol

*gif courtesy of google*

words: 1.6k // warnings: solana is sad, roman is pissed, and their families ain't shit

taglist: @fearlesschimera @sayyestoheav3nn @annfg8 @cyberdejos2 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trentybenty @empressdede @tshepisho @southerngirl41 @callmekayd

Solana should have listened to Roman. 

Should have known better than to ever think this was a good idea.

To think that they could have both of their families in the same vicinity and everything would go fine. Granted, the type of division she was expecting has been relatively tame. There hasn’t been any violence, largely due and thanks to the weapon deposit bins by the entrance.

Weapon free establishment and all. 

Yet, she’s not naive enough to think that the lack of guns, knives, and other unmentionables could stop her or Roman’s family from throwing down if they wanted. But, they haven’t. No punches have been thrown nor bones broken. It’s been more of a clear separation. Roman’s family only interacts with each other, and her family interacts with each other.

Not the kind of cohesion she was hoping for but a much better alternative than what it could be.

But, while conflict and violence between the in-laws has, so far, been avoided. There’s still another major issue that has Solana locked in one of the back rooms, sitting on a random chair, crying her eyes out.

The bullying. 

Towards her. 

Towards Roman.

Towards their baby.

It started out light, Solana having to politely shut down a near fight between her brother and Roman.

Wes lifted the beer to his lips, eyeing Roman. “So, how many people have you killed today, Reigns?”

“Wesley!” Solana’s sharp use of his name was conjoined with a disapproving expression. He’s too old for the petty jabs.

Roman, however, simply smiled coldly, scratching his beard as he delivered a chilling warning. “So far none, but you keep fucking talking, and I can change that real fast.”

Thankfully, Solana was able to de-escalate, her sister-in-law, Hazel, prying Wes away before any violence could commence. 

Then there was the conversation Solana unintentionally walked into while conversing with two of her older cousins she’s not as close with.

For good reasons.

“Aren’t you at all worried?”

Solana frowned. “About?”

Her cousin leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Roman as a dad. I mean, he’s not capable of love. Do you really expect him to be a good father?”

There’s no words to describe how much hearing such a thing about the man she loves hurt Solana. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her other cousin, however, simply rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, everyone knows that man is a sociopath. You’re better off cutting your losses now, taking the kid to Mexico with your mom’s side of the family, and praying he doesn’t turn out like his psycho dad.”

Solana had to excuse herself for that one. She had nothing nice to say in that moment, but beyond that, she just needed to get a few tears out.

And she did, hoping that would be the last of it, but no, that was just too good of a hope to be true. 

It was the comments overheard by some of Roman’s relatives, however, that did her in.

“I just can’t believe out of all the women, the respectable options who come from more established families, he chose her.”

The other woman snorted, shaking her head. “Right? It’s obvious she was looking for a sugar daddy. What is she, like 25?”

“I heard her father’s not doing well financially and told her to seek out Roman.”

“Makes sense. Look how easy she was. Didn’t waste any time opening up her legs and trapping him with a baby.” The woman rolled her eyes, adding, “at the very least, he could have found a Samoan woman. It’s bad enough he’s afakasi, but this child of theirs? The girl is Mexican and Black. He’ll hardly have any Samoan blood running through his veins. Our Bloodline could die out because of her.”

The first woman to speak snorted, smirking almost as she suggested, “that’s assuming it’s his baby. Roman’s smart though. I’m sure he’ll have a paternity test done as soon as she pushes out that bastard.”

“Assuming ICE doesn’t deport her first.”

The two women fell out in laughter at the same time Solana darted off, desperate to get away and have a safe space to cry. 

It’s all just been too much. Too much hatred spewed for something that should be filled with love and excitement. 

It’s been anything but, and it hurts. 

It hurts a ton. 

The knocking on the door is loud and borderline erratic, Solana quickly wiping her eyes and clearing her throat to inform that she’ll be out in a minute. But, a deep, familiar voice beats her to it.

“Solana.” It’s Roman, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Open the door.”

She blows out a deep breath and does her best to feign a ‘normal’ voice. “Just—just a second.”

“Now, Solana.” Before she can ask why, he adds in a calmer voice,“I know you’re crying.” Damn. 

“So you either let me in or I’ll break this goddamn door down.”

He’ll do it. She knows he will. There’s nothing ever stopping Roman from comforting or being there for her when he knows she’s upset. 

And this would definitely be one of those times. 

Solana sniffles, trying to gather herself as she carefully stands up from the toilet seat. Wiping at her eyes, she flips the lock and is barely able to turn the knob when Roman is opening the door. Stepping back, he closes it behind him and moves his hands to her face, gaze locking with hers.

“What’s wrong?”

So many things, but this isn’t the time or place, so she shakes her head. “N–nothing. I’m just—baby hormones.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs, voice still surprisingly gentle. “Baby, talk to me. What happened?”

Solana looks away, hating how just that question, coming from him, tone so understanding and soft almost, is enough to pull the truth out of her.

And it does.

“You were right. This was a bad idea. I should have never—” She stops herself, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I just wanted…..I thought….I thought they’d be happy for us.”

“Sol, you know it’s not that simple.” Though his words could be seen as insensitive, the way he says it is anything but. “Who said what?”

She closes her eyes, grasping onto his white button-up shirt. “It wasn’t just…..one person….it’s everybody.” He wipes at her tears, as she continues to feel the emotional weight of it all. “My family saying cruel things about you—”

“Sola—”

“Your family saying things about me, about our baby—”

At that, all gentleness drops and is replaced with something else. Something she knows Roman knows well. 

Anger.

“Who?” It’s one word. One single word that means a multitude of things and none of them good.

Solana shifts her weight, shrugging, “I—I don’t know who they are. Some….some cousins of yours. But, it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does fucking matter.” Roman drops his hands from her face to instead take her right hand in his, holding it firmly. “And we gonna address this shit right now.”

Solana's eyes widen a bit. That’s….that’s not what she wanted. “Wait, Roman—”

He’s not listening though. His stride is purposeful and determined, as he leads them out the bathroom, down the hall, and into the main section of the venue where most of their families are gathered. 

Roman guides them over to where the DJ has his setup, Solana gasping as Roman uses his free hand to yank a set of chords out the wall, effectively stopping the music. 

The DJ looks just as confused as most of the guests but cowers away in fear when Roman ‘iffs’ at him, like he’s going to hit him, before snatching the microphone. 

The abrupt ending of the music has attracted most gazes to where Roman and Solana stand, him moving them to the middle where all can see and hear.

He never once releases her hand. 

“Imma say this one time, and one time only.” She swallows, her eyes landing on her parents. Her mom looks confused, while her dad wears the same expression he’s worn since the moment Solana finally came clean about her relationship with Roman.

Disappointed. 

“Cause if I have to address this shit again, it’s not gonna be verbally.” Chills move up and down her spine. There’s not an ounce of her that questions if he’s bluffing or not. Roman doesn’t bluff. If he says it, he means it. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. That includes her family and mine, but I’ll be damned if I let any of ya’ll disrespect her or our child.” Solana’s hand naturally moves to her belly, her bump that’s pronounced and especially visible in her white bodycon dress. “We’re together. We’re having a baby. However way any of you feel about it, keep it to your fucking selves, because there’s no reason Solana should be crying at something that’s supposed to be a happy occasion.”

She swallows, noticing how the entire room has gone silent under the deep voice of Roman’s address. There’s not a person who looks uninterested or annoyed. It’s just a sea of various scared and nervous expressions. 

“So, the next time you find yourselves talking shit about her, and especially our baby, understand it will absolutely be the last thing you ever fucking do.” Solana watches Roman begin to hand the microphone to the flabbergasted DJ before he snatches it back, turning once again toward the onlookers. “And one more thing……when you address her, make sure you do it properly.”

Solana’s throat goes dry.  She shakes her head. He can’t be doing what she thinks he’s about to do. “Roman—”

“It’s not Solana Miller.” Oh my God. “It’s Solana Reigns.”

The sea of silence quickly morphs into an ocean of various gasps, exclamations, and even shouts. 

Meanwhile, Roman simply smirks as he sticks the nail in the coffin before dropping the mic on the ground. “—we’re married.”

[littledovesnow]

president snow, the prelude

a/n: so there were like 750 words that didn't make it into the final fic for president!coryo, here they are! i wasn't going to publish this, but it sets up a lot of the backstory for future fics i have planned :)

-----

The room was electric as Lucky Flickerman’s face popped up on the TV, ready to announce Panem’s next president.

Your husband, who was freshly twenty-five and had his name on the ballot fo the first time, stood next to you, hand laced in your own.

“You’re a shoo-in, Coryo, I don’t know what they’re even doing counting the votes. Everyone knows you’re going to come out on top. After all, Snow lands on top.”

Coriolanus smiled softly at the sound of his family’s favorite phrase. He knew he had most likely won the election as well, but he wanted to hear the final vote before celebrating anything.

“The results are in,” Lucky Flickerman’s dramatics were dialed to a hundred tonight, as he flicked open an envelope brought to him by a station worker.

“Panem’s next president is,” he trailed off, wanting to build the anticipation.

You could feel the electric in the air, squeezing your husband’s hand as Lucky opened his mouth to continue. “The Capitol’s own Coriolanus Snow!”

Cheers erupted from the Snow’s great room, Coriolanus’ closest family and friends having gathered for the momentous occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Plinth, who thought of you considered your in-laws, wasted no time in congratulating the young man, their next president. “We always knew you had it in you, Coriolanus. Ever since you and Sejanus first were mentors way back when!”

You and Coriolanus shared a look, neither of you had ever come out with the truth about what happened when Coriolanus was exiled the summer after the 10th Hunger Games.

Putting on a smile, Coriolanus hugged the older woman, and shook hands with his late classmate’s father. “You’ll do this nation proud, boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plinth.”

Mrs. Plinth brought her attention to you, the nation’s next First Lady. “You’ll be a splendid First Lady! Oh, the Capitol will be overjoyed to have a young couple at the helm again! Especially once a child is brought up!”

You stopped yourself from frowning, instead giving the woman a soft smile.

Coriolanus watched with a careful eye, not wanting to cause a scene at the woman’s comments. He and you had been trying for a child for a few months, to no avail. One of his first tasks as president would be to find better fertility care, as he was growing worried that each failure was taking a larger toll on you than you let on.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I do need to go make a speech.” Coriolanus smiled, tugging you out of the room with a promise to catch up at his inauguration.

You waited until you two were in the privacy of your bedroom before letting any emotions go, inner turmoil over your husband’s victory and sadness over Mrs. Plinth’s comment.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Coriolanus murmured; voice much softer than when he is in public. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

 You looked at your husband with tears on deck, stomach rolling over. “She’s true. The Capitol’s going to want us to start a family as soon as possible. I’m going to be seen as a failure if I can’t even get pregnant!”

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you as your emotions crumbled, heat growing in his heart. He wanted to immediately call for her to lose her tongue, with little regard that she was one of the two people who had helped him financially be able to make it to this point in his life.

“We’ll figure it out, my love. I vowed to help you become a mother, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, earning a tsk from the president-elect. “I just wish it was as easy as It is for everyone else. I deserve this, for God’s sake!”

Coriolanus frowned, hand running up and down your spine. “I know, my love.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he kept his lips closed.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more, until there was a knock at the door, an Avox opening it once Coriolanus granted permission.

Holding a phone up, the Avox gestured to Coriolanus, who begrudgingly stepped away from you to take the call, which was Lucky Flickerman himself, conducting a phone-style interview live on air.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, playing into the pizazz and cheer over the phone, stating how excited he was to have this honor as president, all while sitting on the luxurious bed you two shared, hand moving up and down your arm as you curled into his side.

-----

a/n: and there it is folks, basically why i made coriolanus want funding for a fertility clinic :)

[thebluemallet]

My Favorite Portia Featherington Moments

Throughout all three seasons of Bridgerton, Portia Featherington has been a complicated character. On the surface, she's completely unlikeable. She treats Penelope poorly. Her fashion sense is excessively gaudy. And she seems either unaware or willfully ignorant of the social faux pas she makes from day to day.

But she is also a survivor who was dealt a shit hand in life with her useless husband. And she did what she had to do to ensure the safety and well-being of her daughters in desperate times. So here are a few of my favorite Portia moments.

10- Showing Marina What Her Future Holds

When Portia finds out that Marina is pregnant, her first instinct is to protect her girls and her family's reputation. She wants to send Marina away and back to the country but she can't because of her useless husband's dealings. George hasn't answered Marina's letter telling him about her condition. Without knowing that George's fate has already been sealed, Marina's insistence that George will come for her seems naive--especially to Portia.

When Marina refuses to even entertain the idea of being married off quickly to an older man in need of an heir who won't ask too many questions, Portia, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, shows Marina what her life will be if she continues to hold out for George.

It's a much-needed wake-up call but it does not work on Marina. The forged letter may have seemed cruel at the time, but if I were in Portia's shoes, I would have assumed the worst of George, too.

9- Confronting Her Husband

When Lord Featherington puts a premature end to the courtship between Albion Finch and his middle daughter Philippa, Portia is outraged. A man has taken an interest in one of their daughters, seems besotted with her, and wants to marry her. What possible objections could there be?

When she tries to press him for answers in public, Lord Featherington uses his position as a man and a husband to silence her. But when Portia uncovers that he has gambled away all of their money--including their daughters' dowries--her husband is revealed for the sniveling coward that he is. Outside of the eyes of society, he is a weak man who can't curtail his vices even for the well-being and future of his family.

They may not like each other, but even Portia wasn't expecting this level of betrayal from her husband.

Cry those crocodile tears, Archibald! I don't feel sorry for you whatsoever. I'm Team Portia on this one.

8- "You find things to love, my dear."

Even a blind man could tell that Portia and Archibald were not a love match. She married him for security and he failed to even provide that. But she managed to find silver linings in the many clouds of her marriage.

Her talk with Marina in the final episode of season 1 gives the audience more insight into the kind of woman Portia is and how strong she had to be to endure her marriage with her late husband for so long. It's the kindest and most motherly we've seen her be all season. And her talk gives Marina the final push she needs to do what needs to be done to protect her babies.

Portia, as we'll see, is better off without her deadbeat husband. She has more strength than she gave herself credit for in this scene. And she has the three best things her husband gave her by her side.

7- "I am a MOTHER."

After the death of Archibald, the Featherington women are in financial stasis until the new Lord Featherington finally shows up. When Cousin Jack finally arrives some things are starting to look up. But he is making some questionable decisions right off the bat.

Portia is, once again, at the mercy of a Featherington man who makes piss-poor financial decisions when Cousin Jack comes into the picture.

She navigates the situation as best as she can, even getting into his fraudulent gemstone scheme when she's backed into a corner with no way out. Desperate times, desperate measures.

After Colin uncovers the scheme and Cousin Jack proposes not only running away from the country, but even leaving Prudence and Penelope behind and sending for them later, Portia has had enough. If you think this woman would ever seriously consider abandoning her daughters to save her own skin, then you don't know her at all.

Portia doesn't always make the right decisions. Portia doesn't always say the right things. Portia is far from a perfect mother. But she'll ALWAYS choose her daughters over mediocre men who only care for themselves, and for that, I'll love her forever for showing Cousin Jack the door.

6- Sex-Ed With Philippa and Prudence

The moment Philippa said that she and Albion were "very passionate" I KNEW that we were in for some comedic gold.

And I was RIGHT.

At first, Portia thinks her biggest problem with the Featherington Heir Race is Prudence. But at least she can relate to Prudence's problem of not enjoying the marital act. Poor Portia's not even aware that it can be enjoyable for both parties.

But to her horror, BOTH of her married daughters are the problem. Prudence isn't having sex because she doesn't like it and Philippa isn't having sex because she has no idea what it is.

You can see the wheels turning in both Prudence's and Portia's heads when Philippa asks that infamous question.

If Lady Featherington went home that night and screamed into her pillows, I wouldn't blame her.

5- Chaperoning Polin

Portia's finally realized that she's been a little lax with chaperoning Penelope over the years. No matter, she'll make up for it now and chaperone her daughter when her fiancee comes for a visit!

Colin and Penelope are just not used to having a chaperone and they have no idea how to conduct themselves with one in the room. Colin looks downright annoyed every time he sees Portia out of the corner of his eye. Penelope's staring at his lips the whole time and probably wants Colin to compromise her again right there on the window seat.

But the real comedy of this scene is knowing that Penelope is already pregnant. So the chaperoning was too little, too late.

4- Finally Bonding With Violet

For most of the series, Portia and Violet have gotten along like oil and water. They're not great friends like Penelope, Colin, and Eloise. They don't hang out at social events. Portia is envious of the Bridgertons and their social clout. Violet barely tolerates Portia on a good day. And as much as Violet loves Penelope, you can tell in 3x05 and 3x06 that she's not looking forward to having Portia as an in-law.

But when Colin and Penelope are on the outs just before their wedding, the two mothers have finally found some common ground.

3- Handling Lady Whistledown

I was not expecting Cressida to actually tell Portia that Penelope was Lady Whistledown. I thought she'd make a vague comment that Penelope would have to play off as nothing and then she would work with Colin and Eloise to overcome the Cressida threat.

But no, Cressida really tells Portia.

The threat of Cressida's blackmail hanging over her daughter's head and what this could mean for the Polin marriage is enough for Portia's protective mother instincts to kick in and she teams up with Colin and Eloise to find a solution and protect Penelope.

And she gets extra brownie points from me because one of her first reactions to learning about Whistledown is to point out that Penelope was the one to write horrible things about herself. ("The things you wrote! About your family! About yourself!")

Yes, Portia's angry about Penelope's secret and what she's done as Whistledown, but she puts that anger on the back burner for a short time while she tries to navigate her family through their latest crisis. To paraphrase what she said to Cousin Jack at the end of last season: she and Penelope are on the same team.

2- Portia and Penelope Finally Talk

Portia might have put her anger to the side when she found out about Whistledown, but it returns when Penelope finds out that Portia kept the money Cousin Jack had embezzled from the ton.

Portia and Penelope finally have it out and mother and daughter realize that they are more alike than they had previously realized or were even willing to admit.

1- Portia as a Grandmother

Portia started out the season anxious that none of her daughters would have a son and secure their family's future. By the end of the season, she's a grandmother to two granddaughters and one grandson--the new Lord Featherington. Her family's future is finally secure at last.

Now that she has her grandchildren, Portia will finally be able to relax a little. It must have been hard being in survival mode for so long. Now she can enjoy her life and watch all three of her daughters have marriages filled with love and happiness.

[pastelspoon31]

Chapter 6: What a nice neighbour! (Older!König x Younger!Reader) - NSFW

tw: age gap (early 20s reader, AT LEAST mid-40s König), manipulation, non-con, somnophilia, drugging, gullible reader :(, a little bit of pseudo-incest, pretty much dead dove, again.. SUPER ICKY

A/N: Starting off with a little insight from König’s perspective before somno-ing our reader again ^_^

Chapter 5.5 | Chapter 6 | Masterlist

König sometimes wonder if you were genuinely that naive, or if it was a façade to get him to continue with his games.

But that was none of his concern, of course.

…Well, sort of.

He enjoyed the current dynamic between the two of you more than he'd like to admit.

Besides, it’s not like it’s his fault that you kept coming back to his place after each encounter, is it? There must be at least one braincell in that pretty little head of yours that was blaring warning signs, and yet here you always find yourself in his place somehow with your innocent, clueless, dumb smile on your face.

…Or were you just acting dumb?

Oh, that would be an entirely different case, wouldn’t it?

But, whatever. He had his fun, and he would continue to have his fun, and it was only a matter of time before he'd have his next encounter with your pretty little cunt, whether you liked it or not.

He could only hope that you'll make the right choice, and keep coming back.

You did enjoy spending time with your father figure afterall, don’t you? 

Ah, his little hase.

What a good, stupid, clueless little girl.

———

"Would you... date an older woman?" You laid in König's lap giggling in an almost ditzy manner as you asked.

Spending dinner at his place again, you both somehow ended up on his couch playing a game of truth or dare- but it was mostly truths since the both of you were comfortable enough with each other at this point.

"I have, liebling." He chuckled. "Why, are you jealous?" He teased.

"You have?" You let out a little gasp, purposely ignoring the following question. “How old? I mean you're pretty old yourself so..-"

"Hey!" He playfully smacked your forehead as you giggled.

"Well, if you must know, she was a beautiful woman in her mid forties."

"So you have a type?" You tilted your head.

"Not exactly." He chuckled. "She was just.. someone I relied on for a bit while I was in the process of getting over my late wife," His tone was a bit somber as he talked about it, his hand stroking your hair.

"I see... Sorry, I didn't mean to bring back any memories."

"It's alright, liebling. You're too young to be worried about the past. It's not a burden for me anymore, so don't let it be for you." He continued caressing your hair.

"How about you? Would you.. date older men?" He tried not to smirk at the idea.

"I would," You answered almost immediately, "I mean, if they were attractive, then I wouldn't mind."

"So what you're saying is, if an old geezer asked you out, you'd go for it?" He teased as he looked down at your scrunched up face.

"Geezer? Who taught you that word?!" You chuckled as the wine in your glass sloshed around.

"You're not the only one who can use the internet, hase." He grinned, and you laughed.

"You're right. But, if the man is a geezer, I wouldn't. Maybe a gentleman who's a bit older, but not a geezer."

"Ah, so a gentleman who's a bit older." He hummed, pretending to not know who you were talking about.

"Yeah. Like, someone who knows a lot about the world, and is experienced." You continued, oblivious to the growing smirk on König’s lips.

"Someone like an old war veteran?" He asked, his hand now trailing down your back, rubbing it gently.

So comfy…

"Yes! Like an old war vet- I mean, yes, someone like that. I wouldn't mind. I mean, not really." You babbled, giggling as a strange fluffy feeling starts to cloud your mind.

Someone capable, ready to settle down- Maybe even already financially stable!

You were not against working together with your partner to achieve financial freedom but it's just easier if it's not an issue to think of anymore right?

But of course, that was not your main criteria! You were not a gold digger!

As long as that someone is nice, takes care of you, loves you..

Someone who is reliable, strong, and can teach you the ropes on things you don't learn in school.

Someone like König, perhaps.

...

Someone like König?

"Not you though, you're like.. my father-figure so you don't have to feel weird about asking." You quickly countered after a brief period of awkward silence.

"Oh, is that so, hase?" He smiled, "You're a very honest girl when you're drunk. And what makes you think I would have any interest in you that way?" He chuckled.

...You definitely read him wrong.

Shit.

"I didn't say that! I mean- well, you're my dad. But like, not like a real dad, I mean.." You blushed and turned away, hiding your face in his thigh. "Ugh.. I hate it when you tease me like this.."

"Aww, but hase, it's cute." He chuckled.

"Only you think it's cute.."

"So if I asked you, you'd say no, hm?" He asked, his hand still stroking your hair.

"No to what? I mean- I'm sorry, I'm not making sense, am I?" You laughed.

"Do you want me to be blunt, liebling?"

"You always are.."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He took your glass and set it on the coffee table before pulling you to sit up on his lap. The fuzzy feeling in your skull making your head almost too heavy to hold up by yourself, making you lean onto his shoulder as you looked up at the older man with a dazed expression.

“Hm..?" You blushed as you looked at him. "What do you mean..?"

"Don't play coy with me, liebling." He held you closer. "I'm asking if you'd be okay with being more than a daughter."

Well, that was unexpected.

"I.. I mean, I guess." You frowned lightly. König sure is being a bit weird right now.

Afterall, what does he mean more than a daughter? Like a real daughter? What a silly suggestion! He’s obviously German so there’s no way-

"You guess? Don't tell me you have no feelings for me, hase?" He faked a sad look.

This feels.. strange. He has feelings for you? That can’t be right..

"Of course not! It's not that, König, it's just.." You blushed, "I'm just not sure if I'm.. Ready."

"For what?" He stroked your hair.

"Well, everything.." You sighed, and looked down. "You're like a father to me and you've been helping me a lot and.. and-"

"And? There's more, hase. What's on your mind?" He rubbed your back soothingly, and you felt yourself relaxing under his touch.

"I feel guilty."

"Guilty? What for?" He frowned.

"Because I.. I.." You felt yourself blushing harder.

"I've been feeling weird about you." You admitted, your voice quiet.

"Weird? In a good way, I hope."

"I mean, yeah.. You're a really good guy. You're like, perfect. Too perfect." You sighed and leaned into him closer.

"And... Sometimes.." Your drunken mind struggled with your rational side, wondering if you should reveal something that had been plaguing you for a while.

"Sometimes what, hase?" He hummed.

"I've dreamt.." You contemplated telling him.

He wouldn’t judge you, right? He promised that he never would so technically.. It should be safe to tell him, especially with all the other things you have trusted him with!

"About what, liebling?" He cooed, rubbing his hands down your arms.

"At night.. Well, every night.. I have been dreaming about you.." Your voice was soft and meek as you spoke.

"I see.." König couldn't help the grin that was growing on his face.

"But, it's not.. It's not like a normal dream. Like... More intimate," You hid your blushing face in his shoulder, the alcohol finally loosening you up.

Or rather whatever the hell that König had added to your drink, again.

"More intimate, hm? Like what, hase?" He couldn't stop grinning.

"Like.. Like the dreams where it feels really real and you're touching me and it's.. I wake up and the um.. white sticky fluids I told you about.." You trailed off in embarrassment.

"Ah.. So you've been holding back details the other day when I was checking you.."

"I'm sorry.." The embarrassment and guilt was unmistaken in your tone as you looked away, eyes barely open.

"Oh, hase, don't be. It's only natural." He kissed your forehead, his hands stroking the back of your head.

"I'm sorry.." You apologized again, still trying to look at him in the eyes.

God, your head felt so heavy.

"Don't be.." He continued to hush you, "It's normal. And there's nothing to feel guilty about. It's only natural that you'd have sexual urges." He cooed, trying his best not to sound so excited.

"It's embarrassing, König.. M’not.. Not.. Hmm..” König felt his cock harden as you head tilted to the side, your consciousness slowly slipping away right before his eyes again.

"Oh, but why?" He chuckled, "I'm like your father. Of course, I wouldn't get angry. It's just another thing that happens. You can't control it.." He cooed as he

"Mmm.."

"Now, don't worry about a thing." His eyes glinted with excitement as he saw the crushed pill in your drink take effect once again as your eyes struggled to stay open.

"It's okay. Everything's fine, liebling. Just close your eyes and relax.."

You could barely nod and let your eyes close as König stroked your hair, humming softly.

"Just drift off to sleep, hase.." He continued his hypnotic strokes, his humming sending you to a dreamless state of bliss.

"That's a good girl.."

When he was certain you were out cold, König laid you on the couch and carried you upstairs to his bedroom.

"Let's see how wet that cunny of yours is tonight, hm?" He chuckled as he laid you down and carefully took off your clothes.

"Ah, and look at that.."

You were dripping already.

"How sweet.."

He spread your legs, and began lapping at your folds.

"Oh, sweet liebling.."

His tongue pushed past the barrier of your cunt, lapping at the slick walls, sucking on the soft skin.

"You taste so fucking good as always.." He groaned, his hands holding onto your hips.

"I bet you were thinking about me fucking your little brains out, weren't you? You've been such a needy little girl. Dreaming about your König fucking you all the time." He continued licking and sucking your sweet little cunny, his chin already wet with your slick.

"Such a needy little girl, hase.."

König pulled away from your dripping pussy, a string of saliva and your juices still connecting his mouth to your glistening pussy.

"Look at the mess you've made, liebling." He tutted, and grabbed a cloth.

"Soaking my bed and leaving a mess on the sheets.." He cleaned the slick up, and wiped his chin clean.

"And you didn't even realize it, did you? Dirty girl.."

"I wonder, would you be embarrassed if I showed you a pictures of this, hase? What if I woke you up and showed you how dirty you were, hm?"

"I wonder what you'd do, hase."

"Maybe, I should take a video and show it to you so you can see how much of a mess you've made.." He tapped his cockhead on your swollen clit. “I do have a big collection of just you,”

"It's quite the sight to behold, afterall," The older man chuckled to himself.

"But then again, I can't be too cruel. I don't want you to panic and run away from me." He smirked, his cock throbbing as he rubbed it between your folds.

"After all, I'm not a monster. I just.. get a little bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

He pushed past your tight entrance, feeling your wet walls fluttering around his massive throbbing cock as he bottomed out.

"A-ah, hase.." König let out a low groan as he buried his cock inside of your cunt, your pussy clenching tightly.

"My pretty girl.." He praised, his hands grabbing onto your hips.

"You're a natural born whore for me, aren't you?" He cooed.

"Tight and wet for your König.." He slowly began pulling out.

"A-ah!~" You were unconscious, and yet the sounds you were making were so lewd.

"My sweet, pretty girl.." He thrusted back in, letting out a moan.

"Fuck.. Fuck, hase..!" König groaned and thrusted his cock into your tight hole, feeling the slick walls of your pussy gripping him.

"I'll fill you up nice and full, liebling.." He grunted, his fingers digging into your skin.

"F-fuck.. Hase.. You feel so fucking good..!"

"I can't wait to have you begging for my cock.." He moaned.

Your face was scrunched up as you whined in your sleep.

"You'll be mine, won't you?" He grunted as he thrust harder.

"Won't you, liebling? You'll be my sweet, pretty whore and you'll come to me whenever you need to be fucked, hm?" König smirked as he heard you whine more in your sleep.

"You'd do that for me, hase? Let this old man take care of you? I'd give you everything you ever wanted, liebling.. All the gifts and treats.."

"You just have to be mine." He pulled your legs up and bent them towards your chest, fucking into you harder.

"Ngh, f-fuck.. Liebling..!" He groaned, his fingers digging deeper.

"You feel so good, hase.. I'm close.. You'll take my cum, won't you, hase? My pretty hase.." You let out a soft moan and clenched around him, and König groaned.

"F-fuck..! I'm coming.." He gasped, his cock throbbing.

"Take my cum, hase.. Take it all..!" He spilled inside of you, filling you up with his seed, his cock still pulsing.

"Mm.. Mein liebling.." He gently put your legs back down and pulled out.

"Oh, hase.. Such a sweet girl.." He murmured and rubbed his thumb over your cunt, the swollen lips glistening with slick and his cum.

"So dumb and trusting of your König.. Letting him fuck your brains out without knowing.." You remained unconscious as he pushed the cum back into your abused cunny and put your underwear back on, giving it a couple soft pats right above your abused clit for good measure.

"Don't worry, liebling. You won't remember a thing.." He chuckled as he pulled the rest of your clothes back on.

"And when the time is right, you'll know everything.." He gave you a sweet kiss before pulling you onto his chest, falling asleep himself.

———

"König?" You woke up feeling disoriented and confused, seeing yourself in König's room.

"Liebling." König smiled warmly at you, "I'm glad you're awake. I was a bit worried you'd pass out and miss your classes today," He was getting ready himself, pulling on his t-shirt.

"Uh.. What happened last night? I don't remember anything after dinner.." You tried to sit up but were met with a sharp pain in your lower body.

"Ouch.." You whined softly. König smirked to himself as he heard you complain but played oblivious as he sat down beside you.

"What's wrong, hase?" He feigned concern.

"Ugh.. My stomach hurts.. I think it's the wine.." You rubbed your tummy with a soft pout- A sight that made König’s cock twitch in his pants.

If only you know all the ways you drive him crazy…

"Ah, you must have drank too much. You fell asleep while we were playing, so I brought you up here." He lied smoothly.

"I see.." You winced in pain from the growing headache throbbing in your head.

"Would you like some medicine?" He offered.

"No, no, it's okay." You groaned lightly as you sat up- Immediately felt something gush out of your sore pussy, making you panic.

"Ahh! K-König!-”

"Hase?"

"The.. T-The stuff.. It's there again-" You whimpered, feeling like you wanted to cry.

"The what, liebling?" König looked at you with a calm smile.

"T-The sticky fluid.." You felt embarrassed, but knew that if you didn't tell him, he'd probably scold you.

"Ah, hase.. Did you dream about me again?" He cooed and cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it soothingly.

"Y-yes.."

"Oh, liebling.." He hummed, and pulled you closer, "It's okay. It's normal, ja? There's nothing to be embarrassed about." He smiled.

"But.."

"But, what, liebling?"

"I made a mess.."

"Oh, hase, it's okay. I'll take a closer inspection and we'll get that sorted out, okay?" He smiled sweetly.

"O-okay.."

"Now, spread your legs, hase. Let your König take care of you, ja?”

[ultrapoppet]

About the whole who's the mother in the unholy family topic, actually neither. But who you assign it to depends of your relationship with your mom figure or depiction of moms you're used to seeing in media. I'm leaning towards Lestat as a classic evil stepmom who forces Cluadia to becomes his dad's caretaker. But they both have mom moments at different times.

About the whole feminization of Louis which some fans take way too seriously, again they're both men. But as Florence aptly put it, their nails are manicured. And honestly looking for the woman in the relationship is kind of a Florence take (rip you'd loved fauxmoi).

Regarding the housewife comment which is something Claudia says to Louis to rile him up against Lestat and people take way too literally, show me when this man washed a single dish? He was a hoarder and mostly just ignored his husband that's literally the opposite of a dotting housewife.

But more seriously, even though Lestat is the more powerful person in the relationship, the abused housewife dynamic hinges on sexism and socialization of women that Louis just doesn't exprience. Mainly:

Women are socialized to associate their value with being wives and mothers. They are judged more harshly for divorce and are expected to put up with a lot more to save the marriage. It was legal and common for men to beat their wives and women were expected to put up with it. Louis was socialized to be the patriarchal husband and the provider. And society was not encouraging Louis to keep sodomizing with a white man. Society very much wanted him to not be in a biracial gay relationship and go settle with Hazel instead. On both sides.

There are a system of laws and social roles put into place to keep women dependant on men. Both in terms of financial dependence and the spaces single women are allowed to coccupy. Louis didn't have Lestat's fuck you money then but he was born rich and as a man he was allowed to own and invest that money. We never see him not be well off. He could comfortably live as a single man and face way less judgment than he did with Lestat.

I hate it but Claudia venturing out on her own as a young looking woman and a less physically powerful vampire and having to deal with bruce vs Louis hunting the gay population by cruising shows the contrast well between what men and women usually face in society.

This whole thing feels like another way for Louis fans who are super attached to the idea of him as a helpless victim to give Louis even more disadvantages than he actually had. He is a man. He is rich. He was a pimp. Instead of dragging sexism into this, stick to Louis sacrificed himself by *insert event* posts idk.

About the whole baby trapping argument, Louis is the one who wants Cluadia. He's the one who makes promises Lestat wants to hear to coax and convince him and Lestat gives in and does it for Louis. If anyone baby trapped anyone it was Louis baby trapping himself. Except the baby convinced Louis to finally leave and Lestat was ready to abort it a few decades in.

Also I'd argue that since they mostly live outside of human society, Lestat's main power over them is being an older, more powerful vampire which is a role that can be occupied by a woman. Although vampires still follow human patriarchal norms so probably not many women became coven leaders and it's also unlikely a woman would've acted the way Lestat did.

Also interesting that the qualities Louis displays that get called feminine by fans, mainly being passive which yikes, are actually not a main trait in the one female charachter in the show or the women of vc. But more female fans seem to identify with Louis than they do with Claudia because there are more depressed girls on this website (who low key want to fuck Lestat) than plot murder girls.

[muddyorbsblr]

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈😈

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[oliveisme533]

My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 1

Joel Miller x you

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

You were a teacher so the summer months were nice and slow. As you packet your suitcase, you thought back to the phone call with your dad just a few weeks prior. "Hey babygirl, why don't you come on down to Austin for the summer? I know your roommate has been driving you a little crazy lately...wouldn't hurt to get a break ya know? Plus I miss you sweetheart... would love to see you"

You smiled at the memory of his words. He was right about your roommate being annoying lately. Nothing crazy...just normal roommate things. But most of all you missed your dad. Your college summers were all spent with your mom in Boston, so this visit was long overdue.

There airport was fucking packet of course. Airports made you anxious and you always got to your gate a couple hours early for fear of missing your flight. You sent a quick text to your dad letting him know you made it to the airport and would let him know when you safely landed. He loved the message and moments later your phone buzzed again.

Venmo: Dad sent you $50 for "Uber 🚗"

Your dad definitely did well for himself, He was a financial consultant and never missed out on an opportunity to splurge on you and your sister. You knew you wouldn't be swiping your card a single time once you stepped foot in his house for the summer, and you weren't complaining...teachers don't exactly make a ton of money. There was one thing nagging at the back of your mind that you hadn't let yourself think about until now. You always had kind of a girlish crush on your dad's friend and neighbor. You hadn't seen him in years and you wanted to believe he could find you attractive now that you were actually a grown woman. It was a fantasy you know would never come true even in your wildest dreams, but it was still fun to think about from time to time. You put your headphones and closed out the world.

You smiled as the warm air hit your skin as you walked across the tarmac with one hand shading your eyes from the Texas sun. Austin was where you spent your childhood. Before their divorce, your parents had brought you and your sister into a comfortable lifestyle that you were forever grateful for. Your mom headed to Boston after the divorce, you and your older sister followed suit, but Texas never stoped feeling like home. "Uber for y/n?" You slumped down into the air conditioned car with a sigh of relief. "Yes." You looked out the window as the familiar scene flew by. By the time the car turned into your neighborhood your mind had drifted far from Boston. Your stomach lurched slightly as you passed Mr. Millers house. His truck was in the driveway. You remembered a recent phone conversation with your dad where he mentioned Mr. Miller having kind of a hard time spending his first summer without his daughter Sarah. She was with her mom for the summer, a new arrangement you were pretty sure. Maybe you would go and visit him. He was the kind of family friend that had a key to your dad's house . What if he didn't remember you? You were being stupid. Mr. Miller didn't need to entertain a 20 some year old girl. He had friends his own age, a life, and for all you knew maybe a girlfriend. You brushed the idea off as the car slowed in-front of your dad's house.

Your key clicked in the door and you were promptly greeted by Lea, your dad's new kitten. Your sister and you joked that this was his first symptom of his mid life crises. The second being the fact that he now had a girlfriend. You flung your suitcase aside and sunk into the window seat of your bedroom. You have many memories of a younger version of yourself sitting here in the summer days, reading or just watching. In the evenings you were too busy sneaking out the back gate to do such things. You smile as you recall your reckless, teenage activities. You sigh and look down at your watch. Your dad won't be home for a couple more hours. A nap probably would serve you well. Before you get up, you feel your phone buzz again. It's your dad.

"Hey sweetheart I see you made it to the house. I completely forgot Joel said he was picking up some tools I borrowed from him last week. He knows the garage code, but didn't want you to be alarmed if he's there before I get home. See you soon xx"

You found yourself staring at the text... would Mr. Miller ...Joel, you correct yourself, would he even remember me? In the spirit of southern hospitality you decide to get dressed in something that does smell like the airport and go downstairs when you hear the garage opening. You walk through the front door and out towards the driveway where Joel is loading some tools in the back of his pick up truck. He glances up at you and a wide smile forms across his face. "Well hey!" He says. "Your dad told me you were coming in... welcome home!" The words warm your heart. This was home for sure. "Thanks, I'm glad to be back. Even just for the summer!" God his arms look good in that t-shirt... "well I know your old man is happy you're here. Hasn't shut up about you comin' for the last few weeks. 'Course I get it, countin' down the days 'till Sarah gets back myself." You giggle at the comment of your dad's excitement about your arrival. "Yeah dad told me she's with her mom for the summer right?" Joel nods closing the back of the pick up. "Yeah that's right." You noted a twinge of sadness in his voice. "I'm sorry I'm sure that's hard...I mean I know she loves being with her mom and you too. Of course she'll be back for school in the fall, but still I'm sure the summer feels different with out her. I'm not a parent though so I really have no idea what I'm talking about." You fumbled through this response and ended with a nervous laugh. Joel didn't mind. He looked at you with those fucking puppy dog eyes that could make you melt. He laughed too you were pretty sure the laugh was more at you than with you, but you kind of deserved it you figured. "You're sweet, yeah she's having a blast with her mom and that's all that really matters. Your dad has been putting up with me a lot. With an empty and quiet house it's just not the same, and he's been havin' me over lots" "Well I'm sure he appreciates the company too" you couldn't help but feel a little guilt that you had possibly made your dad feel the same emotions as Joel. "Well I gotta run, but I'm sure I'll be seein' you around. Good to see ya Darlin'" you waved as he pulled out of your driveway, grateful that he was probably too far away to see the blush on your cheeks.

The next few days went by with not much to remark on. On Friday your dad mentioned that Joel would be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You told yourself it was time to act like an adult and put this girlish crush out of your mind. Joel was at least 10 years your senior and he was a close friend of your dad, In fact these fantasies are simply degrading to him or disrespectful. You're not sure of the right word, but he's a person with a life and feelings and things he's going through. To make him the object of your fantasies was wrong, you decided.

Saturday evening came around and your dad was in the back grilling and playing his country music on the speaker you had gifted him last Christmas. There was a knock and the door and the sound of Joel's voice echoing through the entry way. You didn't bother coming out of the kitchen, knowing he would come to you. Your back was turned, focusing on the sangria recipe you were sure wouldn't turn out the way you wanted. "My dad's outback." You said gesturing to the back door. " I'm sorry, where are my manners!" You turned to open the fridge and pull out beer for Joel. "You ain't gotta make a fuss darlin' is just me" Joel chuckled. You wished he would stop calling you that, but you also hoped he never would. Joel y through the utensil draw to find the bottle opener. He asked about your day and you asked about his. "I can't get over how much you've grown up" he said at one point. "Yeah o guess the last time you would have seen me I was a lanky teenager with braces" you laughed and so did he. "I think you're right... if I recall you were just about the death of your old man when you were that age." You shrugged. "Yup that's about right. I had a nack for getting into trouble." He laughed that wonderful deep laugh and said "well you turned out alright, kid"

The rest of the evening you debated whether Joel saw you more as a grown woman or a kid. He had referred to you as both in a matter of minutes...so which was it? "What's on your mind kiddo?" Your dad's voice snapped you back to reality. "Oh ..um, nothing honestly. I'm just kind of tired today for some reason." You were both in the kitchen, Joel was still in the back yard getting ready to light a cigar. "Baby why don't you go upstairs and rest. I'll make sure to kick Mr. Miller here out if we get to rowdy." He said that last part loud enough for Joel to hear. "Dad jokes.." you mutter to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the house. Your bedroom is on the front end of the house, so by they time you get there, no noise from your dad and Joel can be heard. The sound of the shower in the bathroom drowned out the noise of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. When you exited the shower there was a missed call from "Ben" Ben Sinclair was your on again, off again boyfriend for the last 4 ish years. This time you were done. You had been broken up for a month this time and you told him (in no uncertain terms!) this was it. So what could he possibly want tonight...

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 1, 2, 4 (WIP)

AO3 Link

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Chapter Three: Always Sunny In The Rich Man’s World

Her night was…surprisingly nice. 

Which felt like a strange thing to say about spending time with a man who had paid twenty thousand fucking dollars for…what had he called it? The pleasure of her company? It seemed absurd and yet, that’s exactly what happened. 

Upon her return, he had welcomed her back into his suite to the smell of something delicious and the sight of half a dozen covered platters laid out on the dining room table. 

He was ever the gentleman, pulling out a chair for her before sitting down himself. Serving her before adding anything to his own plate. Asking her how her day had gone. He acted like…like this were something they had always done. 

As if this were a real relationship. 

Afterwards, he tucked her into bed with the kind of care and attentiveness that Feyre hadn’t experienced since childhood. 

“But…” she whispered, as he pulled the coverlet up to her chin. “Aren’t you going to…” 

“Not tonight,” Rhys said gently as he kissed her forehead. “You’ve had a long day. Just sleep.” 

She blinked up at him curiously. Confused. 

“But…what about you?”

He smiled softly. He looked at her the way she would a puppy. Or a baby rabbit. 

“I have some work to finish up. I tend to stay up late anyway.”

And then he had just…left. 

She was so confused that she honestly wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed by this outcome. 

Did I do something wrong? She thought, staring after him long after he’d closed the door. 

Feyre didn’t understand him. 

She didn’t understand him at all. 

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Feyre awoke to the image of Rhys clasping on his wristwatch by the bedside table. Behind him, she spied the the still dark sky through the window and wondered what time it was. 

“I have an early meeting,” he explained to her softly. She blinked blearily up at him as he smoothed a warm hand over her hair. “Feel free to sleep in. Order some room service. Relax. I’ll be back in the afternoon. I have a gala I’d like you to attend with me this evening.”

“Okay,” she said, still half asleep. 

“Good girl. Now go back to sleep.”

And who was Feyre to argue?

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She felt immensely out of place. 

While Feyre had seen galas on tv before, the reality of one was something else entirely. Never before had she been surrounded by so much wealth. Everyone around her looked as if they had stepped straight off of a red carpet. They had the kind of bodies and faces that spoke of the best surgeons, the best dermatologists, and the best personal trainers money could buy. 

It was enough to make Feyre, even dressed in a designer gown (and crowned with more diamonds than she’d ever seen in her life) feel like a bit of a fraud. A toddler playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. It felt so very obvious that she didn’t belong here. She lacked the confidence so many of these people seemed to have. A kind of arrogance and self-assuredness that came from a lifetime of financial security and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. 

“You look ready to bolt,” Rhys commented amusedly. 

“Don’t you have a work friend or something you could’ve brought to this?” Feyre sniped through her teeth as she smiled nervously at yet another celebrity glancing their way. 

“Afraid not,” he said unapologetically. “Besides, I don’t think they would’ve worn that dress quite as well as you.” 

Quite against her will, Feyre felt her face flush hot and red. 

Thank God she was wearing a pound of makeup. 

Luckily, she was saved from coming up with a reply when a couple of men appeared to greet them. 

“Rhys!” The first man exclaimed congenially. He was solidly middle aged unlike his companion who looked like he’d just stepped out of a haircare commercial. “So good to see you!” 

“Gareth” Rhys replied with the same smooth charm before nodding to the younger man. “Tamlin. How is business?”

While the three made small talk about stock prices Feyre couldn’t help but stare at the second man curiously. 

Tamlin. 

Why was that name so familiar?

It took her a moment but eventually an image came to mind, of an overly serious teen boy leading ten year-old Feyre around after her father had kicked them out of his office while he entertained a client. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

The man stared back. 

Feyre looked back at him with slowly dawning horror. 

“Ah, forgive me,” Rhys’s voice cut through her internal crisis as she felt him gesture towards her. “This is my friend Vivian.” 

“Vivian?” Tamlin said with a frown. 

He knew. 

She knew he knew. 

Fuck, how was she supposed to wiggle her way out of this one?

“Yes,” she said cheerily, plastering a wide, fake smile onto her face. “Vivian.” 

It couldn’t have been more clear she was lying through her teeth. Thankfully, Tamlin seemed to understand that now was not the time to press the issue and backed down immediately. However, she felt his eyes boring into her skill for the rest of the conversation. 

She should’ve known he was just biding his time until he found a way to corner her. 

Alone. 

Well, she thought bitterly when she spied him loitering outside the women’s restroom a half hour later. That didn’t take long. 

“Oh hi Tamlin. Are you looking for the men’s room? I think it’s actually further down the hall-”

“Why are you here?” He interrupted her, green eyes daring her to lie to him. 

“At the moment? Going to the bathroom-”

He made a frustrated noise. “Not in this building, I mean with him. With Rhysand.”

“He asked me to come.” In more ways than one…

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“But why?” Okay, now he was just insulting her. 

(Even if, not so deep down, she agreed with him.)

“The pleasure of my company?” She bit out. It wasn’t even a lie. Those were Rhys’s words exactly when they’d made this strange bargain. 

“Listen,” Tamlin said placatingly, seeming to realize that he was upsetting her. “I know your name’s not Vivian.”

Here we go, she thought. 

“You’re Feyre right? Feyre Archeron? Our fathers used to work together?” 

Fuck. He did remember. 

Feyre felt like a whole hive of bees was skittering across her skin. Would it be too rude to just start running? No, no, she couldn’t do that. She could barely walk in heels, let alone run in them. Maybe she could throw them at him as a distraction? 

Unaware of her current escape plans, Tamlin moved closer and touched her arm. 

She jolted. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. 

Feyre wondered if this was what cornered animals felt like. 

“I just,” he said, softer. “You’re not in trouble are you?” 

She stared at him. 

What?

“Because I know your father lost everything back then. I just worry that someone might be taking advantage of you.” 

In an instant, Feyre felt her face heat with embarrassment. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…he’s not paying you to be here is he?”

Cold, humiliating horror settled deep in her gut. The answer must’ve been written all over her face because she suddenly felt Tamlin grab ahold of her hands and try to catch her eye. 

“He is isn’t he? Jesus, I’m sorry, I can’t believe you’re being forced to do this.”

Wait…forced?

“No,” she tried to argue, lips still numb with shame. “It’s not like that-”

“If I’d known you’d needed money I would’ve given it to you. I’m sorry we lost touch after the market crash. But I’m here now! I could help you!” 

Feyre felt like she was watching this entire interaction from afar. A curious bystander watching this strange, horrifying moment in her life play out while she could do nothing to stop it. 

The worst part about this whole thing was that this should’ve been ideal. Rhys was a stranger. She didn’t know him. She had no guarantee he would continue to treat her well whereas Tamlin was a known quantity. She had known him since childhood. She would’ve been safer taking his money over Rhys’s. 

And yet…

Rhys had been nothing but kind to her since the start of their arrangement. Really he’d…he’d taken care of her. 

Like she mattered. 

And maybe, selfishly, she wanted to drag that feeling out a little longer. Before the week was up and she was forced to go back to her life of abusive bosses and neglectful sisters.

“How much is he giving you?”

The words slipped out of her mouth faster than she could catch them. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

Tamlin startled. 

“Twenty thousand?” He repeated, as if he had heard incorrectly. 

Feyre shrugged. 

“Jesus, what are you doing for him?” He said it in such a way that implied that whatever it was she was doing…it was dirty. Shameful. 

Feyre tore her hands away from his. 

What the fuck, she thought. What the fuck. 

“That’s none of your business,” she said frostily. Am I so unlovable? She wondered. So poor and pitiful that all Tamlin could imagine Rhys would want from her was something horrible and sordid? 

“Feyre-”

“Thanks for your offer, but I really must decline. Excuse me.” 

Fuck him, she thought angrily as she walked away. I’ll show him. 

I’ll fucking show him. 

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Her anger followed her all the way back to Rhys. 

“Are you alright?” He had asked her, real concern laced through his words. 

And Feyre had replied, not fine at all, “I’m fine.”

She fought hard to be as pleasant and accommodating as possible for the rest of the night, but it truly felt like she had a roiling little stormcloud hanging over her head the entire time. She just couldn’t stop thinking about Tamlin’s words. 

What are you doing for him?

Nothing. 

She was doing…nothing. 

Had been doing nothing for the last three fucking days. 

It made her feel…bad. Antsy. Like she wasn’t earning her keep. 

The feeling followed her all the way into the car when they finally decided to leave. And it was that very same feeling, those same words, that compelled her to slip down onto the floor of the car. 

Between Rhys’s legs. 

She struggled a bit to situate herself, seeing as how the space wasn’t exactly made with blowjobs in mind, but Feyre was nothing if not stubborn and determined. 

Rhys, however, seemed wholly confused by her sudden awkward positioning. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, brows furrowed. 

“Earning my keep,” she chirped before putting her fingers to the front of his pants, looking for his zipper. 

Rhys sucked in a sharp breath before quickly halting her hands with his own. 

“You don’t need to do that.”

She pursed her lips. 

“Don’t I?” Her words were harsh but inside she was reeling. If he didn’t want to fuck her then how was she supposed to earn her money? Why even keep her around then? Had Tamlin been right? 

“You really don’t,” he insisted, pulling her up off the floor and back onto the seat beside him. 

“What’s the point of this then?” Feyre asked, staring at her shoes, unable to look him in the eye. “If I’m not here for that then why am I here at all?” 

Rhys was quiet then. For a few excruciating moments she was sure then that this was where he finally kicked her out of the car and put an end to their arrangement. 

Instead, she felt him move. 

Onto the floor. 

He was kneeling in nearly the same spot she had been just moments before. Even on his knees, he still towered over her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly bone dry. 

“Have I not been taking care of you enough?” He murmured quietly. 

Feyre stared at him, dazed by their sudden role reversal. 

“Does my sweet girl need tending to?” 

“What?” Now Feyre was sure her brain was short-circuiting. 

Rhys chuckled and slid his hands up under her dress and along her thighs. 

“Don’t worry, I know what you need.” 

She sucked in air through her nose as her panties were quickly pulled down her legs and tucked away into Rhys’s pocket. He looked down upon her bare cunt with a pleased expression and then carefully, gently, she felt the lips of it pulled apart with his thumbs to reveal the dusty pink flesh underneath. 

“You’re so pretty here,” he said conversationally. And then she watched as he bowed his head, as if in prayer, before she spied a flash of a pink tongue and then—

Oh, she thought, in shock. Oh. 

In her admittedly short sexual career, no one had ever gone down on her. Feyre had always been led to believe that it was just something men didn’t enjoy. 

It was quickly apparent that Rhys was not one of those men. 

The noises he made as he licked her cunt could only be described as enthusiastic. He sounded like a starving man devouring a steak dinner, not a man swirling his tongue around her clitoris because she had the audacity to try to give him a blowjob. 

He’d barely been at it for sixty seconds before she was ready to squirm out of her skin. Her skin felt hot and tight. Her pulse kicked hard in her veins. Her nipples had hardened to stiff little points that rubbed against the silk of her dress. She felt…overwhelmed. Like she simultaneously wanted to wiggle away and pull him closer. 

“Fuck,” she said deliriously. “Fuck.” 

Her hips writhed in her seat but Rhys just placed a large, muscular arm over them, locking her in place. He glanced up at her like a scolding parent. 

“None of that. Be a good girl and take what you’re given.” 

There were those magic words again. Good girl. They rang through her ears and into her brain like a siren song. Like a sedative. 

Her muscles went lax. 

Rhys smiled. 

And then he peeled back the little hood of her clitoris and blew gently on it. 

Feyre gasped. 

His laugh was almost mean. Carnivorous. And the vibrations and heat from his breath against her cunt made her shiver. 

“Oh yes. I think I’ve been quite remiss in my duties towards you.” He didn’t direct his words at her, but towards the shiny swollen clitoris he now rubbed softly with his thumb. 

She felt like a fish caught on a line. Desperately jerking and wiggling but unable to escape the man who had caught her. 

“Oh God,” she gasped. “On my God!” 

“Just Rhys is fine,” he said cheekily. And then her eyes crossed as the velvety feel of lips and tongue latching back onto her clitoris had her spine bending back at an angle that was sure to give her back problems later. 

Liquid heat pounded in her cunt. She was sure, at this point, that all the blood in her body had fled there because she could barely form a single coherent thought outside of…

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“That’s it. Let go pretty girl.” 

Feyre wasn’t sure what finally pushed her over the edge, his sugary sweet words or the fluttering of his tongue against the underside of her clit but regardless she felt her whole body seize and shake into a mind-numbing orgasm. 

She felt herself pulled into strong, warm arms as Rhys settled back beside her as she came down. 

“Shhhhh,” he murmured sweetly into her hair. “You should’ve told me you needed this. Next time you’ll tell me when you’re worked up hmm?”

Feyre nodded into his neck, still sleepy and drugged from the endorphins flooding through her brain. 

Yes, she thought. 

That sounded good to her. 

[usmsgutterson]

Contented- K.B x fem! reader

This one was requested by @levis-dilutedbleach​! I don’t think I’ve written something of this sort in the two years I’ve been writing for Kaz and if I have, it has been a very long time since I last wrote something of this sort, so thank you for sending it in and I hope you enjoy!

Fic type- this is very fluffy

Warnings- none

Yours and Kaz’s relationship was anything but typical, but it did have it’s typical moments. Moments like the one where, after you’d hit the one year mark, you asked if he’d like to attend dinner with you and your parents, and he had said yes. 

You were the daughter of a wealthy merch that lived in the financial district and you had an apartment in the area, and that fact alone was enough to put Kaz on edge. Dealing with merchants was typically easy though certainly a rare enough occurrence in his life, and still. The fact that your father was a merchant and the fact that he was your father was enough to make him just a bit jittery. 

It was something he’d schooled out of his expression and daily mannerisms with a practiced carefulness that some would’ve found impressive, but it was still something you had noticed. 

You commented on it as the two of you walked up the steps to the front door, hand ghosting over his arm in what would’ve been a comforting gesture but never touching it to respect Kaz’s touch aversion. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you said. “My mother has very low expectations given that she knows your status in the Barrel, so as long as you don’t act much like you do when we’re in the Slat and you’re running a mean streak, all will be well. My father is...well, he’s my father. He takes a bit of getting used to.” 

You knocked on the door, once, twice, and one of the staff answered, greeting you with a smile. You went in, took off your coats and your shoes. Kaz glanced at his gloves daringly for a moment before shaking his head at himself. 

As the two of you proceeded down the hallway that lead to the dining room, Kaz straightened his tie and ran a self conscious hand over his dark hair in the last second before the two of you spotted a woman who might’ve been you but thirty years older. Kaz had a split second to do so, but he managed to smile and hoped it came off as warm. 

“The refined Kaz Brekker, I assume?” She asked. Kaz nodded and registered a man who must’ve been your father approaching.

“Barrel businessman,” your father intoned. “Criminal, really. Shameful business model.” 

“I run my clubs as fairly and efficiently as possible,” Kaz responded, already sensing a dislike from your father. “There is no conning in my clubs, and when there is, it is dealt with accordingly. I thank you for the businessman comment, though, so few recognize me as more than Barrel trash.” 

Barrel trash that was a force to be reckoned with, of course, but he forced himself to bite his tongue. The aim of the meeting was to get your parents to like him, not to argue with your father over the expensive wine or the taste of the cheese on the charcuterie board. 

“Kaz Brekker,” your father greeted. “It is...well, it is something indeed, to finally be able to make your acquaintance.”

Your mother took you by the hands and gave Kaz a kind smile. “You two have most certainly arrived on time! Dinner is to be served any minute, and the table is set!” 

Kaz followed you and your mother to the table set for four, took a seat on your right and across from your father. 

“Do tell us more of your clubs, Mr. Brekker,” your father said. “I do hear that they’re all the rage among the tourists.” 

“The Crow Club is largely a gambling hall,” Kaz said. “Makkers Wheel, Three Man Bramble, games mostly. There’s a bar for those who aren’t interested in gambling and a lot of seating for those looking to dine at the establishment. The Silver Six is more of the same, and I would like to think it’s a step up from what it used to be.” 

“Oh yes! I’ve gambled at the Kaelish Prince during a few meets with my coworkers--that Pekka Rollins who ran it was bloody awful. Lots of those games were rigged and the liquor sometimes tasted quite odd.” 

You glanced at Kaz. 

“Had a few squabbles with Rollins myself,” Kaz said. “Dregs business and irrelevant, though. Glad he’s gone.” 

“Glad you took it over,” your father said. “I think I’ll visit the Silver Six, get a taste for what it’s like to gamble in a place owned by my daughters most beloved.” 

“I do hope you’ll enjoy, then,” Kaz said. “Tell me what day you and your lot come down--I’ll man a couple of games at the tables.” 

“He’s excellent,” you said. “I won’t say he’ll ensure you win the pot of money that you and your work friends will put down because he likes a fair game, but he’s really excellent with cards. When he mans a game, it’s in his hands the whole time. Mesmerizing to watch.” 

Kaz shot you a thankful smile, and the dinner continued as such. Kaz’s father attempting to a throw a curveball at him, Kaz catching the ball and tossing it back into your fathers yard. Eventually, when your father grew tired of the games and decided he liked Kaz well enough, you both noticed it, and you watched Kaz’s shoulders deflate along with his nerves bit by bit throughout the rest of the night.

A couple hours in, Kaz was making your father laugh and relishing in the way you laughed when your mother took your hands and told you that Kaz must’ve been the one, that they were sorry for how they’d judged him without knowing him so well. 

Kaz could relax. He’d impressed both of your parents with only a few glasses of wine, a twelve course meal that took you all quite some time to eat because you were so busy talking, and the beginnings of a lemon meringue pie for dessert. 

By the time that you were leaving, your mother was hugging you and your father was shaking Kaz’s gloved hand--he’d asked first, the rumors of the touch aversion lingering in every corner of Ketterdam no matter the district--and Kaz was hoping that the waters would not rise while simultaneously hoping that your father was impressed by it.

Kaz walked you to your apartment and chose to stay the night in the end, the two of you sleeping far enough away from one another that you didn’t risk waking up to find your bodies entangled and triggering Kaz’s touch aversion.

As he drifted, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Your parents liked him. He had won their approval. It was enough to keep him contented through to the next morning, your presence enough to keep him contented forever. 

[artificial-transmutations]

Alpha Firefighting

Reece felt bad about his job. It was not that it was particularly hard to do or that he was bad at it. The colleagues were reasonably nice (although they were often a particular kind of person that Reece didn't like very much in general). The pay was good, fantastic even for the kind of work he had to do.

No, that wasn't the problem, really. It was just that Reece sometimes felt like his job was useless, in the grand scheme of things.

He worked as a financial account manager for a big insurance company and more often than not, Reece felt like he the world in general could very much do without his job, or the company he worked for. On some occasions, he even asked himself if society wouldn't be better off without greedy capitalistic companies like the one he worked for.

Even though he always tried to do the right thing, this lack of sense troubled him a lot. He donated money and blood, didn't eat meat and tried not to fly too much, but this kind of central pain point in his life kept nagging on him.

In the nights, he often dreamed of a more fulfilling live. He pictured himself as a doctor, or a nurse. Perhaps a paramedic, or a firefighter. He even could imagine himself as a social worker or a veterinarian. But every time he woke up, he was still the same old balding office worker.

Reece wasn't too young, and he had his fair share of bills to pay, so as much as he wanted, a job change would have been a really bad idea at this point in his life, however unhappy his job made him.

One evening, when he came back from work, he passed a carnival that was still under construction. Reece was a big fan of these kinds of events. They provided fun and distraction for people who needed it most. There were many different reasons why someone might feel depressed, and there was nothing wrong with having fun to forget about them. Besides, the bright colors and colorful costumes always brightened his mood.

Strolling over the place, Reece watched the busy people erecting tents or shacks. One tent was already finished, and when he passed it, he heard someone calling from inside. It was a raspy old woman's voice asking "Do you want to know your fate?"

Reece stopped. A fortune teller's tent! Reece didn't really believe in that, but he admired the acting skills of fortune tellers, as well as the ambience, so he didn't mind to indulge in this kind of event from time to time.

He had nothing better to do this evening, so he turned around and entered the tent, and said: "Why not?" in his usual soft and friendly voice.

The lady sitting behind the table looked up at him. She was an older woman, probably in her fifties, with long black hair and dressed in a red robe. On her head was a kind of turban. In front of her was no crystal ball or deck of cards, but a single burning candle.

She regarded him with a mysterious smile and said: "Welcome! You are my first customer in this city, so I will give you a special reading."

The air in the tent was heavy with incense and Reece was happy like a young boy. He liked it when the show people were in character like that.

He nodded happily and said: "Okay! Tell me everything, please."

The lady looked into her candle and moved back and forth, like she was in a trance, before she said: "I see your fate... You are a good man, perhaps one of the best that walk the earth. But the thing that pains you... your job... you won't escape it until you retire. Your fate is to be unhappy for all of your working life."

Reece blinked. That was both unusual and sad. Normally, fortune tellers made a show of telling you unspecific good things that were coming his way. This prediction... was hitting too close to home. His unhappiness with the situation must have been so obvious that the old lady picked up on it.

Without thinking too much, he answered: "But... I don't want that. I want to have a job that's important!"

The lady opened her eyes and stared at him, before she answered: "The fate that is read is what life has in store for you. You can, however, change it. But it will cost you dearly."

"How much do I need to pay?"

"You don't have to pay in money, but in what makes you special. Do you want that?" The question sounded genuine and unjudging.

Reece didn't need to think about his answer much:

"Yes, I think I would gladly pay anything to be able to help people in my job."

The old lady smiled and blew out her candle. "Then go on and do so!"

From one moment to the next, there was pitch black darkness in the tent.

"Uhm... hello?" Reece called but stopped again at once. His voice didn't sound like it was reflected from the fabric walls of a tiny tent, but more like he was in a bigger room. He stood up and felt around until he found a light switch. After he flicked it, cold neon lights came on.

Reece was astonished. He wasn't in the tent anymore, but he was standing in some sort of locker room. It wasn't hard to discern what kind of locker room, either, since there was a lot of equipment and uniforms hanging around that pointed to one particular job.

"A firefighter?" Reece mumbled as he looked around.

"Reece, hurry up and get changed!" yelled a voice from outside.

What kind of magic was this? Did the old lady somehow made people think he was a firefighter?

Nevertheless, almost automatically, Reece disrobed. The moment he put away his suit into one of the lockers, it became a more casual attire, jeans and t-shirt. However, Reece was more concerned with the clothing still on his body, his underwear. He was sure he put on a comfortable pair of boxers this morning, but he was wearing a loose jockstrap. That didn't make sense! He didn't even own such a piece of underwear!

To make matters worse, the jockstrap was quickly changing, getting tighter and... No. No, that wasn't what was happening. It was filling up! His junk was getting bigger, mightily though. He wasn't getting hard, it was just his flaccid dick getting longer and girthier, alongside with his balls that swelled with masculine seed.

The changes didn't stop there, quite the opposite. Reece watched in amazement, as his body transformed, from his groin outward in all direction. His ass grew fitter and firmer, and his belly sucked itself in, revealing clearly visible ab muscle that stretched a bit, giving him some centimeters of extra height.

At the same time, his calves firmed up with muscle. They didn't change size a lot, but his fat melted away and was replaced by dense muscle.

As the changes reached his knees on the one end, his chest began to itch, as hundreds of small hairs sprouted on the changing flesh. It went a long way from the pudding-like consistency to two hard slabs of muscle, coated with manly hair. The changes continued down his lower legs and his arms. Biceps and triceps filled with mass, two strong arms that were made for breaking doors with a fireman's axe. His muscular legs gave him the necessary stability to do so. His feet enlarged a good one or two numbers, which would certainly help him keep his balance. Finally, the changes reached his head. Stubble formed on his chin and his hairstyle became a stylish, yet douchey cut. With his face squaring into the perfect male form, Reece’s personality changed.

Damn, was he looking good today. He gave his ample cock a last tug before he quickly changed into his uniform, ready to do his job.

Finally, he put on his sunglasses, grinning at his handsome reflection. He didn't have a particularly deep connection to his firefighter job, but the uniform looked awesome on his alpha male body, and he got to spend time with his bros. Besides, a lot of chicks and fags looked up to firefighters, which gave him plenty of material to stick his dick in.

After the operation, he needed to snap some new tinder pics and wait for the inevitable stream of thirsty comments from which he could choose from for tonight. He didn't discriminate if it was a boy or girl worshipping him, unlike most of his bros, but he got them all. He was, after all, a true alpha.

Be sure to check out my riot page for more stories, pictures and early access!

[notesfromthepalace]

Don't Be Jenny from the BLOCK!

No tea no shade to Jen, that's my sister, I LOVE HER!

When I say "don't be Jenny from the block" - what I am referring to is dating someone from your neighborhood, your town, you high school, and if you've glowed up after college, I would say extend that to anyone you've met before the age of 23.

In the words of Joseline Hernandez (I'll explain why I love her in another post), don't be a "$2 hoe".

I repeat, DON'T BE A $2 HOE!

Now, let's get into some things.

You today, in your mid 20s, should be the best version of yourself:

The finest

Prettiest

Skin Glowing

Hair always done

Nails done

Just That Girl, Okay?!

Whether I am being casual or saditty, I am That Girl, ten toes down.

Do you know why I choose to show up as That Girl no matter what?

Because I remember when I was this girl:

Now, to be clear I have had NO cosmetic procedures. I just grew up, slimmed down, filled up in the right spots, figured out what to do with my hair and skin care, etc. There's really nothing wrong with me in the above photo except for how I felt about myself. I thought I was ugly so my confidence was low, and I did not think I was deserving of love or the finer things in life.

Naturally, the guys around me treated me how I felt about myself.

But when I believed that I was all that and a bag of chips, I definitely gave that in my aura and appearance, but I still entertained a childhood love. I don't doubt that he loved me but he treated me as the girl in the green dress and would get annoyed when I demanded better.

But you know what, it's not his fault. He was treating me like the $2 Hoe he meant in the sixth grade - and not because I was actually a $2 hoe, but when I use that term, I mean a person who feels like they are less then.

If he had met me today, he probably would have admired me from a distance because he would've knew he could not provide what I require. But because he met me in another life chilllllle, he thought yesterday's price was today's price, but it wasn't - hints why I finally dumped him.

Every person I met after the age of 23 is completely different from people I met in my adolescent years. This isn't tea or shade to my close girlfriends, but as you get older and your values change, you realize that the conversations you are having in new circles feels more natural because the older conversations are beneath you.

This whole $2 hoe thing applies not only to dating, but your friends and the conversations you entertain as well - it's like a frequency you admit, a low vibrational frequency.

For example: I have friends who still "roster date" - meaning they have a routine/rotation of men that they go out with - which is their prerogative. I am a happily monogamous woman who is on her way to engagement and soon there after, marriage.

mon amour

There are conversations that I don't want to have anymore. I don't want to hear how you feel played by the man you knew was married, or how John and Joe found out about each other, etc.

The conversations now should be about investing, skin care regiments and medical spa recommendations, marriage, children, family, whether to be a stay at home mom or to pursue careers, and how to go about being mothers, wives and financially comfortable, how to support our future husbands: these are the conversations that peak my interest.

I left the block about five years ago. Once in a blue, I go back home to visit family and get my hair done, but I don't make a big deal or announcement about my arrival because I am not trying to invite the rift raft that comes with it.

The block is no longer my Ohana.

I have created my own.

Sometimes leaving home and cutting off old friends and leaving romances from our early years sounds scary, but my dear, you will not regret it.

Now, my girlfriends that I have known for over 10+ years know I'm not talking about them because we all still talk. But is there some distance between some of my old girlfriends and I?

Absolutely.

And that's okay. You're real friends will understand that because we're all growing and changing. It's called evolution.

Evolve

Grow

Be that girl.

And if someone tries to make you feel bad for that, especially a man: unfollow, block, throw away everything that person gave to you, sever the soul tie.

As always ladies,

God is King

Be beautiful.

With love,

Sarah Chanel

[edwardseymour]

Is Katherine Howard very 'luxurious'? How is her family's expenditure situation?

✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

i’m not sure what you mean by your question abt her family: her father ran up debts and struggled financially, but the howards were, generally, wealthy… and her uncle and grandmother likely financed her early career at court.

i think a lot has been said about how indulgent, frivolous and spoilt katherine was as queen, with alison weir suggesting “each day, katherine discovered some new caprice, and her greed earned her the disapproval of many of the older people at court” — for which there is no evidence — and lacey baldwin smith characterised katherine as “a doll upon which to lavish all the luxury and display of tudor imagination. at twenty-one katherine howard, temperamentally, was quite capable of acting the role of the pampered and irresponsible child bride, but she lacked the wit, patience and understanding to play the companion” — which can be disputed with evidence of her involving herself with the queen’s work, and multiple positive descriptions of her by her contemporaries.

moreover, the primary source for the idea that katherine was indulgent and frivolous comes from the spanish chronicle, so it’s not reliable: russell admits that “a spanish merchant living in london, who admittedly never let fact stand in the way of a good story, claimed later that ‘the king had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did, who every day had some new caprice’”. likewise, baldwin smith described the same author as “one not very reliable chronicler”. so, there has so be a level of criticism applied to the validity afforded to this source. that’s just basic analytical skill as a historian.

as for actual sources as to her frivolity, we can say that a considerable portion of her collection of jewels and lands (excluding those that came from the queen’s collection) came from henry by way of gifts, with marillac reporting “the king is so amorous of her that he cannot treat her well enough”. the spanish chronicle seems to have rendered this as something katherine demanded, that “the king had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did”, which almost certainly seems incorrect, if for no other reason than katherine was not his wife for very long. true enough, if we traipse through her inventories and other records, we can identify numerous gifts from henry. we can also identify gifts that katherine regifted to others, as well as pieces she had repurposed. that she was reported as favouring french fashions suggest her wardrobe was distinct from her predecessors enough to suggest new pieces were purchased in place of her inheriting pieces from jane seymour — albeit anne of cleves did also introduce french fashions to her wardrobe — but this can’t be corroborated with evidence, as hayward has pointed out: “little has come to light about katherine’s wardrobe”.

comparatively, it does not appear that katherine’s material wealth was excessive relative to henry’s other wives. as russell points out: “a defence of her spending can be mounted by pointing out that it does not seem so great when set in its wider context. her jewellery acquisitions in the summer and winter of 1540, for instance, compare favourably in cost to those commissioned by or for anne boleyn, even before she became queen”. likewise tallis’ research has indicated that “jane seymour’s collection was significantly larger than that of either of her successors. […] katherine howard’s inventory consisted of more items than that of the queenly inventory of her successor, katherine parr”.

simply put: the royal court was an exorbitant/garish display of opulence and wealth, irrespective of katherine — earlier in his reign henry’s court was described as a remarkable show of “jewels and gold and silver, the pomp being unprecedented”. katherine as queen, and as an english-born woman lacking international royal standing, was simply more vulnerable to accusations of overspending and frivolity than her husband or other members of the royal family, just as anne boleyn had been. this extends into her historiography too, with gareth russell claiming katherine valued henry because he “could give her everything she ever wanted”, and that “katherine’s extravagance was not balanced by any particular displays of piety or memorable largesse”; perpetuating this idea of teenaged frivolity while otherwise relishing the lavishness of royal and aristocratic circles. consider how russell describes henry’s court otherwise (“the henrician court in its twilight, a glittering but pernicious sunset” in the introduction, as one example). he wants to have it both ways, critical of the barbarity of the henrician court, whilst finding irresistible the level of wealth only barbarity can uphold — this extends beyond henry viii’s court, as russell has also written about the queen mother and titanic, so clearly richness and materiality has its own draw as a subject. meanwhile for katherine, it is used against her: “the very things that made katherine howard’s time as henry viii’s queen so pleasant became a cudgel with which to beat her” (blakemore). moreover i think it is a detail we read backwards into katherine’s historiography, as people allow archetypes about teenage girls, and young women who marry older, wealthy men, to colour their conceptualisation of katherine howard. i’m old enough to remember how people talked about anna nicole smith. especially given the fact that materialism is an element of the investigation into her downfall — “one cannot read the surviving records of the scandal without noticing the ubiquitous concern with the material circumstances of katherine’s indiscretions” (irish) — as the council were very interested in the material connections between the people involved as evidence of courtship conventions by way of gift-giving etc. it has been extrapolated in popular imagination to justify katherine’s actions as those of a spoilt teenage girl.

[woodchoc-magnum]

.

nobody tells you that when your parents get old, and the competent, strong one dies suddenly, that you'll be stuck with the one who is incapable of taking care of themselves. why? because they've been looked after for the past forty fucking years, had every meal cooked for them, never had to lift a fucking finger to do any housework or anything like that.

and then suddenly they're alone and they don't know how to take care of themselves

and they're looking to you because you're the daughter, right? you're the adult daughter, even though you have an older brother who lives in the same fucking town, but no. it all falls on you because you're the woman who now has to take care of her father, after her mother spent forty fucking years doing the same thing and then suddenly dropped dead.

and your mother always told you that he was weak and selfish, but he's your dad and you love him so you never really believed it, but guess what? she was right. he is weak and selfish.

and it's not like he's a bad guy - he's not abusive; he's not mean. he loves you, he really does. he's just useless.

he's entitled.

he completely fell to pieces after she died, let himself wither away and even pissed the bed, so you had to drop everything to drive two hours down to be with him - even though your BROTHER LIVES IN THE SAME TOWN AS HIM. you had to get him into hospital; then drive him back to your town two hours away to get him into a BETTER HOSPITAL.

and then he has to go into a nursing home because he's not capable of taking care of himself, so you get him into the nicest. fucking. nursing home. in his hometown. all of his money is now tied up in that fucking nursing home, and you get him in there, and he has a lovely private room, a big TV, his own private bathroom, every meal catered all day every day and even someone to wipe his ass.

and even though you have told him a hundred times how tough you're doing financially, it's like nothing penetrates because at the end of the day it's all about him, right, and it's not about you. he doesn't really care that fuel is nearly $2.00 a litre; he doesn't really care that electricity and groceries are through the roof. he knows that you live alone on a single wage but like, he has needs too - he needs beer and Coke! he needs chocolate! he needs gambling money! he needs pay TV, because free to air isn't enough! he has to watch EVERY football game, you know? and golf! it's all about what HE NEEDS.

and just also with an additional side of guilt-tripping because you haven't been able to drive down to see him this year due to a) health reasons and b) the fact that you don't have enough money to pay for petrol for a trip/get your car serviced so it doesn't break down on the highway. but he's in a nursing home with an almost constant stream of visitors, and you can only imagine what the fuck those people are saying about you behind your back.

"oh she couldn't even take care of him"

"oh she put him in a nursing home"

"oh she's so hard on him, she won't give him any spending money"

"if she was any kind of daughter she would've given up her life and moved in to take care of him"

"she's not even married and she doesn't have kids, she could've looked after him herself"

despite the fact that your brother literally. lives. one. minute. from. him and can BARELY BE ARSED TO SEE HIM ONCE A MONTH.

and then tonight he rings, asks the perfunctory "how was your weekend? how are you feeling?" and then segues right into, well, I blew all my gambling allowance this weekend and I need you to top up the account.

and then he's like, shocked, when you go off at him? fucking SHOCKED? he can't possibly consider cutting down on the things in his life just until we get through this little hump? he can't possibly NOT GAMBLE for a couple of weeks? like, how dare you even ask him to cut back. how dare you. what kind of selfish fucking asshole daughter are you to ask him to just TAKE A FUCKING BREAK.

but no no, we're going to go off about the state government giving a $1,000.00 rebate for electricity, even though it means that his daughter won't have to pay for electricity for the next six months. WHAT KIND OF FUCKING SOCIALISM IS THAT.

"you voted for them" YES I DID, BILL. I FUCKING DID. AND I WILL VOTE FOR THEM AGAIN.

This fucking entitled boomer, sitting in literally the nicest nursing home, having a go at his daughter who has been struggling all fucking year to just get a little bit ahead. like what the fuck

and then getting all pissy when i fire back at him and is like, "oh well I guess i'm selfish."

Yes.

You are.

You always have been.

Mum was right.

I love you, but FUCK.

[warpriest-writings]

Superman Fanfic

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Two jobs in not even three months, he mentally kicked himself.

His file was being looked over thoroughly for the third time by the unemployment office lady, Mrs. Kowalski. “So, construction fell through, Mr. Kent.” 

“I'm sorry.” he rubbed his thumbs together apprehensively.

“Mmhmmm, don't be sorry to me, Mr. Kent.” she said. “Shame, after telling me about how you and your father rebuilt the family barn after that tornado incident I thought you might like construction work.”

“It was going well, it's just…” he paused.

“You started showing up later and later, then not at all.” she finished.

He winced, there was no way he could tell her what he was really up to instead of making it to work on time.

“What's the matter, Mr. Kent? If there is something going on, issues, we have programs and departments to help people like you onto their feet.”

He shrugged, definitely more than a little frustrated at himself, “I, I'm not sure what to tell you?” he sighed.

“Well, we have your file open. If a factory position opens up this office will send you a call. The number on file is still up to date, yes?”

“Ye, yeah,” he looked over the paper she was showing him, “that's my number still.”

She nodded, “This is the third time I've seen you here in three months, Clark, if you want a minute of real advice. Go to college, there are loans and government grants, all sorts of stuff you could apply for. You're not lazy, and I know you're not a dumb boy. I've looked over your files three times now and I know you graduated with an almost perfect grade point average, and that you volunteered with your mother since you were thirteen years old. You don't need another job you'll get bored off in two weeks, you need a career that engages you. Give it a thought, Clark.” 

Mrs. Kowalski printed off several pages and stapled them. She set them next to his I.D and social in front of him.

Clark looked at the papers wide eyes, “I will...think about it, I mean. I'll think about it. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Kent. Now, unless you have any other questions I think we are done here for today.”

“No, I think I'm good for now.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Clark.”

With a nod, he smiled, “You too, Mrs. Kowalski.” With that the Farmer's son from Smallville grabbed his info and also the papers she printed out for him. 

He left the office and out of the Metropolis government center, pausing to hold the door for an older man with a cane. “Why, thank you.”

“You're welcome.” he replied and started walking, wondering how he was going to eat tonight.

If I find seventy five cents I can buy a can of ravioli from the gas station. If I find a dollar fifty then I could also get a cup of coffee.

A career that engages me...Clark's thoughts raced, and kept returning to what the lady at the unemployment office told him. He gripped the papers in his hand tightly, maybe it was time to start looking into college. See what his financial aid options were-why was his shirt wet?

A lady gasped, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

Clark snapped out of his thoughts, "Hmm?" Hot coffee was just spilt over his shirt and he pulled the material away from his skin, "Oh! It's alright, it isn't that hot." He reassured her.

The concerned woman suddenly raised her eyebrow skeptically, "That was a fresh latte."

"Yeah, well, lots of layers." Clark said, "Cold weather." 

She looked at him with a puzzled look, "Wait…." Her eyes widened, "Smallville?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked

"My cousin's birthday parties." She replied, "Your creepy friend tried to get a game of seven minutes in heaven going and my dad flexed on him."

Clark suddenly recognized her, "Lois, General Lane's daughter."

She laughed, "Just go by Lois Lane these days, never liked that stipulation."

He nodded, "Of course, Lois. How have you been?" 

"Fine, at least until I walked into a brick wall, Jesus, Smallville," she looked up at him, "What are they putting into the wheaties they feed you on that farm?"

Clark awkwardly cleared his throat, "Well, hard farm work, builds you up."

"Apparently." She said, "So, you're sure I didn't burn you?"

"I'm sure." He reassured her, again. 

Lois sighed in relief, "Well, that's good, Smallville. What are you doing in Metropolis anyway?"

"Oh, well…" Clark paused, dwelling momentarily on uncomfortable memories, "I just needed a change. Some personal discovery stuff."

"Uh huh, hey I need to get another coffee, and you look like you could use one too. Come on, Kent."

Clark protested, "No, really. It's fine."

"I wasn't asking, Smallville. My treat." Lois said with effortless determination, she left no room for discussion and Clark haplessly followed along.

"Sundollar?"

"Yeah, no one wanted a latte from Lexbucks, go figure." Lois said, strolling in. 

"Lane!" The Barista said, "I thought you said you were cutting back on the caffeine."

"Cut back a little too much this morning, Bev. I, err, dropped my coffee." She said, standing next to the man in a wet shirt, smelling like a sundae was dropped in an espresso. 

Bev nodded along, "And for Captain America?"

Lois glanced at him, expectantly.

Clark stood there a moment in silence before awkwardly exclaiming, "Oh! Black, please. Morning blend...if you have it." 

Lois tapped his arm, "Come on, Smallville." Leading Clark to a very tall table large enough for two drinks and maybe a folder. "Not one for the Cafe scene, Farmer Kent?"

He looked around at the various pieces of piecemeal modern art decorating the Sundollar, "Not really, I've been drinking coffee since I was fourteen and Dad put me through a few hours of work before school and all he brewed came out of a red can."

Lois snorted, "Yeah? Did he get them out of the cellar next to the Mason jars of peaches?" 

Clark raised an eyebrow, "Lois when were you in our cellar?"

"What? No I meant, I was being-" She paused when she saw a little smirk, "Huh, color me impressed, Smallville, I didn't realize you had a funny bone under all that muscle." 

“I’ve been known to be occasionally cheeky.” Clark replied, he averted his eyes as she smiled. “Did you ever make it then?”

“Hmm?”

“Journalism? You were going to Metro U to become a reporter right?” Clark asked.

Lois’s eyes lit up, “Yes! Actually, I got into the intern program at the Planet and I’ve been a field reporter for a little over ten months.”

“That’s incredible, Lois! So, what ground breaking news is Lois Lane investigating?” Clark asked, he smiled at Bev as she was kind enough to walk their drinks over to them.

Lois grinned, “The Red-Blue Blur.”

Clark spit out his coffee. 

“Jesus, Smallville, it’s probably a fresh pot!” Lois gasped.

Clark swallowed, “Yeah, my tongue.” He cleared his throat. “The Red who what?”

“You really must be new in town, the last three months Metropolis has had its own Vigilante. Like the old days with the Green Lantern, Hawkman, Wonder woman.”

“Lois, I don’t think Superheroes have been a thing since, forever ago.”

“Not if you have your ear to the ground, Smallville. Gotham, Central City.”

“Okay, sure I’ve heard the rumors, too. The Bat in Gotham’s either a myth or someone with a death wish.” He said, echoing his dad.

“Iris West at Picture News had an interview with the Rumor in Central City, Clark. We are seeing a possible resurgence of Superheroes in the world and I think Metropolis has one too.”