#i am on one knee begging this woman to marry me (among other things)

[flutteringfable]

(john mulaney voice) THATS MY WIFE

[soul-kiitchen]

feel like a large issue i have with christianity is that it is centered around the subservience and punishment of women while constantly obsessing over lifting up and empowering men, who are often perpetrators of greed and violence.

The creation myth of Adam and Eve is sick to me. Eve should have never been punished. Period. And any god who would punish someone for seeking truth and knowledge is selfish and unkind. Especially because he punished her moreso because of her womanhood, and cursed her for eternity to be subservient just because she wanted more than what a man told her she could have. I often see the snake as a righteous and truthful figure, and never found a comfortable place at the table in christianity due to this belief from page one that women are evil, sneaky, weak, and deserving of punishment.

I am still reading through the first testament but I honestly feel like the god described in these books is full of nothing but malevolence, hatred, and greed.

And when you look into how most other world religions centered around uplifting women as powerful and knowledgeable and strong or sharing the balance between masculinity and femininity, it begins to bring into question the true motives of Christianity as interpreted through just The Bible.

For the religions that emphasized a connection to nature and community among human beings to be quite literally demonized in Christian lore does not sit right with me. I feel like christianity sets women up to be disappointed not only by their god, but also by the men they are expected to marry based on religious value.

Women are naturally wild, curious, intelligent, wise, strong, and experience more pain than men. It is literally scientifically proven that women have a stronger pain threshold than men due to the evolutionary need to be able to endure more of it. Testosterone is the hormone that causes women to struggle with controlling their emotions during their menstrual cycle, and estrogen actually regulates emotions. So women are not "more emotional" either, we just have a couple days out of every month where we act like men and they're too emotional to handle it.

Jesus is an interesting prophet who's story is relatable, and I'd argue that he does more to support the rights of women and apologize on his fathers behalf but i still need to read the new testament myself. All the women Jesus speaks to are literally on their knees, washing his feet, following him around, begging him for forgiveness.

Who's to say they need the son of the man who damned them despite their innocence to be their savior? Or the women who are seen as genuinely standing their own ground and being intelligent and, well, an actual individual and not just some drone to a man are depicted as evil or demonic. It's gross.

And I feel like that mindset often leaves christian women feeling hatred for themselves and downplaying their genuine wants and passions as silly little girl things when they are actually very important.

I find the story of Lilith to be inspiring. She was the first woman before Eve and was punished by god for refusing to lay below Adam. She was perceived as a demon in Abrahamic religions for a long time but recently people have been realizing the truth and interperating her as a liberator of women and a figure to be truly worshipped.

And you can argue that God is a genderless being, but Christianity is not a genderless religion. All the texts, when you really look into them, seem to be written from the perspective of men only with the intention of amplifying their power.

All abhramic religions do this, but Christianity is the worst about it. At least in Islam and Judaism there is an immense amount of respect between both genders and an emphasis on a balance of both masculinity and femininity being important in everyone.

Christianity seems to time and time again seek to push down the importance of women and their role in society. There are literally scrolls and texts out there that are not canon to the bible solely because they were written by women and scholars believe that causes them to not be accurate or valuable in any kind of way.

[corruptedmind]

Flower Love  [Lee Know x Han Jisung]

Genre : Fluff

Warnings : none

A/N : I got this inspiration from a tweet on twitter making me write on impulse. If it sucks, then lol im sorry.

Summary : Lee Know saw this cute emo boy across the road, and bought a flower for him.

ting ting

  The bell sounded as the door opened of the flower shop. Minho looked up from his magazine to see none other than his bestfriend, Hwang Hyunjin.

“Lee Know Hyung!!! I have to tell you something- OH SHIT!”, The sound of a pot knocking down made the 20 year old man’s blood boy.

“You’re really tempting me to shove tissues in your mouth, Hwang”, Minho whispered quietly, but Hyunjin heard it all and shuddered.

“Hyung I’m sorry I’ll pay for all the damage AND your dinner for the next whole weak”, begged the tall boy on his knees to avoid his hyung’s wrath.

“If you go even one day without paying for my dinner-”

“180 DEGREES FOR 20 MINUTES IN THE AIR FRYER!! I KNOW HYUNG PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!”, Hyunjin screamed in fear.

  Minho scoffed and turned around to get a broom and his dustpan. He would never hurt his bestfriend, but him breaking one of his pots, one that was precious among all of his other pots angered him. His heart broke when he saw the plant laying on the ground.

The beautiful flower deserved the best of vases, the best of air, the best of water and the best of owners. He would never sell his flowers to a dirty person.

Lee Minho, a florist, a man with the kindest heart while being the fiercest person in the neighborhood. 

  Everyone from the street knew him, and all of them loved him dearly. They would visit him frequently and buy his flowers, have a nice chat and then go about their day. 

Many girls would visit them too, but Minho’s oblivious butt never knew the reason for the high female attendance in his shop. 

  Today was a rare day, where only a few people visited his shop. He wore a simple pastel blue shirt, the sleeves folded up till his elbows. Under it was a pair of clean trousers he had ironed in the morning. He didn’t style his brown hair today, just swept it back with his fingers.

 “I’m really sorry, Hyung”, Hyunjin said as he slowly got up from the ground with a small pout on his face.

Minho sighed, “Well you can’t undo the damage”.

He continued cleaning as Hyunjin propped himself up the counter. “I had a reason to barge into your store-”

“And destroy my precious plants?”, Minho raised his brow.

Hyunjin waved his arms around, “I said I’m sorry Hyung. Well anyway, i had a reason to shout. So apparently, Seungmin gave me a ROSE!!! AAAAAAAAAA OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS HE LOOKED SO SWEET WITH HIS RED CHEEKS AND FLUFFY HAIR I WANNA KISS HIM SO BAD!!”.

“You’ve been dating for the past four years will you please shut the fuck up?”, Minho pinched the bridge of his nose irritated. Him gushing over Seungmin was cute at first, but he gushed about EVERYTHING. Even thing Minho DEFINETLY didn’t need to know about.

“But he’s so cute Hyung. I wanna marry him”, Hyunjin muttered with heart eyes.

    Though Hyunjin was only 18, going to be 19 in a few days, he was definetly  wise. He was so in love with Seungmin that nothing could make him stop loving the boy.

That was the only thing Minho was jealous of from Hyunijn.

   He always wanted to love. To be loved. 

He would see Hyunjin and Seungmin friendship slowly evolve into love and before he knew it, they were in a relationship. He was happy for them, but the little empty pit in his heart just grew bigger whenever he saw the two boys in love stealing kisses behind his back.

“When are you gonna date, Minho Hyung? If this continues then your mom’s gonna arrange a girl for you to marry”, Hyunjin stated as he picked up a grape from a bowl.

  The thought of marrying a woman weirded Minho out. He had never been attracted to woman, and so because of that Hyunjin found out he was gay when he saw Minho blushing over Thor wiping his abs.

“I am never gonna marry woman. You and I both know that. Plus, I’m still 20, i have a long life ahead”, The brunette shrugged and continued cleaning.

Silence took over the room as both the boys minded their work in peace. Just as Minho dusted over the last grain of soil, he picked up the beautiful flower in his hand. He stood up with his back straight and gently held the stem in his fist.

  A purple rose.

He remembered how his Grandfather had said what the flower symbolized. Minho chuckled when he remembered how he gagged at the meaning to which his grandfather smacked his head.

The meaning was simple, Love at first sight.

  He softly sighed at the sight of the beautiful flower. When will it be his turn to experience such beauty. To have euphoria flow through his veins. To giggle randomly when he thought about his love. 

To feel complete.

  Minho shook his head, he didn’t want to go into sad hours in daylight. He could buy a bucket of ice cream when he’s going home and cry at his sad single life.

He placed the flower on his counter to bring a new pot for the plant. All the new and unused pots where outside the shop, for people to buy. He opened the door of his shop and scanned the pots that were kept over the other. Deeming one of them being pretty enough for his purple flower, he picked it up and was about to go back in his shop if it weren’t for something to catch his eyes.

  He turned around to see a boy, younger than him seated on a bench across the street. He was bended over, as though writing something with absolute concentration. The boy had jet black hair, and wore the darkest clothes sold in market. Even with the distance Minho could make out all the piercings and jewelry on his body with how it glinted under the sun.

Minho couldn’t help but stare at his face after he finished examining the ‘emo’ boy. He was....

...pretty.

Despite the clothes that clearly said badass, the boy held a sort of innocence in his stature. The boy intrigued Minho. Before he knew it, the tips of his ears were red and his heart thumped against his ribcage. His hands became sweaty and his mind went overdrive.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he placed the pot back down and rushed into the shop. Hyunjin looked at him puzzled when Minho picked up the purple rose off of the counter and went back outside.

  Minho was sure at this point he was possessed, he had no control over his body. He looked left and right before crossing the road and ran a hand through his hair. 

He walked up to the pretty emo boy who was still absorbed into writing something. 

“Ahem”, Minho coughed to get the boy’s attention.

The black haired boy, startled, lifted his head to see Minho standing in front of him. Just as both of their eyes held contact, Minho couldn’t help but gasp lowly. 

He was beautiful.

His face, adorned with slight foundation and thick eyeliner. His lips, painted with black lipstick. His ears, glinting of silver with all the jewelry. His cheeks, soft and plump yet still striking.

Minho had never seen such intricate beauty in his life. He had thought before how his heart was beating fast, but now it was moving so fast he thought he was going to die.

“Yes?”

Oh his sweet voice. Minho’s knees trembled at the sweet honey like voice. His mouth went dry and almost forgot how to speak if it wasn’t the boy to raise his eyebrow in irritation.

“Uh umm.... I saw you from across the street, from my shop and just wanted to give.....this! To... you....”, Minho’s voice slowly faded away as he passed on the flower in the boy’s hand.

“Why?”, The simple question startled MInho.

“It’s just that, I’ve never seen someone like you-”

“Like me? What’s wrong with me?”, The boy raised his eyebrow. “What? Do I seem weird to you”, He questioned again.

Minho started to panic, waving his arms around to deny. Somewhere at the back of his mind he felt like Hyunjin.

“No no no no no no no I didn’t mean that! You just looked so beautiful and I felt it needed to be appreciated”, Just as Minho said it, he slapped his mouth when he saw the boy look shocked.

“Oh...”, the boy whispered.

“No no I’m really sorry. Oh fuck I’ll just go back”, Minho turned around and started walking away, but a voice stopped him.

“Jisung”

“Huh?”, Minho turned around and tilted his head.

“My name. Han Jisung, and I know what purple flower mean. I’ll meet you again tomorrow, stranger. I’ll give you a flower and get a name in return. Bye”.

And with that, Minho knew he fell in love.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

💎💍TO CATCH A THIEF💍💎

Prompt: Inspired by the song: To Catch A Thief by Lovage

Word Count: Really Long, girl 😩

Pairings: 1930’s Mob! Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, smut (implied), murder, manipulation.

Tagging: @ziasaph , @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @babydee17 , @yungbludjazz360

Notes: As cliche as it sounds, I’m a truly lover of music and love different genres. I love to be able to show different types of bands/ projects/ music that sometimes people might not even know exists. So this little fic is inspired by one of my favorite music projects EVER: LOVAGE (it has Mike Patton on it, so of course I would love it! The man has been my musician crush since I was 9 years old! And he’s amazing, so). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) You can check them out on my Masterlist. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Of course I’ve heard of them and of course they’ve caught my interest! The Reigns’s and Uso’s were one of the biggest gangsters families among the USA, who were responsible for the biggest robberies across the country.

The current rumors spreading around the neighborhood swore they were here, hiding from the authorities, in our small little town.

And I would give anything to meet one of them. As the daughter of a prostitute, my only fate was to follow my mother’s footsteps but I am more ambitious than that! The only way to prosper in life is to be completely feared. Be feared not respected as Machiavelli himself taught. And I know, for a fact that, that is completely true! Growing up in the red light neighborhood had proved to be quite the life lesson, actually. ‘Don’t trust the police’, ‘Make alliances with criminals’, ‘Trust no one’, ‘Don’t snitch’, ‘You never hear or see anything’, ‘Mind your own business’, ‘Don’t allow people to mind YOUR business’, ‘Show no emotions’, ‘Always be smarter than your enemies’, were a few of those rules. People think that, for a woman to be perfectly successful in the 1930’s she needs to be a trophy wife, nothing more than a beautiful face with zero brains and a pair of open legs to a rich husband. But they are wrong! You see, any woman can use her beauty and charm to manipulate and conquer whatever she wants, but she can only maintain that manipulation power if she’s smart enough. I’ve had the town mayor, Mr. Heyman, gift me a beautiful diamond crown (that originally was meant to be his wife’s birthday present) just with some charm and sweet nothings whispered to him. I didn’t needed to warm his bed for it, I just had to be smart enough to understand his weaknesses and say the right words! I know what I want, so I get it, and believe me when I say: I will have Roman Reigns all to myself.

Things were disappearing in my neighborhood

Once again somebody was up to no good

I saw that you were wanted, but not like I wanted you

And that's when I knew I had to be with you

And that's when I knew if I didn't, I'd be through

To end my grief I'd have to catch a thief

Your love was my relief my love is your release.

Ah! Mayor Heyman’s high society ‘charity gala balls’ (aka meet your husband’s new mistress), were the most futile yet amusing events of this town. I wasn’t a high society woman, economically speaking but again I’m good at saying the right things to the right people. So it’s no surprise to see my name in the mayor’s guest list.

I entry the big doors of the city hall wearing my most recently acquisition: an emerald green velvet dress (gifted by the Senator John), my high heels (Another gift from Mr. Smith, the banker) and my hand purse (from the all so lovely Mayor Heyman)...Speak of the Devil.

“Y/N” He greeted

“Oh, Mayor Heyman. What an honor” I smiled sweetly

“Believe me, it’s my honor, dear” He kisses my hand in an flirtatious way. And it’s a good thing I’m great at keeping my gag reflex in control.

“Oh please, I’m the one who has to thank you for always reminding little old me for your tremendously chic events. I can’t express my gratitude enough for you always having so much compassion in your heart!” I scoot closer to him, slightly fixing his tie “It is such a shame that you’re a married man, mayor Heyman, I would have loved to be your wife” I whispered softly

He gulped “I can change that” He smirked

“Oh please, mayor!” I stepped back with a offended look on my face “As a Christian woman, I cannot support divorce! That is some type of thinking that will lead us directly back to sodom and gomorrah! I can’t believe you just said that to me” I make the sign of the cross

“I am so sorry, Y/N it was not my intention-“

“I am not a prostitute or a home wrecker, mayor Heyman! I am a woman devoted to the Lord and I will not accept or tolerate that type of language or insinuations towards me!”

“I am deeply sorry Y/N, I truly am! Let me make it up to you. Here” He fastly signed a blank check “Please take this”

“I can’t” I whisper, pretending embarrassment

“Please, Y/N! It’s the least I can do. You can use it for whatever you want, no matter the price. I could never offend you! You’re such an amazing woman. Please accept it!” His pleading eyes let me know I had him hooked.

I ‘reluctantly’ accepted “Well, thank you, so much” I murmur with tears upon my eyes

“No, I’m the one who has to thank you, for dismissing my ogre behavior” He smiled “I’ll leave you now, so you can fix your makeup”

“Thank you, mayor Heyman”

Once he’s out of my sight, I can drop the naïve girl routine.

“Impressive” A deep male voice spoke from behind me

When I turn around, my knees almost failed me... it was him.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask

“The little stunt you just did with the mayor, was truly impressive. I swear that if I didn’t saw you get out of your naïve christian woman character I would have one hundred percent believed too” He smirked

“Mr. Reigns. That’s a compliment coming from you”

“You know who I am”

I shrugged “I’ve heard a few things here and there”

He gets closer to me, until our faces almost touched

“Yeah? Tell me, Y/N. That’s your name right?” He asked and I nodded

“What have you heard, Y/N?”

“How your the head of the table on your family’s business” I mumbled

“How does a woman like you, know about my family’s business, Y/N?” He walks forward, making me step back until I my back reached a closed door.

“I was raised on the streets”

Roman’s eyebrows raise in surprise “Really? You don’t seem like the streets type” He said, caressing my cheek.

“I had to learn how to be more polished if I didn’t wanted to become a hooker”

“I see” He buried his nose on my neck, inhaling deeply my perfume as his hands rested on my waist “And I imagine your perfume is also a result from a similar scene with the mayor” Roman whispered in my ear

“The senator not the mayor” I cackled

He amusingly laughs on my ear “You have friends in high places, huh?” His hands moved up, cupping my breasts through the dress

“People use what they have, Mr. Reigns” I look into his eyes “You use you intimidating strength” I squeeze his biceps “And I use my womanly charm” I batted my lashes “They’re both means to an end”

Come into my window

It's open every night

That's where I'll be waiting

I'll keep off all the lights

I'm lying on my bed

Crown jewels on my head

The loud knocks on my front door made me quickly get up. Going down the stairs I can see a tall manly figure waiting for me to come and answer. I grab my Colt 1908 Pocket Hammerless gun from the little drawer on my cupboard.

Placing my finger on the trigger I opened the door.

“Yes?” I ask harmlessly

“Mrs. Y/N?” The tall Samoan man asked

I nodded once

“My name is Jey and I’m here in behalf of Mr. Reigns”

I nodded again

“Why don’t you come and take a ride with me?” Jey coldly smiled

I'd never give you up

So come in from the cold, let your guard down

I'd hide you from the cops

Don't be frightened now my love

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

The hotel room is big, fancy and very expensive by the looks of it. If I had to take a lucky guess, I would say that he’s not paying for anything in here, it is all a curtesy from the mayor.

“I’m glad you came” Roman smiles

“Did I had a choice?” I tilted my head

“No, you didn’t” He chuckled “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Are you going to drug me if I say yes?” I joke

“Depends on your answer to my proposal” He smirked

“Proposal?”

“Yes” Roman got up from his chair coming to stand in front of me

“You see, Y/N. You’re a very, very interesting woman. Ambitious, smart, charming, intelligent and gorgeous. You’re not easily scared, in fact, it looks like you enjoy danger” He pulled me closer to him, until our bodies were pressed together “I could use a woman like you in my business. At the gala ball you told me about your goals in life and I could see with my own eyes you successfully work your magic on every men in that room. So, what I propose to you is: come with me, I’m leaving town tomorrow and I would like for you to come with me, be a part of my team, use your looks and your brain to our favor.”

“And what’s in it for me?” I asked

“Money, power, jewels...Anything you want” He sincerely said

“What if I would like to add you to that package?” I whispered

Come in off that roof top

You're so handsome dressed in black

See you in the shadows

I'd like to see you on your back

Take this precious treasure

And I will treasure you

Roman smirked “So be it! If you want me too, then you can have me”

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a famished kiss. Pushing me down on the bed, his broad body hovering over mine, grinding, kissing, biting, panting, pounding and moaning until the first rays of sunshine from the next day peaked through the curtains...

6 MONTHS LATER

“What do you say about we take a drink, Mrs. Reigns?” Tony, my husband’s arch enemy and Capo of the Italian Mob asked

“I would love to” I smile sweetly as I hook my arm in his. Going to the back alley.

“I figured it was already time for you to leave that husband of yours for a real man, you know? And I knew you would come to me, sugar” Tony winked

“You’re right, Tony. I do need a real man” I smirked to the shadows when the gun fired.

Tony’s body fell down by my side on the dirty alley street

“But you didn’t thought you were that man, right?” I cackled

Roman’s arm circle around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“Hello Tony” He smiled “Did you really thought you could have her?” Roman chuckled “C’mon, we both know she’s too much of a woman for you! You can’t handle it! I bet you’re regretting to have thought with your dick now, don’t you?”

“She will leave you eventually Reigns. Just wait for it!” Tony spat

I pressed my high heel on his chest wound, pressing it down and making Tony scream in agony

“You watch your mouth, you fucking fat pig! You know nothing, you ARE NOTHING! I would never leave Roman for you” I laugh “I will never leave him for anyone” I smile at him, aiming to his head and pressing the trigger right afterwards.

We'll run away my dear

Some place special have no fear

We'll even change our names

We'll be kinky, we'll be strange

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

All to catch a thief

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

All to catch a thief

“You are perfect” Roman whispered, kissing me vigorously in front of Tony’s dead body. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here” He opened the passenger door of his Rolls Royce and I enter it.

Once we’re driving through the highway he says

“I can’t wait for us to get to the hotel” Roman kisses my hand, intertwining our fingers “I’m going to fuck you senseless” He growls

And I can’t help the happiness smile that spreads on my lips..

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 5/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest, and we’ve actually gotten to the marriage part! Or, at least, the wedding.  (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3)

As much as this Author positively loathes to gloat, there comes a time when even the most modest among us must utter those four words everyone hates to hear: I told you so.

Both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire emerged from their duel with not a scratch upon them and with the Marquess sworn to uphold the honor of Mr. Grantaire’s sister and rectify the situation he caused by joining her in matrimony. As befits the magnitude of the scandal, a special license has been purchased – for who knows what sum – so that the whole affair can be concluded before the Dowager Marchioness even has a chance to book a carriage out to the country to meet her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Much to the relief of both the Marquess and his fiancée, this Author presumes. 

Still, a wedding may signal an end to impropriety, but scandals are wont to continue of their own accord, especially when one can hardly imagine the Marquess settling quickly or quietly into married life. A storm is brewing, one way or another, but rest assured, Dear Reader – this Author will be here to cover whatever may come next. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 MAY 1831

Enjolras hated to admit it, but he was nervous.

He really hadn’t thought he was going to be, but as he stood at the front of the small, unassuming chapel dressed in the best clothes he could purchase on a moment’s notice from the village, his stomach felt like it was doing somersaults somewhere around his knees, and his palms were sweating so much that he was tempted to wipe them on his trousers.

Perhaps nerves were to be expected. After all, it wasn’t everyday that he got married.

Granted, the wedding itself was going to be a simple affair, just Enjolras with Madame Hucheloup in front of the vicar, whom Enjolras had met once, briefly, the prior day and who had been as drunk as Grantaire had promised, so much so that when Grantaire told him that Enjolras would be marrying his sister, the man did not even hesitate, despite presiding over her burial some two decades prior. He seemed equally drunk that morning, swaying slightly as he hummed off-key, waiting for the ceremony to start.

Joining Enjolras and his not-so-blushing fake bride would be Grantaire and Le Cabuc as witnesses, with only the four of them any wiser to the fact that the entire thing was a farce. Then the only final piece of the puzzle was getting a suitable dowry from Grantaire to give to his mother, and then, finally, Enjolras would be free.

Well, free until such a time came as when he would need to ‘bury’ his fake wife, but that was a future problem, and one he was not inclined to think too closely about at the moment.

Especially when he had much bigger concerns: particularly, the fact that Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup were running late.

He glanced over at Le Cabuc, who looked almost bored, and chanced a look back at the vicar, who didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact that time was stretching on and there was no sight of either of them. Enjolras was just about to excuse himself to go track down Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup himself when the woman in question appeared in the back of the parish, out of breath and – far more concerning – dressed in her usual clothes and not the wedding dress that Enjolras had dutifully purchased to continue the façade, clutching a valise assumedly containing other clothes.

Enjolras frowned and hurried to intercept her. “Beg pardon,” she said breathlessly, her face flushed red as if she had run the entire way from the house. “But there’s been a change.”

“A change?” Enjolras repeated, stupidly. “What kind of change?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Himself is on his way, he’ll explain everything.”

Enjolras would have much preferred that she explain, but given that she looked like she was about to topple over at any given moment, he supposed the polite thing to do was to walk her to a seat before heading to the back of the chapel to await Grantaire and whatever explanation he brought.

So he did just that, depositing her in a chair before hurrying to the chapel door to intercept Grantaire and find out just what explanation he could possibly—

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Grantaire hurrying towards him, dressed not in his Sunday best as was anticipated but rather wearing, of all the garments in the world, the wedding dress.

Enjolras was certain his mouth fell open as he stared at Grantaire, temporarily unable to speak. There was a very small, distracted part of his brain that noticed that despite the dress not having been tailored for him by any stretch, it somehow fit Grantaire rather pleasingly.

He shook his head to clear it of that thought and wrenched his mouth open. “What in the bloody hell—”

“Language,” Grantaire chided, sounding stressed as he finally arrived at the door. “We are on consecrated ground, after all.”

It was a patently absurd thing to say, and accounted for Enjolras spluttering in response, “Yes, we are, so perhaps you can explain what in God’s name you’re wearing?!”

Grantaire drew himself up to his full height and scowled at Enjolras. “I’m wearing a wedding dress,” he said. “As for the reason I am wearing said wedding dress, which I believe is more to the point of what you’re asking, you should know. You’re the one who helped pass the damned thing.” Enjolras stared blankly and Grantaire elaborated, “The law was updated recently, requiring one male and one female witness for any nuptial ceremony.”

Enjolras had a sudden, horrible memory of celebrating a law passed through the House of Lords that was meant to help keep young women from being forced into marriage with their father and brother as the sole witnesses, an all-too-common occurrence. Granted, the efficacy of the law remained to be seen, since too many mothers were frequently willing to go along with such plans, but it was a start, and—

He shook his head to clear it. “And so Madame Hucheloup needs to be one of the witnesses,” he said instead, finally putting together the pieces to which Grantaire had been alluding in his usual, maddening way.

“Well, I thought about simply making up a woman’s name and forging the signature on the certificate,” Grantaire said, “but seeing as how I rather suspect that this particular marriage certificate will face more scrutiny than most, it didn’t seem a particularly wise course of action.”

Grantaire was almost certainly correct about that, but still Enjolras felt something like despair. “Was there no other woman that you could get to be a witness?” he asked, a bit desperately.

“Another woman whom I trust with my reputation, and far more importantly, with yours?” Grantaire asked, arching an eyebrow. “At this late of date?”

“Then someone who would pretend to be a bride for the day?”

Enjolras knew it was an idiotic question the moment he blurted it, and the look Grantaire gave him reinforced as such. “If I would not trust them to be a witness, what makes you think I would trust them to exchange marriage vows with you? Even if using a false name, I know not the legal ramifications and I would not have someone trying to take you for all your worth.” Enjolras blinked, fleetingly touched by the lengths to which Grantaire seemed determine to go to protect him – or at the very least, to protect his estate. “No, that was not an option. Meaning the only option available to us—”

“—Is you wearing the dress and pretending to be the bride.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “Personally, I think it looks quite fetching on me.”

As if to illustrate his point, he ran a hand down the bodice of the gown, a hand that Enjolras could not help but follow with his eyes as it skimmed the creamy fabric that dipped and clung in all the right places— “That is hardly the point,” he snapped, tearing his eyes away.

“No, the point is that the vicar, drunk though he inevitably is, will start asking questions soon, so it’s best we get this over with as soon as possible,” Grantaire said bluntly, his smile disappearing.

When he later thought about it, Enjolras could come up with no rational explanation for what possessed him to say it, but somehow, he found himself scoffing, “Quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Romance?” he repeated, exasperated. “Is now really—” He broke off without warning, and Enjolras was surprised to see his expression soften as he looked up at Enjolras. “Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly, the exasperation gone from his voice and replaced by something gentle, something entirely unfamiliar that Enjolras could not quite put a name to. “What there is between us is the stuff of fairytales, of legend. What Helen felt for Paris, or Samson for Delilah, pales in comparison to the depths of my feelings for you, and were I to search every corner of this world I know that there is no one with whom I would rather share the remainder of my days. Will you do me the honor of joining me at the altar and becoming my husband?”

Enjolras couldn’t help himself – he snorted a laugh. “Very well, I suppose I deserved that,” he said briskly. “But I do hope you manage to find some actual sincerity when saying your vows, or even the vicar might realize this is a farce.”

He offered his arm to Grantaire, who took it after settling his veil over his face so that not even Enjolras could read his expression. “I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t know sincerity if it were to bite you in the—”

“Shh,” Enjolras hissed, and for once in his life, Grantaire fell silent as the two of them traversed the short aisle to take their place at the front of the chapel.

“Ah,” the vicar said, smiling at them both. “Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today, in the sight of God and—” The vicar let out a loud hiccup and Enjolras bit his lip hard enough to almost draw blood to keep from laughing. He glanced sideways at Grantaire, but couldn’t tell if the man was as amused as he. “—and the witnesses gathered here,” the vicar continued, “to watch as the Marquess of Enjolras and the, er, the…”

He trailed off, clearly casting about for the proper title for Grantaire’s sister, and even though he could not see Grantaire’s face, Enjolras could clearly tell that he was rolling his eyes. “Mistress,” Enjolras supplied helpfully, as it seemed the most appropriate title.

“Yes, that,” the vicar said, nodding at him, continuing without pause, “and Grantaire join together in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. You may face each other and recite your vows.”

Enjolras obediently turned to face Grantaire, hesitating before reaching forward to lift the veil from Grantaire’s face as was tradition. After all, with the vicar no longer facing him head on, it seemed doubtful he would notice that the features underneath were decidedly male.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow as Enjolras lifted his veil, but luckily, made no comment, simply reaching out with his lace gloved hands to take Enjolras’s in his own.

The detour from traditional vows had been Enjolras’s only insistence when planning the ceremony, and he was doubly glad he had insisted on it now, since he was not certain that he would make it through if he had to make the usual promises of honoring and cherishing to Grantaire, especially with Grantaire looking at him like that. Instead, he had opted for seven simple words borrowed from the rather utilitarian vows made by some medieval French men upon joining their households in common purpose with each other.

“Un pain, un vin, et une bourse,” Enjolras said, the meaning as simple as the words themselves: one bread, one wine, and one purse, the three things he and Grantaire would now share, bonded as they were by this ceremony.

Grantaire tilted his head slightly, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He had told the vicar that his sister would opt for equally simple vows, and had assured Enjolras that Madame Hucheloup would not surprise him. But Madame Hucheloup did not stand across from him now, and Enjolras knew without any doubt that Grantaire was going to say something else entirely, and he half-dreaded what words would possibly come out of Grantaire’s mouth. “Une vie et un amour,” Grantaire pronounced, and Enjolras was surprised that the breath seemed to catch in his throat at the simple words, an answer and a challenge to his own.

One life and one love.

Well, he had been the idiot who had asked for some semblance of romance.

The vicar was saying something else, but Enjolras seemed to have temporarily lost his ability to hear, staring still at Grantaire, at that small smile still on his face, trying to figure out why or how he suddenly had the urge to lean in and kiss that smile off of his face.

Without warning, the vicar cleared his throat loudly and Enjolras jumped before glancing almost guiltily back at him, but if the vicar noticed, he gave no indication of it, simply intoning, “What the Lord has brought together, let no man tear asunder. By the power vested in me by the King and by the Lord our God, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss—” 

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Enjolras had leaned in to press his lips against Grantaire’s.

It was over almost as quickly as it had happened, Enjolras pulling away before his brain had time to process what had just happened, or what he had just done, and he felt stricken as he scanned Grantaire’s face, looking for some reassurance that he had not made a grave error.

But Grantaire’s face was entirely unreadable as he reached up to again cover his face with his veil before turning back to the vicar, who was smiling at them both in a sort of genial, patronizing way that for some inexplicable reason infuriated Enjolras. Or perhaps it was just that Grantaire had dropped his hands and turned away.

Either way, as the vicar completed his benediction, Grantaire finally turned back to Enjolras, leaning in to tell him in an undertone, “Madame Hucheloup brought some clothes for me. I’m going to change and then we can return home.”

Enjolras nodded dumbly, tempted to ask how they would explain the sudden disappearance of Enjolras’s bride to any onlookers or the vicar himself, but decided it was not worth it. Especially since the vicar took his leave immediately upon the conclusion of the ceremony, mumbling something about being thirsty as he staggered past Enjolras and Grantaire, assumedly heading back to the rectory.

 As Grantaire disappeared somewhere to assumedly change, Enjolras felt slightly aimless, milling about the chapel with nothing really to do besides sign the paperwork, which took about twenty seconds. Without any better option, he approached Madame Hucheloup, whom he reasoned had undoubtedly seen her share of weddings. “I beg your pardon for not asking sooner,” he started, “but is there something I’m meant to be doing for this?”

“Other than standing up at the altar as you just did?” she asked with a smile. “No, m’lord. Ordinarily you’d be greeting guests and such, and overseeing – which is to say, and begging your pardon for wording it such, paying for – the wedding feast, but seeing as how you’ll not be having any festivities…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Other than that, you’d be planning the honeymoon trip, I suppose, but again, I’m not sure what you and Himself have got planned there.”

She gave Enjolras a look that he couldn’t quite interpret and he shrugged as well. “Nor do I, I suppose,” he told her with a tight smile. “Very well. Thank you for your help. You and Le Cabuc can return to the manor if you’d like – Grantaire and I will be along soon enough.”

Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure he had any real authority to give orders to Grantaire’s household staff, but neither Madame Hucheloup nor Le Cabuc complained at the dismissal, simply taking their leave – and leaving Enjolras by himself and feeling, quite possibly, more aimless than before.

While his nerves earlier had been expected, this inexplicable feeling of being unmoored was not. Frankly, as the marriage and the wedding to precede it were both shams, he hadn’t expected to feel anything more than slightly embarrassed at the whole process. But embarrassment was really the furthest thing from his mind as he thought about how he had felt standing in front of the vicar with Grantaire.

It should have felt even more of a farce than just the fake wedding itself, exchanging wedding vows with a man. At the very least, he was fairly certain it was a sacrilege, or making a mockery of the sacrament itself.

And yet, it hadn’t felt that way.

Enjolras had never pondered his nuptials save as a thing to be dreaded, had never pictured himself facing some faceless woman and binding himself to her, so he had no frame of reference for how others might have anticipated feeling, but he wondered if others also discovered upon their wedding day that it just felt...right. Like something he was meant to do.

Were he more inclined toward the philosophical, he might’ve wondered if there was a deeper meaning he should be reading into that, or if this should inspire some deeper questions about fate or predestination, but Enjolras had never been one for such discussions, preferring to focus on the here and now, the tangible ways in which he could affect change. And he did not dwell on them now, instead shaking his head once more to clear it of errant thoughts before going to find Grantaire to see what could possibly be taking him so long to get changed.

He did not find him at all in the chapel and was about to give up and head back to the house alone when he caught sight of a lone figure standing out in the small cemetery next to the chapel. Even without being able to make out any of his features, he could tell it was Grantaire, and he frowned slightly before heading over to join him.

“Grantaire?” he called when he finally drew close, and Grantaire looked up, startled.

“My apologies,” he said, something like guilt flashing across his face. “I completely forgot I had offered to walk back up with you.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened, because something about Grantaire seemed off. Not just that he was back in his usual clothes, though that was certainly a brief disappointment to Enjolras, but something about the set of his shoulders and the tired look on his face. He glanced at the small, unadorned stone Grantaire stood in front of, sudden realization hitting as he read the name: Adélaïde Grantaire.

“My sister,” Grantaire said, unnecessarily. “I just wanted a moment with her. She—” His voice broke and he coughed, once, as if to try to hide it. “She would have been greatly amused by today, I think.”

“The idea of you in a wedding dress?” Enjolras guessed, aiming for levity.

But Grantaire shook his head. “The idea of me getting married at all, really,” he said with a short, dry laugh. “We used to joke about it, her and I, when we were small. She told me that a handsome prince would come along and save her from her suffering, and I would tease that I would marry a handsome prince, too, and we would be princesses together.” He shook his head again, but fondly this time. “Hence why she would get great amusement at my marrying a Marquess in her name.” His smile faded. “Sadly, there was no prince in this or any land who could have saved her, no matter how many stars she wished upon.”

Enjolras bowed his head in understanding. “May I ask how she died?” he asked quietly, hoping Grantaire would not think he was intruding. He had refused to talk about his sister earlier, but Enjolras felt like something had changed between them and he might be willing to say a bit more.

Grantaire just shrugged. “She was very ill for much of our childhood,” he said matter-of-factly. “She and my mother were stricken with fever at her birth – my mother succumbed to it. Adélaïde got better, so to speak, but she was never truly healthy. Then when she was nine…” He trailed off before taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It was quick, at least, in the end. Which was a comfort in its own way.”

Enjolras wished he had some eloquent words of comfort to offer, but he felt tongue-tied instead. So in lieu of words, he reached out and gently rested his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, squeezing it once before letting it fall back to his side. Then he cleared his throat. “So she wanted to be saved from illness...what did you hope your handsome prince would save you from?”

“My father.” Grantaire flinched, whether from the words or from the memories they stirred. “He...he did not like me much. He was mostly indifferent to Adélaïde, but he seemed to find fault with everything I did.”

“He beat you.”

Enjolras said the words evenly, but his vision seemed to flash red in front of his eyes at the thought. Any parent hitting their child was a heinous thought, but for some reason, the idea of Grantaire as a child making desperate wishes to escape with his ill sister made his blood boil.

“Well, he rarely carried it out himself, but yes,” Grantaire said, his tone turning matter-of-fact again “And after she died, it got worse. Thankfully, when I went off to school, he was stationed abroad, and has never returned.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “God only knows how disappointed he would be if he could see me today, but I think he and I are both content to pretend the other does not exist.”

Enjolras was not so content, knowing that there was a man out there somewhere with such little regard for his own son, and it took him a moment before he could manage a response. “If he ever comes back, I’ll kill him.”

Grantaire looked sharply at him, searching his expression for a moment before his own softened. “A noble offer, but I don’t think we’re in much danger of that happening.” He nudged Enjolras lightly with his elbow. “Thank you, though.”

“It is the least I can do...as your husband.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “I promise this arrangement involving your sister, and now you, I suppose, will be only temporary. As soon as everything is handled with my mother, I will find us both a way out of this so that you can return to your memories of her in peace.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I rather wish you wouldn’t,” he said, as if confessing a secret. “It’s been surprisingly pleasant, sharing a devious plot with you. And...sharing this part of myself with someone as well.” He gestured towards his sister’s grave before giving Enjolras a hesitant smile. “Besides, I’m certain our friends would hate for us to return to our usual animosity.”

“Our friends can adjust,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire laughed again. “Even so,” he said, before adding, with a beatific smile and a fluttering of his eyelashes in what he clearly deemed an alluring way, “Besides, you can’t be rid of me so quickly. After all, we haven’t even had a chance to have our wedding night yet.” Enjolras blanched and Grantaire laughed once more. “Now come, it’s time we returned to the house before Madame Hucheloup sends a search party after us.”

They started off together, silence stretching between them for a few minutes before Enjolras remarked, off-handedly, “Do you know, I believe that was the first time you’ve called me by my name.”

Grantaire frowned. “When?”

“When you were doing your little mocking proposal.” Enjolras gave him a look. “Normally you call me ‘my lord’ or ‘Apollo’ or some other asinine nickname.”

“I’m sure I have called you by your name before,” Grantaire scoffed, but he didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes when he said it.

Enjolras wanted to counter that, and drag the matter into their usual bickering as a way to pass the time, but something caused him to hold his tongue. And as they made their way back up to the manor, he could not help but notice that the time passed just as easily in companionable silence, and that their hands kept brushing against each other as they walked.

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 2

Follow-up post to this post, exploring the DE dynamics and speculating on how Voldemort got them on his hook. Trigger warning: Cult abuse, I suppose.

The Death Eaters’ behavior at the graveyard reflects what was expected of them during the first war. LV refers to his Death Eaters as his “true family”, and yet:

Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

“Master... Master...” he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle’s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people.

If this is how anyone in your family has EVER treated you, go to the police. No: Death Eaters were expected to crawl on their knees and to kiss their master’s robe. He had enforced such discipline that they all remembered their place in the circle 13 years later. He expected to be worshiped and humiliated his own people.

He also tortures them, for their failure to try to find him and resurrect him:

“It is a disappointment to me... I confess myself disappointed....”

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet. “Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!” Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand. “Crucio!”

He also manipulates them:

“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you.

Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?”

He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.

“You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don’t you?”

Why does LV feel that Peter owes him anything? Peter resurrected him. But pleasing LV is impossible. He needs his followers to be driven by loyalty, not fear - they are not even allowed to be self-interested in the sense of wanting not to die. Peter might deserve pain, but one must ask why Voldemort of all people feels this way - Peter never hurt him.

Then, he expects Peter to show gratitude for what he would have had in the first place, had Voldemort not taken it from him: a hand. Peter falls for it:

“Yes, Master,” moaned Wormtail, “please, Master... please...”

“Yet you helped return me to my body,” said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers....”

[...]

“My Lord,” he whispered. “Master... it is beautiful... thank you... thank you.”

That’s how Voldemort rewards his helpers: He stops the pain he himself inflicted.

These are Death Eaters with obvious vulnerabilities for Voldemort to exploit:

Barty Crouch Jr. has a very dysfunctional relationship with his dad. Sirius: “Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban”.

Voldemort clearly took advantage of this, played up the parallel between Tom Riddle Sr. and Barty Crouch Sr., and BCJ has clearly come to see him as something of a father figure:

“I will be honored beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter... closer than a son....”

[...]

“The Dark Lord and I,” said Moody, and he looked completely insane now, towering over Harry, leering down at him, “have much in common. Both of us, for instance, had very disappointing fathers... very disappointing indeed. Both of us suffered the indignity, Harry, of being named after those fathers. And both of us had the pleasure... the very great pleasure... of killing our fathers to ensure the continued rise of the Dark Order!”

Bellatrix’s vulnerability is obvious: She’s in love with Voldemort. He is constantly toying with her, promising intimacy and reward, but never delivering. He only uses her: Her vault, her duelling skills, her home. It’s interesting that she’s the only female DE outside of Alecto. Perhaps she was insecure about being female, or felt oppressed by her marriage, or perhaps she was failing to live up to her family’s expectation that she make pureblood babies, and Voldemort promised her a future where she’d be free of these constraints.

She’s supposed to be the closest one to him, the one he cares about the most, yet she too fears his wrath. Following the prophecy’s destruction:

“Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!” sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort’s feet as he paced slowly nearer.

“Master, you should know —”

“Be quiet, Bella,” said Voldemort dangerously. “I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?”

“But Master — he is here — he is below —”

Voldemort paid no attention.

He really should have paid attention to her warning that Dumbledore was coming. Instead, he threatened her even as she was begging forgiveness for something that was not her fault.

The chapter Spinner’s End shows how giftedVoldemort is at spreading enmity and discord among his followers. Not only do they not all know each other, the ones who do can never conspire against their master, because of the atmosphere of distrust.

“Before I answer you — oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer! You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?”

She hesitated.

“I know he believes you, but...”

“You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?”

He is accusing Bella of heresy. He has clearly learned a thing or two about manipulation, having spent his entire adult life either under Voldemort or under Dumbledore. He presents himself as selfish for staying with Dumbledore, and he presents Voldemort’s words as gospel: “The Dark Lord does not complain that I stayed, so I do not see why you do.” He also takes pride in being closer to him and more useful:

“But what use have you been?” sneered Bellatrix. “What useful information have we had from you?”

“My information has been conveyed directly to the Dark Lord,” said Snape. “If he chooses not to share it with you —”

“He shares everything with me!” said Bellatrix, firing up at once.

“He calls me his most loyal, his most faithful —”

“Does he?” said Snape, his voice delicately inflected to suggest his disbelief.“Does he still, after the fiasco at the Ministry?”

The master stroke is the subtle insinuation that lowly half-blood Snape is closer to Voldemort than Bellatrix is. This makes her lose what little composure she had, and plays on her insecurity. Her interrogation ends shortly thereafter, and she seems satisfied with explanations that are frankly not very convincing.

“If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak,” said Snape at once. “The Dark Lord’s word is law.”

Narcissa gasped as though he had doused her with cold water. Bellatrix looked satisfied for the first time since she had entered the house.

“There!” she said triumphantly to her sister. “Even Snape says so: You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!”

Bella is enforcing silence on her sister. This phenomenon exists in real cults too: Members enforce the rules on each other, the leader’s hands are clean.

Bella tells Cissy off for caring whether Draco lives or dies:

“Draco should be proud,” said Bellatrix indifferently. “The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco: He isn’t shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect —”

I think this was LV’s pitch to Bella: She is the one who wanted to prove herself.

Bella is willing to give him so much, and he gives her nothing. Also, twice she claims that it’s a point of pride to be willing to die for the Dark Lord.

In DLA, he is particularly subtly abusive toward her:

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honor to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

[...]

Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

Why is Bellatrix halfway down the table? She has been unfailingly loyal, why is he punishing her with distance? Is he punishing her for being related to Narcissa?

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

Look how nice he’s being! Look how happy he makes her! Except this is immediately followed by teasing her about her niece’s marriage:

“No higher pleasure... even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?”

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

He is punishing with humiliation. Lucius screwed up the mission at the DOM and Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore, but what did Bella do? Nobody is safe. Instead of resenting the way she is treated, Bellatrix demonstrates her fanaticism:

“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We — Narcissa and I — have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.”

[...]

“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring.

“You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world... we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain....”

Bella does not needanyone (a half-blood!) to teach her she must keep her family tree pure. She clearly doesn’t know crucial things about Tom Riddle, or is in denial. This is the same Bellatrix who killed her own cousin, so she is very capable of “pruning” her own family tree.

At the Malfoy Manor:

“Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his — of —”

She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve —

“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix. “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”

She seeks only the honor of his [something], but she is scared to death of him. She will kill for him and die for him, but she is keenly aware of the possibility that he might kill her - yet she loves him. She is a true believer - without him, she is nothing, and her devotion controls her every interaction. In her defense, he does not let others kill her, at least - he saves her at the end of the battle at the Department of Mysteries and seems upset when she dies.

Bellatrix thinks independently once: She doesn’t trust Snape, even though her master does. This is not so odd - the half-blood appears to be undermining her, to have aspirations to griw even closer to Voldemort than her - her jealousy and insecurity override how brainwashed she is. The dynamic between the Black sisters exemplifies the way cults drive wedges between family members - not that the Black family needed any help with that.

Peter’s vulnerability is obvious: His own friends think he’s worthless. He clearly isn’t - he became an animagus too, and he tricked Sirius, kill 12 Muggles with a single curse, and perform the tasks to revive Voldemort - but Voldemort exploited Peter’s insecurity, and even whatever guilt Peter had felt at betraying his friends. Sirius says Peter always sought the protection of the biggest bully. His “uselessness” was the express reason Sirius switched with Peter - obviously, someone like that could never be pegged for a potential spy. Voldemort must have made Peter feel valuable, like there was something only Peter could do - and when Peter’s choices ran out, he showed Peter his true colors.

We’ve seen how LV treated Peter at the resurrection ceremony. We also have the way he bossed him around in the first chapter of GOF, and that he forced Peter to work as Snape’s “assistant”, as seen in Spinner’s End. Sending Peter to work for Snivellus was brilliantly cruel - Peter must have viewed this as the height of humiliation.

In Dark Lord Ascending, he is shrinking himself to near non-existence:

“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.

In part 3 - Draco, Regulus, Snape, Lucius, general dynamics, and more speculations!

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Queen

TV SHOW WOLF HALL COUPLE RAFE SADLER X READER RATING SMUTISH + (I honestly don't know what to call this, passionate words? Flirting? Ye old flirting where you intensely stare and talk to each other you know what I'm talking about)

I smiled as I walked through the gravel pathways of the garden, I stopped to smell the sweet red roses growing, the sweet British rose smell filled my sinuses, I stood again and fixed my sweet blue dress, I stepped through the garden seeing the sweet flowers, and beautiful tree's. I found my little stone bench surrounded by ivy, and flowers, hidden away under an arch. I smiled and took a seat, as much as I wanted to relax myself I sat up ridged keeping my back up m corset helping me a little with it. I could hear people as they walked past, also walking in the gardens. I could hear their whispers, the rumours, the hushed giggles behind the hands of maids, soldiers and business men. I did my best to ignore it all. But there are times I can't help it, I had to listen even if each time I did it almost forced me to tears. "Have you seen the King's little side piece?" "she's a beauty" "They say he's bedded her in the royal bedchamber" "I heard the maid's saw them kissing in the drawing room" "I heard it was the "I heard He's going to wed her" But I often forced myself away from the rumours, I didn't want to hear them. I wanted to ignore the things they said behind my back, to appear as if they didn't bother me, as if there words didn't sting my very soul, I slipped off my little shoes, letting my bare feet so sweetly in the soft green grass, my dress hiding it all from the eyes' of passers by. "My Queen," I heard making me look to my side, I knew the boy, he was tall, skinny, older than me for sure, his black clothes hugged him closely, his hat concealing his blonde hair he bowed to me seeming nervous to speak with me "Good day to you Master Sadler, You bring news from My Lord Cromwell I presume?" "Yes my lady" He nods "I uhh I was meant to supply your husband but know one seems to know where in the castle he is? Has he gone hunting?" "No, he's in the castle, or so he told me" I answered "Pass it along to my Lord Harriot, he shall pass it forth to my husband" "Yes my lady" He nods "Before I go. Might I say that your dress looks beautiful My queen" I blushed slightly, It had been so long since I had received a compliment "Thank you Master Sadler, You are such a sweet, smart soul. I see why My Lord Cromwell keeps you in his household" "Thank you my lady, I do not deserve such praise, but I will accept it from my queen nonetheless, for I could never deny my queen'' He smiled bowing to me again before he headed off to find Lord Harriot, heading towards the summer house, he had the right idea Lord Harriot likes a fine ale and a fine maid girl, often he can be found in the summer house converting among the young ladies there. I wanted to follow him but I didn't want to fuel the rumours and the idea that I was already hearing the whispers and rumours of my husband and the new young girl from court was enough, I didn't want to hear rumours too of the queen seen with a ward boy. I slipped my shoes on and headed deeper though the garden holding my hands tightly together as I walked my dress moving against the grass and stones, My shoes crunching the uneven stones, My sleeves slightly moving against each other where I held my hands tightly, My sweet cotton vail to hide my hair away, from prying eyes and from the sun, I looked across the garden seeing on the other path, My husband walking with that young lady on his arm, the two laughing, I pretended to ignore it and continued on back into the castle heading up without a word to my library. I sat in bed doing my knitting as I usually did as he returned from his 'meeting' and got changed climbing into bed beside me, "Good Evening My king" "Hello y/n" He sighed "How was your day?" "hardly a moment of peace" "I see, I spend much of my day in the garden and Library" "that's nice" He sighed "What did Cromwell want?" I asked "what?" "There was a message come through from lord Cromwell. Did you get around to it my king?" "How do you know?" "His ward couldn't find you, so he came to me with it" "And you did what!" "I sent him off with it to lord Harriot" I answered "Ohh, Well that was good. thank you y/n" "You're welcome My king, So what did he want?" "Nothing to do with you" He says turning away and blowing out the candle "Yes my king."

I sat as I usually did in my library, I wanted nothing to do with the flying rumours, the things they said about my husband and that they said I was blind or that I was a fool. I didn't want to react even if I hated that my husband spends his time with a little thing from court. I knew If I made a scene I would be losing my head faster than a slap would land on his cheek. I knew about it all... the long nights, the days away, the hidden kisses in the castle, The girls, half my age, and twice as beautiful as I had ever been, the only thing that brought me peace was a simple knowledge. I am the Queen. I am the Queen. I am the Queen. I am the Queen. and it's not as a pride, or as if I was hungry for the position, but that Of all the beautiful women in the world, He chose me, He might have eyes that wonder but I am the queen he chose to be the queen. I sat in my usual chair close to the fire place, I always felt at home here with my books, the balcony doors closed tightly watching the rain batter them, the glow of the fire and few candles I had lit the library with the beautiful fire glow, I hummed a sweet tune making notes in my book. "My Queen?" I heard at my door making me get up from my seat putting my book down hiding it among others I looked to the door where I saw "Master Sadler, to what do I owe this pleasure?' I asked "The uhh the king sent me my lady, he had businesses with my Lord Cromwell, he said that they will be busy for most of the day and that I should make myself useful and keep you company" "That's very sweet of you" I smiled "my husband didn't sent you" "I'm sorry?' "Cromwell sent you, didn't he?" "He did" 'why did you lie to the queen?" "He asked it off me my queen," "To make it seem as if my husband thought of me" I sighed "I would adore to have your company Master Sadler" I smiled "Then I shall happily supply it my lady" he smiled shutting the door "Will you sit?" I asked "If you ask it of me" "Master Sadler please came forth and sit with your queen" I laughed sitting back in my chair he nodded and came over putting his hand on the other chair a moment, it was strange, they had put in the chair to match my own for when the king was courting me, he would come and read me poems pitching my woo and all moments, but the chair dusty and dirty he hadn't used it since we were married in all honesty I didn't mind. "Is that a new coat Master Sadler?" I asked as he has been standing there with his hand on the chair a while now "Ohh uhh yes my lady," "It makes you look handsome" I smiled as I began to knit "please sit, I insist" He nodded and took off his coat sitting in it on the back of the chair before sitting down on the chair "you look beautiful my lady" "Thank you master Sadler, you are always one to complement" "Because I feel the queen deserves to be complimented more than she is" he says "would you ask anything of me my queen?" "I would ask of you to smile, and to keep me company" "Then I shall do so my lady" he smiled "I should always smile, for I am one so very few lucky in this world." "Lucky?" "Too look freely upon, the most intelligent, the most gracious, the most beautiful woman in the world, I could die moments from now and I would die happy, truly joyous to have seen your face my queen" I blushed hard stopping my knitting to take a breath "Knowone has spoken to me that way in years" I blushed "been a long time since a man had pitched me woo master Sadler, not commonly done to a married woman" "In sorry my queen" "You need not apologize master Sadler, it was beautiful" I smiled "are you practicing?" "Practicing?" "For a young lady?" "No, my queen. I meant it for you" "Oh, well it was very beautiful, thank you" I blushed "you should save things like that for your Young ladies" "I do not have any young ladies, hardly the time I suppose" "Boys your age should always look to young ladies, people may start to question? Your getting to that age when boys break off and begin there own households" "I know, but I cannot bare it" "Whyever not?" "For I love one… that I can never have" "Don't we all" "My queen" he says gripping the chair tightly barely looking at me "may I speak frankly?" "You may master Sadler" I nodded "The king… he is a fool." I glanced up at him curiously eager to hear the rest of his words "He is a fool, the most foolish man in England, for only a fool would act the way that he does" "Master Sadler, as queen I could have you executed for saying such treason against my husband?" "You could" he nods "in fact I beg it of you" "What?" I asked in shock "I beg that these words will send my queen to call the guard upon me, to end my life for these treasonous words against the king, for perhaps… if my heart stops beating. It may end this ache inside my heart, this ache for you. My queen" ".... Master Sadler" I said in shocky heart racing my breaths quick, my breasts heaving, my toes and fingertips tingling, I felt as if I was to faint, It had been so long since I had heard sweet words from a man, but never like this my husband had never said words to me that affected me in this way, I stood trying to regain my composure "I uhhh I uhhh" I stuttered "My queen." He says moving to his knees in front of me "please, hear me." "I will master Sadler" "The king is a fool. A hollow man. He is foolish beyond compare. That he chooses to lie to you. To make a fool of you. To… take another woman. To consort with her. To abandon his oaths, his duties to you, to be with her. This girl she doesn't compare to you, in any way." He explained "she is a slut. A witch. A whore. To have dragged your husband from you. I can only imagine he is under a spell of small mindedness to ever even dream of stepping away from you my lady" he explained "I truly cannot see why any man of stable mind would turn his back on you. For you are more beautiful than the most perfect english rose. More breathtaking then even the most beautiful stars in the sky. Kinder than a thousand mothers, sweeter than the most freshly picked sweet summer strawberries, you are immeasurable to any other woman on this very earth, every second that I spend with you I wish for a thousand more," he explained I was struggling to breath these beautiful words, better then any poetry the king had ever wooed me with "I am enamored by thee, even though thou enjoined to another, I know not of your maidenhood preserved and I do not care. I wish to be with you, physically, emotionally, in all the ways that you may permit me to be I know these words against the king and these words to you my queen are enough to ensure my execution, and you will suffer no I'll favor from myself if you were to have be taken to the gallows for any of these words but… if so, I ask only for one kiss upon those lips and I can die joyous and peaceful for just for a moment I would have touched higher than heaven." "Master Sadler I uhhh… I uh, I have been heard such, beautiful words" I smiled taking hand pulling him to his feet ''you should not have wasted them on me" "Why not, there will never be another woman in this world more deserving of them then you," "You should have saved them, for a beautiful woman. You could marry, have a life and family with." "I don't want to be married" "You-you what?" "I do not want to be married. I do not want a life. I do not want a family with… anyone but you" "But I am the queen… I'm married. I - I" "If the king can have his consort girls" he smirked "I see no reason the queen can not have me" "Ohh master Sadler" I blushed I thought a moment I knew I did desire him and that knowing he felt this way about me too only made my decision more complex, he was right my husband runs off with younger women has nights and kisses with them what is to stop me from having my own little.. play thing "Kiss me." "Yes my lady" he smiled gently pressing his lips against my own, his lips where smooth and soft, his gentle movements against my own, I kissed back moving in time with him as much as I could, I closed my eyes feeling such heat and emotion in the kiss knowing that my husband had never kissed me this way, my moved my hands from his slowly going up his arm he moved a step closer and slipped his hands to my waist his thumb rubbing on my dress as he moaned into my mouth I moaned gently back moving my hands up more to his chest and shoulders gently rubbing him as our kisses grew more passionate "m- my queen I-" he stuttered between kisses unable to truly Remove himself from my lips, I pulled back resting my head on his own "Yes?" "I beg for forgiveness my lady" "Forgiveness? Whatever for?" "For… for… myself" he says between gasps his eyes tightly closed, I glanced down and saw the tightness that now restricted him, but more importantly a patch darker then the rest of the fabric of his clothes and some even on my dress "Ooh. Master Sadler" I giggled blushing hard "I think you may have gotten a little overexcited" "How could I not? Being permitted to kiss the most beautiful woman in the world, how was I supposed to contain myself?" "I have not felt the touch of a man for so long. Let alone the touch of an eager man" I smiled playing with the ties of his shirt "I have never known the touch of a woman. Let alone a woman as beautiful as you my queen" "Did you enjoy kissing me?" "Did I? Do I need to answer that, my lady?" he blushed looking at the mess he had made of himself "did you enjoy to kiss me?" "I did" I smiled moving my hands from playing with his shirt up his chest to his shoulders grabbing his collar with my hand and pulling him back to kiss me, he instantly kissed back eagerly wrapping his arms around me tighter till I pulled back leaving him needy "Master Sadler! Time to go!" We heard as cromwell knocked on the library door "Yes Lord Cromwell" he answered unhappily but he had to reply or riso our Discovery "You will be returning to his house now I suppose?" "I shall, but I will beg the heavens for us to be reunited again my queen," "Will you write?" "Yes my queen" he blushed "and uhh it's Rafe. Rafe Sadler." "Rafe, such a beautiful name." I smiled "such a lovely name for Such a lovely boy" I giggled "y/n. Y/n y/l/n" "Y/n…. Angels themselves couldn't make something that sounds more heavenly to me my love" he smiled giving me a gentle kiss before he moved away getting his coat and covering himself from what had happened "I will pray to all the gods in this world that it will be soon I shall get to see your beautiful face again, to feel your sweet hands, to… kiss your perfect lips my love" "I shall do the same my love" I smiled giving him a tight hug he hugged me back before he hurried off to Cromwell and whatever he needed him for.

I sat in the garden on my usual bench watching the gentle rain bouncing off the roses and the leaves of the trees, the gardens empty of people, but I liked them this way. "It's beautiful to watch the garden in the rain" I smiled "It is. Not half a beautiful as you my queen, but beautiful nonetheless" Rafe smiled holding my hand on the bench hidden by my dresses huge skirt, "but I suppose of I judged the world in comparison to your beauty nothing would even seem pretty at all" "Where did you ever get so beautiful with your words?" I asked "Reading mostly. Or perhaps it is due to having the most wonderful muse" he says kissing my cheek "Where is your master today?" "With the chancellor. Why do you ask?" "The king said he was with your master" "Umm" he nods "and I suppose you told him you were with your handmaid's?" He smirked, stroking his fingers against my hand "if only they knew? Right darling?" "I know what he's doing" I laughed "Do you?" "I can see him" "Where?" "Third window from the door," "Left or right?" "Left" "Ohh I see. It doesn't bother you?" "I can't allow it to bother me. I do not wish to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me." "Why don't we… make him jealous?" "Is that a feeble attempt and asking for a kiss?" "Yes it is" "Good" I smiled giving his lips a sweet kiss "come on, he's busy so the bedchamber is empty" I smiled tugging him  with me heading inside and up to my bedchamber.

I smiled laying in my bed the cotton sheets hugging my naked skin, as I gasped for my breath. Rafe laid with me too naked, sweaty, gasping for breath against the other pillow "ooohh my god, y/n." He gasps "I love you" I smiled nuzzling into his neck pulling his body close "Uhh I love you too…" "Did that feel good?" "Good. There are no words in this or any other language for how amazing that was my love" he explained holding my chin "I can only beg my queen for forgiveness… for the mess I made of her" "You are forgiven my darling" I smiled pulling his sweet hair a little to kiss him deeper he wrapped his arms around me again pulling our bodies inches from each other "again?" "Yes my queen" he smirked.

[ellie-writes-things]

The Lemon Tree (memoir)

As a child of about six or seven years in age, my father owned a little red piglet.

Though mis abuelos had six of their nine children in San Jose, California, they moved them all back to Ajijic, a city in Jalisco, Mexico where mi abuelo owned land and livestock, even a mercado, as I’m reminded periodically when my father and I discuss family. Abuelo trained Arabian horses to dance in the shows there, and there was an instance where he beat my father when he lost one of his prized stallions for the day.

But, my father had a small pet pig.

He has told me this story several times, over the course of my life. I was about fifteen years old when he first mentioned this piglet. We sat in an IHOP, surrounded by his replacement family, my step-mother to his left hand my new siblings around me like bookends made of flesh. I fidgeted in my combat boots and fishnets--a decision made in haste to spite my father--my pale face flushed under the layers of foundation I wore, aware of my otherness compared to the vibrancy of the newly formed clan. The smattering of Spanish and English blended to buzz in my ears, and I felt dizzy.

The first Spanish phrase I remember learning from my father is, “Enrique es mi héroe.”

Despite the ritual retelling of the tale, I never remember how he managed to acquire this tiny ungulate. He never told me what he named it, either

He cared for this pig. He massaged it, bathed it, and fed it corn and cornmeal. After some time passed, the pig grew to a considerable girth and adored my father.

He has told me this story a dozen times.

On his way home from school, my father walked past the town’s butcher, where his gaze caught on an animal skin on display in the window. The skin reminded him of his pet at home, but he did not think much of the coincidence at the time and continued to walk along the cobblestone and dirt roads with the sun beating down on his diminutiveness.

He arrived at the large double doors of his family’s house as the sun dipped low on the horizon, drifting down into the earth. His pig did not greet him in the foyer, and he searched out his mother, who he found in the kitchen. She busied herself with ordering my two aunts, who were old enough to help with household chores, on how to serve dinner. He asked his mother, in Spanish, if she knew where his pig went.

Abuelita only rummaged her hands in her pockets and produced, for a child, a rather significant sum of money and handed it to him. She said something to him to the effect of, “This is your cut.”

Every time my father tells me this story, he says that the only thing he asked her is if he could get another pig. And he laughs.

My father, a man named Enrique--though most of the world knows him by the Anglicized Henry--works at Santa Clara University as the Head of Fire Safety. My parents, at this point, have been divorced longer than they were ever together, and I am the only lasting product of that union. Even the house they purchased together in Santa Clara has since been gutted and remade in the image of my father’s current family. I have scant memories of my parents married, and the few I have are tinged with the haze of sentiment or bitterness. I talk to my father once, maybe, a month by phone. We text more often. Once every couple of weeks, to make sure the other is alive, though I rarely initiate a conversation. If we were to stand side by side, we have the same eyes, the same features, the same unfortunate Roman nose that, while attractive on a man, stands out and appears garish on a woman.

I could be his doppelganger.

We both enjoy trivia and telling bad jokes, and, at times, delight in others’, and our own, misfortune. We’ve also both been emotionally absent in nearly all of our relationships. “Almost no one in our family has ever been married less than three times,” my father jokes, often, slapping me on the back afterward. I point out his older brother who has been married for over 50 years and my dad shrugs.

I visited my father recently with my partner and drove the three-hour trip for a visit that lasted two hours. We sat on the loveseat, Rory and I, backs straight and shoulders stiff as I spoke, my voice high and thready and the sound of it reverberated through the room. My dad nodded along and Rory left for the restroom, abandoning the two of us in each other’s company. My father inquired about my schedule, and I remarked I recounted my work and school schedule. He nodded again, humming along to the tune my words set. I sighed and asked how work was going for him. Last we spoke he confessed to being fearful of getting fired. He assured me things smoothed over. I told him he was just paranoid. He mentioned that my step sister and her family finally moved out of his spare bedroom. I rolled my eyes and exhaled through my nose, the force of it tickling my upper lip. He grew quiet and settled back down into the sofa. By the time Rory returned, my father and I looked at the television screen, where one of his old westerns played. Something with John Wayne, I think. I crane my head to gaze at the photos that lined the walls, out of habit more than sentiment. An old picture of my step-sister, Adriana, the one closest in age to me and who recently vacated my father’s home, at her quinceanera; a couple photos of Esmeralda, my stepmother, from her younger years; their wedding photo, just the two of them; two family portraits from the same day; and my photos are conspicuously absent among the throng of photos that detailed their lives together.

I did go snooping, one time, a few years back, and found my senior portraits jammed behind the printer stand, a thick layer of dust covering the frame.

I never asked about it.

The house, otherwise, still remains the same as it ever was. White walls, muted colors, blinds without curtains, and the laminate flooring that replaced my mother’s polished planks. The living room is neat, tidy. Not too different from how it appears in my old family albums, but a world apart.

My father’s shoes laid against the leg of the coffee table, propped at an angle, and flecks of dried mud dotted the sides of the rubber soles. His glass of water dripped condensation onto the surface of the table on which it rested, creating a ring on the glass. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and whispered, after he glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, “Are you guys doing okay with money?”

“God, yes, Dad. We’re fine,” I bit out. Rory nodded next to me and I struggled to keep from sniping at him as well.

He dug through his pocket and pulled his wallet out. He told Rory to move closer and shoved a pile of gift cards into Rory’s palm. He stammered a thank you to my father, the tips of his ears glowing. I crossed my arms and said, “Ditto.” Rory leaned into me, nudging my arm with his elbow and I shrugged away from him and scooted closer to the opposite edge of the love seat, clutching my purse on my lap.

In the bedroom, I heard my niece, Esmeralda’s granddaughter, move around, the bedsprings creaking and the sound of the sheets rustling echoing down the small hallway as she roused herself from sleep. Sixteen years old, she is the daughter of my oldest step-sister, but she resides full time in my father’s house while my sister lives somewhere in Fremont with her younger two children. There, too, are photos of my niece that line the wall opposite of the family portraits. Soccer, softball, school portraits that show the same girl in ascending ages grinning, wide and toothy, at the camera.

Smaller photos, in paper frames, are lower than that from various trips to San Francisco. The type of photos you get after you take the Red and White tours at the Embarcadero out into the Bay and listen to someone drone into a headset, listing the various sites of historical interest and how many people died building the Golden Gate Bridge, that is discarded immediately after boarding the boat because you’ve heard the guided tour enough times to recite it word for word.

I would sit and gaze out the window, the skyline in constant view and wondered what it would have been like for the people who first arrived to San Francisco, to see the city for the first time as they stood above on the deck of the ship, with salt and mist lashing at their cheeks, leaving them inflamed.

Before his new family arrived, and before my father trusted me enough to stick by his side on a trip to San Francisco, we fed the ducks together at whatever park we decided to go to for the day. One--whose name I cannot for the life of me recall--we frequented more than the others. There was a large man-made pond and mallards would flock to it in droves, likely to the dismay of the property owners nearby. My father ignored the signs that I now know tell passersby to desist from giving the ducks bread, and we would go to the nearest 7-11 and he purchased a discounted loaf of Wonderbread and gave me carte blanche to do as I willed with it. This usually involved me eating one slice and then ripping the remaining slices to shreds, laughing when the ducks surrounded me.

One instance stands out more than the others, perhaps because it was the last time we did this, but I cannot know with any certainty as the memory of a five-year-old is fickle: The clouds lay low above us, and the breeze carried a taste of warmth in it. My father’s mustache and beard tried to make another appearance at this time, as they did periodically through my childhood, and he wore his large aviator glasses for his near-sightedness that shielded the eyes that were like my own. We walked along the side of the pond, my pink-clad legs burning as I kept up with his strides. My father picked me up and swung me around over the water. My heart pounded within my ribs and I begged him to put me down, waiting for his grip to slip and struggling to hold onto the sleeves of his windbreaker with my hands that became slick with sweat. He laughed and told me that he saved me when velocity and his arms brought me back into his body. My lungs hurt and I felt like I swallowed sand, but I wrapped my limbs around his torso and felt his hand rub circles along my back, the fingers pressing into the knobs of my vertebrae.

When his then-girlfriend-now-wife moved in with him, we ceased doing anything alone together. Any trip after that needed to involve her children as well, as they all needed to be treated the same. Occasionally, we made it to San Francisco alone. Somewhere, long since lost, there are photos of my father and I, at various ages, much like the photos that hang on his wall today. As we both grew older, along with Esmeralda’s children, the time we had shortened and, eventually, it ceased. I still came over to his house for a while still, but Adriana was involved as well. Sometimes Vicente, the youngest.

There was a night, when I was seven or eight, and we just finished my father’s weekly ritual of scratching off lotto tickets. I won five dollars out of the fifteen or so cards he purchased. The house was still being remodeled, so the floor was scuffed and there were gaps between the rooms in the floor, showing the concrete interior. Outlets were exposed, and I felt the grit of construction dust under my nails every time I went over to his house. I kept my sneakers on, anxious that I would step on a nail, or get a splinter, and I stayed to the one area of the floor that appeared the cleanest. I wanted to go to the movies that night, but no one else wanted to go, or they didn’t want to see the movie I wanted to watch, so we stayed in for the evening and indulged in my father’s whim. At the end of the night, before my dad took me home, he went to hug me but I shrank away and crossed my arms in front of my chest, and wrapped them around my ribs. My father shrugged and hugged Adriana. He turned to me and said, “See, Adri loves me? Why don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything else to him, I just sat down in the front passenger seat in his Honda and waited for him to take me home while I bit the insides of my cheeks, the tang of copper weighing my tongue down.

As a child, I was fraught with emotions that felt too large to be housed in my body that scratched and tore at my flesh and crawled out of my mouth and eyes like serpents slithering down my face and form. More than once, my mother scolded my father for saying the wrong thing to set me off and would spend an hour or so consoling me by rubbing my shoulders as they trembled and shook. He eventually started paying me to tell my mother we had fun.

I took the money and told my mother the truth anyway.

My dad laughs at something on the screen: a baby food commercial. He turns to smile at me, and my face twitches in response, baring my teeth when my lips pull back.

“You know,” he began, “When you were that small,” he cupped his hands in front of his body, “I used to take naps with you just laying on my chest like this.” He leaned against the sofa and patted the center of his torso a couple times. My stomach roiled, the acid sloshing against the lining of the walls, and I nodded, shooting a glance to my partner. His lips twitched. I let out a puff of air. I itched, my clothes tight and bunched around my body. I tugged at them to relieve some pressure, and crossed and uncrossed my legs several times. My hair felt greasy despite washing it that morning and my skin felt heavy. I ran my fingers through my locks to smooth them down and I asked my father if Esmeralda felt alright and we could always leave if need be. He shook his head and stated that she’s just taking her time and last night was rough for her. I hummed and leaned forward, my legs bounced on the balls of my feet as my breath came in several deep inhalations. Across from me, my father sat back, his fingers tapping the beat of an unheard tune. He coughed, every so often. Rhythmic wheezes escaped his mouth as he cleared his throat, while my own tickled in response and I swallowed against the spasms of my diaphragm. The noise that emanated from the television hung in the air, filling the room and clogging my ears with static.

My father refuses to install an air conditioner in the house and chooses to keep the doors open and instead lets the aroma of grass waft through the home, sticking to the walls and furniture.

I swallowed a lungful of summer-perfume air and the band that knotted itself around my esophagus shifted.

Rory moved his hand to my knee and rested it there: a hot weight that clamped onto my leg that I tried to extricate myself from, but then patted his hand with mine for a couple strokes before disentangling completely. I flashed him a smile, a grimace, and scooted a bit further away, the fabric of the loveseat grabbing my pantlegs. The sound grated on my ears and I winced at the racket my body made in the echo chamber living room. Rory said something to my father, and he responded, voice pressed and rushed. He asked questions about work to Rory, asking him if he’s thought about doing IT consulting for the university he works for. I stifled the groan that bubbled up in my throat, and told my dad that Rory’s family lives in the exurbs of Placer County, so it would be hard to move with his family life and my school. He said that he knew, but it was a thought. Business is bigger in the Silicon Valley. I told him my life is in Sacramento.

I can’t keep uprooting myself.

Before Rory and I left, we said our goodbyes to the inhabitants of my father’s house, and he walked with us outside. He shook Rory’s hand, and I let him press me in an embrace. I squirm, my skin prickling while I hold my breath. He chuckled and asked me, “I guess I won’t see you for another year then?”

I shrugged away from him and ducked my head. “We’ll try to get back down here sooner. We’ve just been busy. You know how it is.” I scuffed my shoes against the sidewalk.

He stared at me for a long time, the lines of his face more prominent outside under the sunlight. The light glints off the thinning, greying hair that has started to make an appearance. His eyes followed the contours of my face, and I brought my hand up to smooth back my hair again, my fingers catching on the knots there. I swallowed and laughed and turned to Rory to say we better get going so we don’t get caught in traffic.

Rory turns on the engine to let the air conditioner soothe the balmy interior of the vehicle. The air is thick and clogs my lungs. I turn my gaze out the window as Rory puts the car in drive and creeps away from the sidewalk. The sun washes the landscape out and reflects off the stuccoed exterior of the house. My father forms a stark silhouette against the brightness of his abode. An empty place exists in the front lawn, an indentation with little growth in the otherwise verdant lawn, where the lemon tree he planted to celebrate my birth once stood, its roots growing and coiling around each other for years. Chopped down a couple summers ago because of an infection it got that he didn’t want to spread to the other plants. The hedges that line the house and the roses my stepmother planted years ago bloom and rustle in the breeze, their leaves catch the sunlight as their branches wave along to those who visit, but never step inside.

[jojo-reader-hell]

Lisa Lisa x Fem!Reader: Let’s Only Think About Love

Every time Araki does something homophobic in his comic I make one of his characters gay. Strap in ladies. We’re marrying Lisa Lisa. Also congratulations Joseph, I’m your daddy now ;) Under a cut for length. Hope you enjoy!

Taken from a prompt I made up myself: They said Lisa Lisa married a screenwriter, I don’t remember anyone ever said the screenwriter was a man.

Never… He never in a million years would have imagined himself in this exact predicament.

Joseph Joestar must have been the only one here whose brain was too slow on the uptake. When he heard his mother married a screenwriter, he didn’t expect this to happen. Suzie Q and Granny Erina were enjoying themselves with the guild, Suzie fawning over the impeccably tailored suits that the ladies were wearing and Granny Erina commandeered by a group of incredibly friendly men, cooing over her pearls and listening in earnest to the advice she gave them on the many uses of rouge and why Mr. Fahrenheit would most certainly look better if he was to try the red versus the peach color.

“Mrs. Joestar, you are a goddess my darling!” said Mr. Fahrenheit exclaimed, wrapping his large arms around her small frame and making her giggle like a schoolgirl. “Jim sweetheart, you might have a bit of competition, I quite think I’d like to take a wild leap of faith and run away with Mrs. Joestar instead.”

“I cannot say fully that I’d blame you.” Laughed the taller man, kneeling by Granny Erina’s chair as she chastised both men for such talk.

“After all,” she insisted, “It’s not proper to say such things in front of your betrothed.”

The love in the air. Maybe that was what had first flabbergasted him. Every single person in the room was either engaged or to be married, pairing off separately with the opposite sex to prevent suspicion but celebrating the true union with their beloved. Some men in gowns, some women in suits, a bit of both on others, love was everywhere in the room. Permeating the air and sweetening it more than even the scent of the various cakes and sweets crowding a large table. It was quite the foreign concept and Joseph was not used to such freedom. He normally suffered through the parties of the affluent that his Granny dragged him to in his youth, the stiff collars and harsh whispers that permeated the smell of cigars and brandy. Here, the air was so sickly sweet with love that it was nearly suffocating.

Your friends came up to him and tucked flowers in his hair and kissed him warmly when they heard he was already married to the beautiful blonde that befriended nearly everyone in the room. Granny Erina’s lap looked like a garden with all the flowers everyone gave specifically to her in honor of her beloved Jonathan. Joseph even noticed some gentlemen getting very acquainted with Mr. Speedwagon, and the elderly man positively enjoying the attention. Every single one of the people you knew treated the Joestars like royal guests of honor, because of everyone present, the Joestars were the only family members that showed to the celebration.

“I am making this toast not only to the lovely brides who will set sail for their glorious honeymoon abroad in the morning, where they will undoubtedly fill every hour with the intensity of the love they share, but to the lovely people my darling is marrying into.” Mr. Fahrenheit had raised a glass of champagne, his hand on Granny Erina’s shoulder as she held it, “You’re Lisa Lisa’s family, her mother, her son, her daughter. All of you came to see this blessed event because you all love her and want her to be happy. That means more to her and her wife than anything in the world. By our laws, you belong to us now. For this moment in time, though we began as nothing but strangers struggling among the norm in Hollywood, everyone in the room is your blood. We are all Joestars this evening.”

In a million years, he never thought his mother would marry another woman, but when he saw you nearly falling over in your heels trying to greet everyone in his family with all the warmth and happiness of the sun, he couldn’t say he blamed her for falling in love with you. You were sweet, possibly even sweeter than Suzie Q if he was honest with himself. Constantly checking on Granny Erina and crying when she welcomed you into the family, attached at the hip to his wife who absolutely adored you, and more often than not he happened to accidentally catch you and his mother kissing as though you both were going to a war you would never return from. You were wholly and irrevocably in love with his mother, and by extension you loved his family too. There was so much kindness and love inside your pure heart… How could she not love you?

“I’m so happy to meet you Joseph.” You had told him before the party, taking his gigantic hands in yours and smiling sweetly. “I… I hope I’m not imposing myself, but I’ve always wanted a son. And I understand I cannot ever take the place of your father, but I do hope that there will come a time where you will see me as something closer than just the person who married your mother. Even if you just see me as a dear friend. I do love you as if you were my own, and if you ever need anything at all… Please do not hesitate to ask me. I will give you anything you need.”

“Jojo! Take your head out of the clouds my darling, have a drink. It is a reception after all!”

His broad shoulders were engulfed in a hug. At his side materialized Mr. Fahrenheit, a close acquaintance from your childhood that you insisted was like a father to you. He had an unusual manner of speaking, his attitude was that anyone he didn’t know was his “darling”.

“N-nothing.” He insisted, taking the punch the other man offered him. “I’m just…”

“It feels surreal doesn’t it? Seeing them in love…”

Mr. Fahrenheit’s arms never left Joseph’s shoulders, and there was so much sincerity in the embrace that he found himself even leaning into the other man for comfort.

“I… I don’t wish to be rude…”

“You’re not my darling.” Mr. Fahrenheit insisted. “It’s natural after all. You hardly knew your mother, and my sweet darling at her side is even more a stranger to you. But do not worry about the small details. It doesn’t matter a whit about conventionality. You’re not a stranger here. It is as I said before, tonight we are all Joestars, and this is your family. Never be afraid to feel safe with your family my boy.”

From the corner of the room he noticed Suzie Q cooing over the couple of the hour, her arms wrapped around your waist as she gushed over the gown you wore, wishing you and the towering woman at your side all the happiness in the world.

“Of course you’ll come see us every day when you return from your honeymoon, won’t you?” Suzie Q all but begged you as you smiled through the tears.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You insisted, “I told Elizabeth that Mr. Fahrenheit would be scouting for a home when we returned to New York, and she’s given me so many ideas for the decorations! I hope I have enough room for everything I can find abroad.”

“Wasn’t it you that said whatever we could not fit in the house we can give to Jojo and Suzie?” Lisa Lisa smiled as you turned pink, leaning into her touch as she wrapped her arms around you and kissed you deeply.

“Elizabeth.” You whined. “You’re going to spoil all the lovely surprises I wanted to send them!”

All this time he’d hesitated. Not wanting to make the wrong move that would alienate his mother away from him. And isn’t that all he’d ever wanted anyway? His family… He wanted his parents for his entire life and there they were, standing in the middle of the room with his wife.

Mr. Fahrenheit was right. Conventionality be damned. You were his family, and it wasn’t a bad thing to want to be a part of that love.

“So I guess since you married my mother, I am to call you my ‘papa’ now?”

Joseph snuck up behind you and lifted you in the air, careful not to harm you with his mechanical arm. You squealed, and Lisa Lisa bristled with a rough warning of “Jojo” before you began to giggle.

“I told you Joseph,” you laughed, “I want you to think of me as your parent. If you want me to be your papa, I’ll try my best for you!”

“Oh goody~…” he cooed, nuzzling into your cheeks and making you laugh. “Because I’ve always wanted to be bounced on my papa’s knee, and I have her now. Won’t you indulge your poor neglected son??”

“Jojo I’m warning you…” Lisa Lisa growled, only to be stopped when Joseph put you down, and was suddenly swept up in your arms much to the delight of the guests.

“If that’s what my son wants, it’s what he gets!” you giggled, much to his sputtering protests and red faced chagrin. “Come along Lisa Lisa, let’s shower our little boy in affection! He’s upset because we’re getting all the attention!”

[inforapound]

With Our Eyes Shut - Epilogue

A/N - Hey friends, had a couple of requests on wattpad for a final chapter of this. Thought I would post it here too. Hope everyone is well.   Ch.5 here. 

Pairing - Sigefrid and Genevieve  

Warnings - Sigefrid’s sweet love making:)

A month had passed since that horrid night.

Returning to Beamfleot the following day, everything had changed; all sense of master and slave had evaporated. Gone was the unfamiliarity and formality between them, instead, there was some formless bond that kept them tied. If Sigefrid was within the city walls, they were together, often seated side by side and if not, never apart for long. All meals were shared in the dining room in front of his men; men who would no longer dare cast her a second glance. She was his lady now and Erik had made certain that every person knew the price Haesten had paid.

At the order of Sigefrid, a slave had collected Genevieve's few things and moved her over into his chamber along with her kitten, back from the woman who had been watching it. Naturally, her duties, other than the ones she insisted on keeping, had been relieved and they shared his room as well as his bed every night since that dreadful trip.

And still..... no words had been spoken about what had grown between them. Neither of them had ever mentioned Haesten or the feelings they displayed that night back in the tent, after horns and horns of ale. No physical desires had been shared or acted upon and for the second time since meeting, he knew he had drawn an invisible line that he felt he could not cross. Within him, barely under the surface, was a ferocious need to protect her. She, again, was his wounded doe and he would not push his urges upon her. The thought of her conceding simply because of her reliance and his position of power made him feel ill. Never again, would she be put in that place.

And still.... he fucking ached for her. Longed for her. Waited each day for night to come, impatient for them to retreat to his chamber. He craved those candle-lit evenings, those moments with her alone in bed, lying side by side under the covers.

Regardless of how they fell asleep, they would wake in a tangle of arms and legs wrapped around the other like it had always been and always would be. The spoiled cat, that he thought should be in the barn, was never far away.

Yet as a man, a Dane warrior, it, them, the whole thing was agonizing, continuously confronting and always a challenge of his will. His attachment to her was palatable and many mornings he woke wondering if he should allow it to continue or, instead, end the torment and set her free.

Days were spent watching her, asking himself if he had the strength or even the kindness to risk letting her go. There was no question that she had a fondness for him, but he wondered if it was enough for her to stay with her former captor in a land that had taken so much.

And still.... he loved being with her. Loved everything about her. Listening to her hum while she sewed, watching her braid her long dark hair for bed, how she would rarely fill her own plate and instead take food from his. Gods, she was lovely, pure-hearted and kind and never shaken by his gruffness.

As a man usually led by impulse, the path to clarity was heart-rending but he had made the decision to speak with her and no longer stay paralyzed.

So....there he stood, in the late day sun with no armour and no weapons, wearing just a brown tunic and pants, his arm bear with his blade left behind on the table in their room.

As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked over her shoulder, squinting from the low afternoon sun. She was beautiful standing among the apple trees, with her wavy hair hanging free except for the fine braids on either side of her face. Her eyes were lightly lined with kohl and her dress was nearly sheer, illuminated by the light showing the curve of her brilliant ass. Fuck, he felt both excited and scared.

"Can I offer you an apple?" she smiled turning to face him, holding up one of the tart green ones he preferred. The basket at her feet looked heavy, nearly full to the top and he wondered if she had been expecting him.

As he approached, she lowered to sit, patting the ground beside her.

Taking the apple from her out-stretched hand, he settled into the grass feeling like a peasant on the ground but he did not share his grumbles. Chomping an enormous bite, he shook his head with amusement as she plucked it back from his hand and bit a piece from what was left.

"Why, woman, when you have a basket full of apples, do you eat mine?"

Scrunching her nose, she shrugged. "I like to eat your food."

"I have noticed."

"It is funny," she smiled and squinted one eye, her shyness not entirely outgrown.

"What is?" he grinned, nodding for her to answer.

Looking down, she pulled a long blade of grass from the ground, rolling it back and forth between her thumb and finger, the seed pods spinning free. "It is sweet to see a big black wolf share his food." She glanced up. "I like it."

"I. Like. You." he articulated in his deep Danish accent, hucking the apple behind him and leaning forward to grab her.

Embracing her around the waist, he pulled her toward him until she sat between his legs, her giggles bolstering his confidence.

"I have never said these words so I am going to say them now," his face grew serious and he watched her, again, lower her eyes, her expression also settling. "You are a free woman, Genevieve. Not my slave."

Dropping the grass, she reached up, still avoiding his gaze, and began fiddling with the cuff of his shirt that she had re-hemmed.

Clearing her throat, she glanced at him but only for a moment. "I gathered that when you had a new slave brought in."

"I see that girl has braided your hair and lined your eyes," he smiled, his eyes flitting over her profile, his dick flexing in his pants, reminding him it was there.

"Do you like it?" she whispered, clearly trying not to smile.

"Do I like it?" his smile widened, and his dark brows shot high. "Yes," he replied and then grunted like a boar making her laugh. "Genevieve," he leaned in closer, again becoming serious, "It is your choice whether to stay. If you choose not to, I will personally take you back to Frankia. But....the decision is yours."

Saying nothing, she looked at him, her thoughts crinkling the skin of her forehead.

"What?" he nudged her, squeezing her in his arms. "Say something."

"I would like to see Frankia again in my life but there is nothing there for me."

"Will you stay with me then?" The second he asked the question, he wondered why he had risked it.

Shifting, she pulled out of his arms and his heart sank but she quickly turned toward him, settling back on her knees to look at him. There was no smile on her face, but her eyes were warm and bright giving him hope that she was not thinking up the words to reject him. Shifting closer, she placed her hands over his face and he instinctively jerked his head back.

"What are you doing?"

"Hush," she quieted him, "Shut your eyes."

"No," he pulled back again, chuckling.

"Sigefrid," she pleaded gently and his name in her sweet accent nearly made his chest break wide. "Shut your eyes," she whispered, placing her hands back onto his face.

"This is stupid," he grumbled unable to stop the return of his shit-eating grin.

As foolish as it was, he closed his eyes, nearly flinching when he felt the softest graze of her lips against his skin, her hair tickling his face, as her mouth pressed to his ear.

"Sigefrid," she whispered again, "I want to stay with you."

"I want to fucking marry you," he rushed out making her laugh again.

"Let us start with a kiss then," she said in her melodic voice as she lowered her hands.

Waiting with his eyes still closed, he was grateful the next sensation was her beautiful lips pressing against his. The kiss was like her, gentle and sweet, and everything she had made him realize he wanted for himself.

"I need you," he said, opening his eyes, his heart and head drinking in her closeness.

"I know," she replied resting her hands onto his shoulder and inching closer toward him. Bringing her lips back to his face, she kissed his cheek, leaning again toward his ear. "I can see it when you look at me."

Pulling back, he opened his mouth to speak but before he could, she kissed him again and then again, her beautiful mouth inviting him deeper. Wrapping his arms around her, he groaned, pulling her closer until she was seated in his lap. The more he tasted, the more he knew he could never be without her.

Breaking the kiss, she looked at him, "Should we return to the room?"

"No. Let us stay here, under the sun, where the Gods can see us."

Squeezing her to him, he leaned them back until they lay flat on the warm ground. Adjusting, she turned so she was looking into his eyes and he reached over and smoothed the hair away from the edge of her face. Wrapping his fingers behind the nape of her neck, he kissed her again, her mouth so soothing and welcoming with the rolling of their tongues, it made it hard for him to keep a slow pace. Seeing her chest begin to rise and fall, he reached down and began to unlace the ties at her bust, her heavy bosoms straining against the fabric, begging to be freed.

Distracting him from the work of her laces, she sighed against his lips and it felt like a strike of heat shooting to his groin. Quickly he lifted her leg over his hip, pulling their cores closer, and dipped his palm under the fabric of her dress, skimming up the backs of her gorgeous, thick thighs.

He had thought of what this moment might be like a thousand times and yet he was still unprepared for how it pulled the air from his lungs; for how being with her made him feel like a man.

Continuing to run his hand higher, he made contact with her bare bottom, at last, touching the part of her he had never been able to drag his eyes away from. It was smooth and round and squeezing it created the most desirable result, her whimpering and rocking her hips against him. Fuck he thought, as his dick bagged to be unleashed but he could not rush; this was the start of the rest of his life. Valhalla would have to wait.

It was impossible to stop his hands from roaming, they tingled with the need to touch her, to explore every crease and part. Slipping down between her thighs, he felt her sex, his fingers brushing the hair of her mound, so soft it felt like the down of a thistle.

Enough was enough, he had to see her. All of her. Abruptly, he pulled away and pushed himself up to sit, the loss of contact, making her eyes shoot open.

Chuckling, he reached behind his head and pulled the tunic off his shoulders before undoing the top of his pants. Springing forward, his cock was standing alert, ready for her warmth.

Lowering her eyes to his open pants, she pressed her lips together stifling a smile, her dark eyes sparkled and the natural pink of her cheeks deepened to the colour of a rose. By the Gods, he was going to cherish her.

Sitting up, she shuffled her dress out from under her, pulling it up over her head and throwing it onto the ground. Smoothing down her mussed hair, she glanced away as her shyness crept back in. Her voluptuous form was now bare and breathtaking and in every way felt like a gift.

"Lie down woman. I want to look at you."

Lowering herself back to the ground, she moved awkwardly, lifting her arms over her head and using one to cover her eyes.

"Stop that. Look at me," he insisted and she lowered her hands to the grass.

Kicking off his boots, he ripped the front of his breeches down, quickly undressing completely. Crouching over her, he opened her legs and knelt between, noticing how she fought the need to glance away.

"You never need to hide from me. Never me, Genevieve. Never."

Biting her bottom lip, she said nothing but nodded. The small gesture and slight simper, prodding on his arousal.

Raking his eyes down her body, he stared at her large pillowy breasts, so full, they fell apart resting to either side. The plushness of her skin, her round hips, the rolls of her tummy that moved each time he shifted her made him feel, again, like that hungry black wolf and at that angle, he could see the underside of her beautifully round cheeks.

The Gods were smiling down at him, they must be, he thought and he would repay them by worshiping every part of her. Exhaling, his cock twitched as he replayed her whispered words in her songful voice telling him that she wanted to stay. And looking at her perfectly plump body then only made his erection strain and his balls feel tight, knowing with complete certainty, that she was designed by the Gods to produce life; life they would create together. Exhaling again, he nearly grunted thinking how badly he wanted to fill her with his seed.

Crawling forward, he hovered above and pressed his lips to hers again, pouring his thoughts into her mouth.

Straightening back onto his knees, he shifted her legs further apart, resting her spread thighs over his. Stroking his hardness with one hand, he reached down with the other, the glistening of her wetness teasing his eye and making the flames in his chest burn.

Spreading her folds with his fingers, he groaned as he looked down at her light pink insides, her body's honey allowing his thumb to slip back and forth over her clit making her gasp and arch her back. What a sound, he thought, mesmerized. She was all of life and with her, he knew he would share everything.

"Sigefrid," her quiet voice called to him and his eyes looked up to her. "Make love to me, Sigefrid."

As if the war horn had blown, he responded, guiding his swollen tip to her opening. Looking up, his dark eyes locked with hers and all at once he pushed inside.

"By the Gods!" he rushed out as she raised her hands to his shoulders, beckoning him down to rest on her. It felt so right and he knew this was the feeling he would survive any battle for. She was his path to glory.

Withdrawing partially, he pushed back in, his yearning for her unlike anything he had ever felt, an arousal so ripe it smoothed his chaos and steadied his mind. She was the dawn to his dusk, his woman and soon he would make her his wife.

Heat coursed through him, from his hard cock deep in her narrow womb, across his skin, spreading up his back and neck. A low groan rumbled out and he looked up to the trees, fighting the urge to rut hard and fast and immediately spill.

Gods, she looked perfect lying beneath him, he thought as he looked back down, watching pleasure sweep across her beautiful face. The waive of affection he felt was overwhelming and he closed his eyes savouring the feel of being inside her as he rhythmically rocked his hips, each stroke pushing deeper. His skin was moving and pressing against hers bringing forth her scent and the smell of her glossy dark hair, his tongue was tracking up her warm throat as he thrust into her again.

Their movements did not stop until her legs were squeezing his sides, her arms around his neck, his cock sliding out only to pump back in. Every movement was controlled and powerful, and his steady breathing was morphing into low grunts and indiscernible words.

"Sigefrid," she uttered, and his eyes snapped open, seeing her parted lips and hooded eyes, her breath in a light pant.

"Tell me," she whispered with a smile and he had to think about what he had been mumbling. "Say what you are thinking. Please. I can see it in your eyes." Tilting up, she kissed him, her rich brown eyes sparkling, reflecting the sun above.

Staring at her, he felt his chest swell as he languidly withdrew and eased back in and then for the first time in his thirty-one years, he opened his warrior heart.

"Genevieve, I love you."

@naaladareia​​​​​​​​​ @geekandbooknerd​​​​​​​​​​​  @hecohansen31​​​​​​​​​​  @mdredwine​​​​​​​​​​ @ceridwenofwales​​​​​​​​​ @whenimaunicorn​​​​​​​​​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​​​​​​​​ @edythofhastings​​ @clevercass​

[mysticmelove]

*I was tagged in a winter prompt post by the wonderful @mrs-han and I couldn’t ignore it. Also I’d like to wish a merry belated Christmas and a happy new year xx

Just for the day

(Jumin x MC)

.

It had only started off as a joke. A lame joke where MC had begged for one of the members to be her ‘date’ over the holidays while she visited her family. She would have only been there for a day but she couldn’t bare another year of being bombarded by questions about her love life- she had to make light of the situation somehow. Zen had cottoned on to the joke, playing along with her in the messenger as he went about his yearly confession of his distaste for the holidays and his lack of a love life. Jumin, on the other hand, had not seen the humour behind her halfhearted pleas and was quick to offer up some solutions.

He recognised that she couldn’t avoid her family over Christmas but he also knew how monotonous and irritating it was to be asked those same questions constantly by people you’re meant to show the upmost respect to. So that meant only one thing: the most rational and fitting solution was for him to be her date. Jumin was the obvious decision for multiple reasons- he was the most gentlemanly, could hold conversations with ease, knew when to simply be quiet- and after a very long (mostly one-sided) conversation, Jumin had decided he would accompany her to visit her family. 

MC really wasn’t left with much choice following their conversation, he had left as soon as he’d entered. The next time they spoke was the early morning of their departure; he’d shown up on her doorstep, MC was part of the way through getting ready to leave and, even though she knew him to be a man of his word, she was not expecting him to really go through with it. He presented her gingerly with a bouquet of roses as he smiled with a hint of unease. She took them with a gentle laugh, welcoming him into her apartment, “Going to all the lengths to play the part, are you, Jumin?” 

“Well, I thought it would only be fitting.” He scanned his immediate surroundings, curious to see the inside of the apartment he’d heard so much about over time but knew so little of. “I have to be the ideal gentleman today. Limit any suspicions they might have.” 

“It’s only for the day,” MC marvelled back, fishing through the contents of her bag, “You really didn’t need to come, I was only joking around.”

Jumin shook his head with a tender smile, “No. I chose to come with you. You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

“I hope you know you’re doing me a huge favour.” She gave him one of those intoxicating smiles that he’d never seen before he’d met her, and he found himself trying to suppress the urge to smile brightly back to her. “If anything I should be paying you to come,” her laugh was even more toxic than the aforementioned smile. 

Jumin cleared his throat, regaining his stern composure, “It’s a moment away from work. We are both benefiting each other in one way or another.” 

“Well, if you want to put it like that,” MC threaded her arms into her coat, before sighing deeply: “I supposed we should get going.” We have a long day ahead of ourselves.” 

The journey itself was entertaining, albeit long. The hours that passed gave them chance to confirm any little details about their relationship: they’d been dating for three months and MC was absolutely head over heals for him- that was accompanied by another one of her laughs. And they even had the chance to speak in a less formal fashion than they had in the messenger or when being with the others. They’d made up an entire backstory as well as making general conversation all before they had even arrived at MC’s family house.

The visit itself had gone swimmingly; Jumin played the part of boyfriend extremely well and his experiences with simply being able to please people certainly paid off. He seemed to fit in very well with the family he had never met and he even managed to surprise MC with the amount he seemed to know about her. She even got the pleasant gift of seeing Jumin’s rare smile as he shot her glances across the table in response to something or another. Still, it would be ridiculous to think everything would have gone to plan and as the evening rolled around it was clear the ‘gradual’ snowfall was going to cause some issues.

Jumin had long since retired to the safe haven of MC’s bedroom by the time she sauntered up the stairs to meet him. The news of a cancelled train home meant a long night there, and not one he was quite prepared for. He had made himself comfortable, having intrigued himself with the contents of her childhood room, before perching himself on her bed to read one of the many novels that decorated the shelves. Its pages were bent several times over and its cover worn- an obvious favourite of hers and he could not blame her. The sound of her door creaking on its hinges brought him to immediate attention as he closed the book with care. He couldn’t smell it from where he sat, but her demeanour alone was evident enough that she was fairly intoxicated. MC’s hand gripped the door handle as she peered around the corner; Jumin’s eyes caught the flush of her cheeks and her beaming smile in an instant. “I’m sorry,” she cooed drunkenly, her eyes wide, “I shouldn’t have left you alone...” Jumin could see her thought process as her smile faultered ever so slightly, only for her to let out a quick chuckle or two, “But my aunt opened another bottle and suddenly I forgot what I was doing.”

He caught himself smiling at her toothy grin completely unreserved, before he could clear his throat and correct himself. “It’s nothing to apologise for. I chose to retire.” Jumin placed the book down beside him, subduing another emerging smile on his lips as he looked back to the woman in the doorframe. “I’ve been rather entertained by your selection of novels,” he traced his fingers across the title of the cover gently, “This one in particular appears to be a favourite of yours.”

MC hummed, entering the room further to take a better look at the publication. There was little elegance in the way she positioned herself on the bed beside him, yet it made Jumin smile nonetheless. She leant haphazardly against his frame as she sighed heavily, retrieving the book with slightly more care than she carried herself. She hummed once more, almost humoured by the long forgotten pages of the book, “I definitely read it more than a couple times.”

A silence fell among them and Jumin peered over his shoulder to find her examining the pages. She was so quiet and peaceful, he could have just held her there for hours despite knowing how wrong it would have been. He was here as a friend- nothing else. He sighed to himself and her eyes wandered to him questioningly. Her wide eyes were piercing, tempting him ever closer, yet he could only smirk. “What did your aunt have to say?”

“Oh!” MC exclaimed, wide eyed once more with her jaw lax and discarding the book much more carelessly than he’d imagined. “She claims she can see my future as clear as day,” she began slurring her words as her volume grew, waving her hands in some attempt to emphasise her words.

“Is that so?” Jumin humoured, turning more so now so she was now resting back against his chest and he could she her flushed face clearly.

MC nodded eagerly: “Yes! She claims that I’m going to marry you and that I’ll live some magical fairytale land with everything I’ll ever need.” She was giggling to herself as she spoke, her hands still flailing and her eyes fixed on the ceiling, until her volume finally dropped. “Isn’t that crazy?”

He found himself lost for words, he hadn’t spoken much to her aunt but he could he could see himself getting along well with her.

As though another thought had hit her, MC sat up all of a sudden, startling Jumin ever so slightly. She turned to him, perched on her knees and gave him another gentle smile. “I mean it must be crazy ‘cause the ‘man of my dreams’ is sleeping in my bed and I’m going to sleep down on the couch.”

“What?” His strong tone broke her innocent laughs, her gullible, drunken face almost looking sober at the sound of his voice.

The corner of her lips tilted upwards once more ever so slightly. “Well, I can’t let my guest sleep on a couch... and I can’t sleep with you, can I?”

Jumin could have sworn she was doing it on purpose, drawing out her syllables on the edge of her tongue and eyeing him down- in what he could only explain as seduction. He leant in closer to her, gazing at her docile features down the length of his nose. A smirk adorned him, his tone chilling yet somewhat playful as he retorted: “But it would be so ungentlemanly for me to kick a woman out of her own bed.”

In turn, she leant in closer to him, her eyes darkened and hard- even for Jumin- to read. “I thought you were against a man and a woman sleeping under the same roof before marriage, Jumin... Let alone in the same bed...”

He could smell it on her breath now- the strong scent champagne that had once danced across her tongue and now enraptured him. Hell, he could feel her gentle breath brushing against his skin with the little distance between them now. “Oh... I’m not sure if I recall saying that.”

“I’m sure you did...” MC spoke barely above a whisper, before she could downcast her gaze and laugh once more. She composed herself, returning to her sweetest grin before she questioned him: “So where am I sleeping tonight?”

Maybe it was his subconscious or the pure sight of her barely parted lips- he could never be too sure- but all Jumin knew was the second she had locked her gaze back on his, he was leaning in to kiss her and he had forgotten how he had even gotten in the situation. No more than a second, he assured himself of that, but that didn’t mean he pulled away in a haste. On the contrary, he took his time withdrawing from her puckered lips, his eyes slightly widened but he wouldn’t dare move an inch further from her. She gazed at him silently, almost in what he perceived to be wonder as she found herself lost for words. Jumin cleared his throat as modestly as he possibly could, before swallowing thickly and attempting to clear his conscience, “Forgive me... That was far beyond me, I had never planned to—”

MC had been the most patient woman- from the moment Jumin had first met her- but in that moment she couldn’t wait a second longer for him to finish his formalities. She had her lips locked back on to his quicker than he could comprehend, leaving his hands tense at his side before he dared to venture any further. Jumin found his fingers entrapped within the strands of her hair, all the while her hands were at the side of his waist and resting against his chest as she leaned over him. When she finally pulled away she couldn’t look him in the eye, but that sweet laugh did grace his ears once more. “Maybe I did,” she mumbled distantly, barely audible to Jumin.

“What was that?”

“Oh,” MC’s eyes finally trailed back up to his, her fingers creating circles over his jumper. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of his shocked features, her cheeks doing no favours to hide her embarrassment. “I might have planned this...?”

Jumin scoffed at her confession, his hand freeing itself from her locks, “Planned?”

“No.” She corrected herself before her teeth began to toy with her bottom lip. “I wanted it though...”

“But you practically begged me to reconsider coming here with you.” MC cast her eyes away from him once more and Jumin couldn’t help but hold her face, tilting her chin up in line with his own. “And yet you actually wanted me here?”

“I didn’t want you here,” she met him with a gentle whisper, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t slightly taken aback by her comment.

“Well, that’s nice to know,” he humoured.

MC thumped him playfully against his chest with an exasperated sigh: “No! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

Her eyebrows furrowed further, her lips pouted. “I was joking when I said I needed a fake date today... But you don’t take too kindly to jokes...”

“And?” He questioned, stroking her cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“And I’ve wanted to kiss you for the longest time.” He lent in at her words, as if they were some type of command.

Their lips brushed together once more for a millisecond, the lingering taste of alcohol blessing his senses again. Jumin brushed away the strands of hair falling over her delicate features with care, agreeing quietly as he did so: “And I you.”

She smiled purely at his gesture, her face flushing with warmth as she leant into the palm of his hand. “So?”

“So?” He mimicked questioningly.

She spoke smugly, her once mischievous smile returning alongside the yet to be answered question. “Where am I sleeping?”

Jumin could only laugh at her bold statement- so desperate for an answer she knew he didn’t wish to answer aloud. “If you’ll allow it,” he began, removing one of her hands from his chest to hold it within his own, “right next to me.”

“Gladly.”

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?

"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"

Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."

"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"

"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.

"Want me to take over?"

"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."

She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.

Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.

Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"

"Hm?"

"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."

"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"

The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.

Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"

The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"

"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."

Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."

Teresa scoffs back.

"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."

"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."

Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.

"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."

"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."

"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.

"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."

"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."

Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."

"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."

"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."

Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"

"Someday."

Teresa nodded.

"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."

"She'll be the luckiest wife."

"I'll treat her like a diamond."

"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.

Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.

Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...

Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.

TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.

See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.

Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?

The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?

What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—

She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?

Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.

"Was deco not enough?"

"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."

The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"

The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.

Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"

Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.

"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."

"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."

Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."

Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"

"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.

Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."

"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.

"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."

"Miss...?"

She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."

+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.

[katsukikitten]

Princess.

I thought I posted this last night but guess not. Let's try again. Bakugou x reader princess au. here have it.

"Father you cannot do this to me." You seethe but he is the king, he can do as he wishes.

"This is what must be done to keep our family in charge. A prince of the lower kingdoms will be chosen to marry you, once they present themselves at the end of this month. I have one already in mind." He speaks as if you are dull, summoning his notebook from a nearby servant.

"Oh is that the only price we pay? One measly daughter?" Mother's eyes pierce into your skin, begging you not to anger your father.

"Your mother has blessed me with many sons, for that I am grateful that my lineage will remain here but to keep the peace I must share my genes with the lower kingdoms. Our genes produce strong quirks. Our family has ruled for several generations, this is what's best for the kingdom."

"No it's what's best for the King and his fragile ego." You spit, your father's eyes snap to you. He goes to stand but your mother places a hand on his forearm.

"Now Toben, you know she is spirited. She's never had the chance to learn to be a proper lady what with all her brothers." Mother tries for you, "I'm to blame for that."

"Far from." You feel your power call to you, growing thickly around you but you push it down as you think on your feet, "But since you are so blinded by my gender that you cannot even see that I am more powerful than your sons, more powerful than you. Then by all means give me to another kingdom, maybe they will be helpful in my revolt."

"Toben she knows not what she speaks!" Mother shouts but it's too late. Your Father has risen from his throne, heading straight for you.

Your father is no small man by any means, in fact he is far from it. He is true to his given war name, Toben the great bear as his stature suggests.

His bear paw clamps onto your chin raising you higher as he speaks. All the while you smirk a nasty smirk.

"You ungrateful brat. I was the one who allowed you to battle when you should have been studying how to he a proper woman. Instead you've sharpened both your blade and your tongue. Your only saving grace now is your face. You will study day and night on how to court a man and you will not speak at the ceremony until after it is over!" He yells in your face, his voice shakes the room and the guards in their boots. Your chin creaks under the pressure of his grip. You especially feel your power now, hear your new technique calling to you with every heart beat you feel in your Father's fingers.

But if you let your temper get the best of you now, if you do what you've always dreamed of he will kill you the second he can.

One must wait to reveal all of their cards.

"Careful Father." You say gripping his thick forearm, "You might break the merchandise."

You watch his eyes light aflame and it's all he has in him to control his own quirk. He could crush a man's skull with his bare hands, you should know you've witnessed it, up close and personal.

Personal enough for bone shrapnel to stick to your hair and face.

He huffs trying his damnedest to collect himself, being shown up and by his own daughter no less. Mother makes her way to your father.

"Toben..." She coos, her hands glowing golden, "She is still our little star light."

He fights his ragged breath until he feels calmer, dropping you to your knees.

You will make him mirror your dishonor soon enough.

Or so you tell yourself.

"I meant what I said Y/N." He speaks over his shoulder, clinging to your mother, "You will become a proper princess."

The days bleed into weeks as you study. But not what your father has told you too. Instead you do everything to practice your power and slicing with your small blade with ivory handle. The very same blade your Father first gave you.

Practicing even up to the last minute. Today is the fateful day, today you will become someone future bride.

They fucking wish.

A bunny hops across your path and like a cat you smile at your luck. You lift your eye brows and it stops, staring at you full on. Your fingers twitch by your side as its nose twitches.

"Y/N!" A shout from your mother, "We've been looking for you! Please I need you to cooperate!"

The bunny blinks before scurrying into its burrow, you slip your blade in the sleeves of your overly done dress.

Any woman who hasn't learned to fight would struggle with the weight of this dress. You fuss over your hair that is down freely instead of in its tightly bound braid.

"After twenty two years I would think you would have learned to listen by now!" Mother chides as you enter through the severants tent, "The princes will be arriving any moment. Please please be on your best behavior!"

You do not reply but curtsey to your mother, she smiles in response.

You know soon your mother will not be smiling so proudly at you soon enough.

You thank the Gods above that at the very least this court will be held outside, instead of the close knit throne room. The words you have with the princes, if any, will not be echoed along the intimate hall. You exit the tent, seeing your family lined up properly, mingling while Father waits to make his last minute appearance.

Your throne has been moved to a make shift dias to the side of Father so you can be displayed like the piece of meat you are.

Your brother's give you pitying looks as you pass.

"An honor." One mouths and you glare harshly.

"Do not announce me." You snarl at the Herald who bows at your wish. You watch what's supposed to be your people support this vile act. They would trade your happiness for theirs anyday. Some catch your movement and gasp at your beauty. It is true you are not in the public's eye often but that is mostly because of what you choose for attire.

Tight leather pants, a loose black tunic and hair tightly braided.

Never this gaudy golden dress that complements your skin or the kohl that emphasizes your smoldering eyes.

You want them to gasp at your power instead. Oh they will soon enough.

"Announcing Prince Todaroki of the Fire and Ice Isles." A young man with shining white hair with a patch of blood red enters. He has a scarlet scar over one if his heterochromatic eyes. He stands tall in his flowing white uniform as he approaches your dias, stepping only on the first step.

"Princess." He says with the bow of his head. You blink slowly at him, reading his stick straight body language. He seems cold, his every step calculated as he bows only his head again barely making eye contact before he stands before father.

"Announcing Prince Midoriya of the

Quirkless."

Another young man approaches, his eyes shine like any emerald as his hair is a deep oil spill black, sheened with hints of green. His uniform is far from flashy, just a black suit with golden buttons up the middle. His insignia embroidered in gold on his chest. He stays off of the dias, his lip quivers before he finally speaks.

"P..princess." He stutters bowing at the waist. Your eyes stare at him coldly as he speaks, "You...you look lovely."

After another moment his breathing hitches before he joins the hybrid.

"Announcing Prince Kirishima of Iwa mountain."

Ruby hair with matching gem eyes step bravely onto the second step of your perch. He is dressed in simple black leathers that look like scales, it takes you a moment to realize the black steal that is embedded into the leather. He gets to one knee grabbing onto your strong hand, giving a flirty sharp toothed smile.

"Princess it is an honor to be in the presence of your beauty." He presses his lips to your skin and it takes all your power not to knock his sweet smile clear of teeth.

"An honor you may never have again." You say sweetly though he does not miss the venom in your voice.

"Let us pray the God's smile on me today so I may have that beauty all to myself." He adds before rising, stepping beside the emerald boy.

"Announcing Prince Bakugou of the Badlands."

Ash blonde hair and blood red irises, he is unhappy by the looks of his scowl. His defined chest is exposed with nothing but a blood red vest topped with soft white fur. His ears gaged with jagged animals teeth and matching dyed necklaces. He too stands on the second step, you narrow your eyes, there is something about him you already don't like.

"Princess." He growls, "I'm only here for one thing."

"If it's to ensure that you sow your seed to a healthy woman look elsewhere I have a weak," You mock cough before adding "constitution."

You give your most off putting gaze but he just gives a deadly smile as he leans in close, close enough you can smell the sweet spices that cling to his skin.

"I'm not here to get my dick wet Princess." His smirk widens, "I'm here to show your old man what real power is."

You laugh aloud and the Prince stares at your before gritting your teeth.

"Good luck." You bite, leaning forward. He is one of the few who do not lean away once you get that deadly intense gaze in your eye.

"Prince Bakugo." A guard clears his throat, "The Great King awaits your audience."

He holds your gaze a moment more causing your guts to twist with odd emotions while his heart beat races.

"Tch." He steps down and joins the others.

"Welcome!" Toben's voice booms, "I am pleased to say that you all are the cream of the crop. Please demonstrate your power so that she may choose her groom."

You snort, choose as fucking if.

All the men demonstrate their power, a pissing contest really.

Todoroki flame and ice beautifully controlled, dance among one another.

Midoriya the first of the quirkless to gain a power, a strength that is seemingly unmatched.

Kirishima hardens his skin to crush boulders with his fists.

Finally the hot headed blonde creates a crater so large from his explosion that a cliff side collapses into the newly made valley.

Father takes a few moments as the Princes mingle with their people. Your eyes can't help but find the young blonde standing relaxed with his small group of guards. Murmurs carry over the field as the day drags on.

You feel the cool weight of the blade rest impatiently on your forearm, your heart races as your plan nears completion. All you need now is for father to tell you who the hell you're gonna marry.

As if reading your mind he approaches.

"I'm proud daughter. You've done well and all the crowd can talk about is your grace and beauty." He whispers, "I've picked the Price of the quirkless. He has potential, send me your first born son so I can raise him here."

'Sure I'll just pop him right out with no complications and fucking mail him to you.' Is what you want to say but instead you nod.

Father smiles making his way back to his throne. Your heart beats in your throat as as you stand but you do not show how nervous you are. Excited.

"I've made up my mind." You announce and the crowd goes utterly silent as every pair of eyes is on you.

You start pulling the blade from your sleeves, time slows as you focus on your quirk. Your Father, brothers and guards rush for you but you extend your left hand, calling to the familar cry of water in their veins. The stop in their tracks as you pull along their blood making them all kneel.

Including the King.

You hold eyes with your father as you bring the biting blade through your skin, from the top corner of your cheek bone, agonizingly slow over your cheek, to slicing part of your bottom lip. It flaps slightly as you speak with vigor, manic malice.

"Who wants to marry such a beautiful princess now?" A woman faints in the front row from the sight, all the princes have wide eyes, looking away once you make eye contact.

All but one crimson set that is undeniably glued to you with a wolfish grin on his face.

[ren1327]

Pretty Boy Ch.2

“Jiiiiiiii~!”

Kenji got to his knees as a tiny two year old girl with her curly black hair in two high pigtails crashed into him, grinning and laughing excitedly.

“Hey, Carmen!” He said, lifting her up and throwing her up as he stood, catching her effortlessly. She squealed happily and hugged him around the neck.

“Ji!” She yelled in his ear and he tickled her.

“What’s up, KK?” Her nanny, or manny, Dave said.

“Nothing much. Saw a new face.”

“Aw, come on, Man. That last girl was like, a super loud crier.” Dave said. “Why not be single for a bit?”

“And deny the world this?” He asked, framing his face.

“Well, look alive. Your Pops did not look happy.” Dave said, taking Carmen, who was sucking her thumb.

“Oh boy, must the time of the week that ends in ‘day’.” Kenji said with a huff, kissing Carmen’s cheek and handing her to the man.

“He was asking me if you were involved with someone.” Dave grimaced.

“Why?”

Dave shrugged and took the little girl to her back yard playground.

Kenji looked around his mansion. It was grand and decorated with fine art and furniture bolted down incase Carmen played around it. He grew up in white and stark environment he had to tip toe around. Now it was bathed in warm reds and blushy pinks with white decorations and vases to keep the space open and balanced.

He remembered how scared he was to dirty spaces and see the maids glare down at him, threatening to tell his father. They never told Kosei about the good things he did.

Then, at age five, his father had dressed him a suit and told him he was getting married that night. He had met her, a short chubby Latina woman with big green eyes and a heart shaped face famed by deep chocolate brown curls.

Candy had been shocked and openly yelled at Kosei in the hall. His father looked shocked when she scooped up Kenji, still in her expensive wedding dress and sat him on her lap the rest of the night. She fed him from her own plate, asking him about things he liked. She didn’t frown when he got messy, but instead laughed and wiped his face herself. He saw his father watch them in wonder, as if such actions were foreign to him.

By the way they never met or spoke of his grandparents, perhaps.

The following weeks with his new mother were the biggest transformation of his life.

The old staff were removed and new, younger (and nicer) staff brought in. They smiled politely at him, offered him snacks and drinks, and even played with him when Candy was out or had to accompany his father. Dave and Roxy were his favorites. His nanny and body guard always liked being around him.

Candy would scoop him up when she got home. She would hug him, kiss his head, cook for him badly, take him with her on shopping trips or out for lunch. He had never had a mother figure and loved her as much as someone could love a parent.

Then it all stopped.

He was told she had an accident and laid in bed for months. He could hear her sobbing and wailing almost every night. His father was crushed and always seemed angry, and Kenji had no idea why.

“She lost it.” A maid had whispered to her co-worker. “That was the whole reason they got married.”

“I wonder if they’ll stay together.” The other said. “I hope so.”

Roxy had heard them and went to lecture them, giving Kenji the moment he needed to sprint on his little legs to Candy.

Kenji had ran into his parent’s room, hearing his father’s angry shouts from his office as he crawled up the bed and clutched Candy’s arm tight, begging her not to leave him.

Her red rimmed eyes had widened, and she sat up as Kosei barged in to get Kenji. She held out a hand and he stopped. Candy wiped his tears away and calmed her husband, holding him tight against her chest.

As Kenji sobbed into her chest, he felt his father hug both of them.

And if he felt warm tears on the top of his head, he never mentioned it.

Years passed and his father dove into his work while Candy went to college and started her new business. They had dinner together a few nights a week and Kenji desperately wanted what they had; the soft touches, softer looks, kisses in the corner and loving words.

So, he dated. And dated. And dated.

He soon got a reputation as a playboy, much to his father’s annoyance.

So maybe he dated some of his business partner’s kids.

It never bothered his father in the grand scheme of things.

Even when he had told him he was dating a boy, his father paused for a moment before patting his back and telling him to be safe.

He walked to his father’s office and knocked twice before walking in, seeing his father behind his desk with Candy in one of the plush seats in front of the dark wooden desk. She smiled at him, her eyes worried.

“Dad? Mom?” He asked. “What’s going on.”

 *

 Kosei Kon looked at his son.

His first born who he had blamed for the death of his first wife. Who he had neglected up to when he got a call from an young Puerto Rican shop clerk. And when he learned he was going to have another child, he married her as soon as possible. Then she was told about Kenji and focused on him.

Kosei watched her be more of a parent in one night then he had been in the first six years of his life.

And it hurt.

Then they lost the baby and Kenji sobbed as if Candy would leave them.

From that moment on, they became a family.

He still was busy most days and nights, but took time to see and talk to his son. He learned much about him, but still feared the same parental intimacy Candy had built with him.

And now he had hurt him again.

He remembered the night ten years ago after a day of meditating and looking over the contracts.

Tokyo, in his hotel room with one of his best friends, Simon Masrani.

They had drinks together and talked about anything and everything over three bottles of wine.

“My son…” Simon had sobbed suddenly. “He’s so damn cute, Kosei! He bumped into a chair and told it sorry!”

He took another gulp of the warm spiced wine before taking out his phone and pulling up a picture of the young, skinny brown haired child hugging a woman who looked exactly like him. Their hands were cupped to make a lopsided heart at the camera with the text ‘Miss you!’.

Simon stared at it for a moment.

“I love him so much!” He cooed, pressing a warm bearded cheek to the phone.

“Children are a blessing. My son is gaining more romantic attention among his classmates.” Kosei said, chest puffing with pride.

“He’s dating?! He’s only thirteen, yes?” Simon had asked, refilling his glass.

“Yes. I don’t know how to calm his wild heart.” Kosei said. “But I cannot cage him, lest he fight back and act more reckless.”

“I bet my Ben would like him.” Simon said.

Kosei gave him a look.

“I found him kissing a classmate, or the other way around. It wasn’t serious, but he told me he liked boys and asked…Oh, Kosei. He asked if I still wanted to be his father.” He said, tears falling again.

“And you said?”

“That I loved who I wanted, how I wanted. He should love whoever makes him happy.” He said, eyes serious. “My son should have anything that makes him happy.”

“Agreed.” Kosei said. “I only wish I could help Kenji like that. Not like my parents did. Marrying me to a complete stranger for money and status. Yumiko was a good woman, but there was no love in our home…”

“Wait.” Simon said. “What if we…What if our boys married?!”

“Simon?”

“Think about it!” Simon said. “Our sons get to know each other and then fall in love and marry!”

He stood and swayed, Kosei placing a hand on the small of his back to hold him up. Simon laughed and kept talking.

“We would do it right! Let them get to know each other and fall in love naturally! Make sure they like each other, and it develops! Like a flower.”

Kosei laughed. “Sure.” He said sarcastically.

“Let’s get it in writing!” Simon said as Kosei took another drink.

 *

 “Marriage contract?!” Kenji yelled.

“I am sorry, my son.” Kosei said. “We will work to get it nulled. But I’d really like for you to at least meet Simon’s son.”

“Dad…You didn’t like your first marriage.” Kenji said, standing.

“I know. I know.” Kosei said and stood to hold his son’s shoulders. “However, I think it would be best to get to know him at least. If both of you prefer not to marry, perhaps you can find friendship.”

“You really want me to go through with this?”

“I want you to try at least.” Kosei said. “Before the marriage date comes.”

Kenji looked at the ground, then nodded.

“Okay. But…how? When?”

“There’s a party this weekend at Simon’s home for Benjamin Lockwood. I would like you to attend with Candy and I. Carmen will be staying with her grandparents. What we discussed cannot leave this room, Kenji.” Kosei said.

Candy nodded. “We don’t need a fuss. And we can talk more with Simon on what to do from there.”

She stood and hugged Kenji.

 *

 “A what?!” Brooklynn yelled from her kitchen, running out with three cans of soda.

Brooklynn took a pen out from its place in her bun, taking out a notebook. “Tell me everything!”

“I can’t.” Kenji said. “Not if it’s going to be your next exclusive!”

“Why?” Brooklynn whined. “This is so interesting. Is it a culture thing? Like from those mangas?”

“First of all, because I don’t want my Dad or the other family to get any bad publicity. Two, it was more like two best friends having a bad drunken idea. And three, I thought you hated shojo manga.”

“Some are…cute.” She said.

Kenji blew out the side of his mouth and sank heavily on her sofa.

“I don’t even know who this kid is.” He said.

“I’m not gonna lie, not a lot of people know about Masrani’s wife and stepson. It’s like he blacked out all their information.” Brooklynn said. “And I’ve looked for years!”

She looked up and pouted. “Kenji…”

“No. My mom and Dad said not to blab, so I’m not telling you more than this.”

She huffed and sat on the sofa next to her boyfriend.

“So does this mean Kenji the heart breaker is done?” Darius asked.

Kenji shrugged. “I don’t know. I love my Dad, but I won’t marry someone just to make him happy. I want to find the one!”

“Too bad you looked mostly at pretty social climbers and gold diggers looking to get their fifteen minutes. Face it, Kenji. This might be the best option at this point.” Brooklynn said.

“And you are?”

“Your friends, you jerk!” Brooklynn yelled. “I have my own building empire and my hot smarty-pants boyfriend is working under the most famous paleontologist!”

“Aw, you think I’m smart?” Darius asked with a grin.

Brooklynn sighed. “I wish we could go with you to Masrani’s party.”

Darius hummed. “Well, there’s going to be a pop up refreshment bar in the garden area for younger guests. Sammy’s going to be manning it and could use some help.”

Brooklynn squealed as Kenji smiled, wondering if that cute green eyed barista would be there.

[lisinfleur]

Gold

The request:

Author’s Notes | I hope you like the final result, babe! For some reason, I thought you were talking about his armlet XD But I hope I understood the “braces” right… Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, Saxon!Reader, Slave!Reader, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 1887 ⁑ Warnings: Slavery, mentions of death, violence, and bruises.

You never thought that would be the reason why you would finally unbury those strange golden things you found years ago. Even less those things would give you so many troubles or lead you back to the man you saved that day.

You could still remember... The day was sunny, but the sea was rough and uncomfortable, surely annoyed from last night's huge waves. Yet, you went to the beach anyway: your father and brothers used to do it after huge undertows cause the sea would vomit some stuff from shipwrecks nearby and you could be lucky to find gold or some treasures.

You found those things. Strange golden braces that didn't make any sense for you, but were heavy and could worth the price of carrying them with you. However, you found more than those braces... the whole beach was covered in wood, pieces of boats and flags, rags everywhere.

And bodies.

Dozens of Norsemen - you could recognize by their crow flags - were spread all over the beach, unconscious or dead, drowned by the powerful undertow while probably crossing the seas to invade some villages near yours.

You walked around, looking the wreckage, scared of the bodies when your eyes caught one of them still breathing. His breath was strange and intermittent - the man probably had lots of water in his throat - and he was slowly being carried away by the waves, since he had landed right where they were breaking against the shore.

His legs were strangely thin under the wet trousers and for a second, your body acted quicker than your thought.

You should leave that man to the waves, right? He was a Norseman, an enemy.

But you couldn't just keep walking knowing he would be carried away to his certain death.

So, you ran there, pulling that heavy man with all your strength, falling on your butt when you finally got to place him in a safe spot where the waves couldn't carry him. At least, you thought this way: after all, the waves weren't carrying the dead old bald and bearded man by his side, so they wouldn't be able to carry him, right?

The movements you made caused the young man you saved to cough and spit a lot of water and sand from his mouth, slowly waking up, opening gorgeous and almost transparent blue eyes that blinked a little - probably bothered by the salty water - before looking straight at you.

Your heart raced into your chest as if that young man would get up and choke you to death!

"Hver ert þú, kona?" he mumbled, causing you to pull away from him a little more, scared of that strange tongue he was speaking.

The man turned his body, supporting himself on the strong elbow to lift his torso, trying to look at you and see you better.

But your eyes caught more of them coming through the shore. Alive Norsemen, walking and coming closer. And the man by his side you thought was dead coughed, spilling water.

Too many awoken Norsemen for your bravery.

You got up as fast as you could, ignoring the strange words he was yelling towards you and running as fast as you could, hiding in the woods with the golden thing you stole from them.

When the Norsemen left the beach, you made your way home, warning your father and brother about what you saw. They left to warn the town there were Norsemen around and you stayed to clean and try to discover what the heck was that thing you found.

You never found out...

Things got stranger and harder since that day.

You buried your strange thing in a bag on the woods thinking you could sell it for some money, maybe some escape from your father's desire to marry you to your neighbor's son...

You never thought you would search for that thing to try and pay for your freedom from the same Norsemen you stole...

They came like a huge storm after King Ecberth delivered their leader, Ragnar Lothbrok, to King Aella. The news of Ragnar's execution ran the whole England such as the news of King Aella's fall under the fury of Ragnar's sons...

They came for King Ecberth as well.

And then, you saw yourself enslaved...

Soon, names like Sigurd Snake in the Eye and Ivar the Boneless became known for you. Your family has split apart and you didn't know what happened to your father nor to your brother after they fled not really caring if you would be able to follow them.

But now the Norsemen were speaking about leaving to raid York, you knew your only chance to get your freedom would be lost if you weren't fast. So, you left your master's home in the middle of the night, going for the golden thing, unburying that just to be caught like an animal, dragged back home like a dog who fled from its owner. And your owner was amazingly pissed off by what he understood as an attempt to escape.

He has beaten on you until you were able to drag yourself to your bag, showing him the golden thing, begging him for mercy.

Somehow, he was able to recognize that thing, but it wasn't for your good...

He dragged you towards the main tent of their camp, asking for an audience and now there you were, thrown on the ground in front of the sons of Ragnar themselves as your owner was showing them the thing you had.

You were able to understand too few of their words, but your owner said some words you heard before... Something about you being a thief... Something about that thing being stolen from...

Them?

Did you steal from a Ragnarsson? By the Almighty God you would be dead if it was the case!

You tried to lift your face, to look at them, but your owner pushed your head down, forcing you to look at the ground.

Then... Something strange happened.

"Skildu hana..."

You recognized that voice speaking to your owner and when he released you, you raised your head to find those icy blue eyes looking at you.

He was sitting on a table with two other imposing men, one of them with hungry green eyes and other with eyes blue like the sky and a red beard and braid that you could bet was the reason why some of your people said one of the sons of Ragnar had tamed the fire... He was older and his hair wasn't short anymore. Instead, it was tied with pieces of leather in small braids all over his head, causing him to look older. And he was also bigger... That heavy armor you remember he was dressing wasn't loose in his body anymore. But there were the thin legs in his trousers, hidden and tied to one another by leather belts he pulled aside before coming down to the ground, crawling closer to you and sitting right in front of where you were, on your knees.

So, he was the cripple among the sons of Ragnar. The one people feared so bad, sometimes more than his able brothers!

You saved Ivar, the Boneless, from the sea. With your bare hands!

His hand, in heavy leather gloves, touched your chin, moving your face, analyzing the bruises and your appearance and he extended his hand, asking for your golden thing your lord gave to him readily.

"Where did you found this, woman?" he asked, but you could see in his eyes he knew the answer.

He wasn't also speaking the strange language you couldn't understand anymore, but your language, with a hard accent.

"At the beach, after a shipwreck, some years ago," you answered and he smiled.

"What is your name, woman?" he inquired you again and you answered, keeping your voice low.

"Y/N."

"Do you know who I am, Y/N?" he asked, looking right into your eyes.

His blues looking as if they could devour your soul entirely in the blink of his eyes.

"You're Ivar... The fifth son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The one they call Boneless..." you answered, shrinking a little when he smiled.

"This is mine," he said, showing your golden thing. "You stole from me, Y/N."

You shook your head, nervously. You didn't know it was his! You didn't even know who he was!

Maybe you wouldn't have touched him if you knew...

Nor his things! For sure nor his things...

But before you could say you wouldn't ever steal from a man like him, his thick fingers touched your lips and he hissed, touching his own lips with his index for you to shut.

"Shh... I know you didn't know, pet," his voice sounded calm.

He was almost amused by your fear.

"I also remember who took me from the sea that day; who prevented me from drowning or being swallowed by Rán's tongue when I wasn't strong enough to crawl away from the waves."

He raised his other hand and touched his temple with his own ax in small little taps with a smile on his face.

"My memory is good, pet," he said, touching your face with the side of the ax and softly lifting your chin with the weapon. "I didn't forget your face."

You were frightened, but at the same time, something was telling you he wasn't angry. The blue on Ivar's eyes was placid and his face wasn't frowning when he spat some words in his language, causing some men to move, delivering a bag of silver in your owner's hands.

Some few words were exchanged in between them and your owner left, without taking you with him, leaving you full of questions Ivar seemed disposed to answer.

"He won't bother you anymore, pet. You're mine now. I bought you from him... So now, you shall be by my side."

Ivar crawled back to his chair, offering his hand so you could come near him, calling you with his fingers to sit by his side and placing your golden thing - that now you knew was his golden thing - over the table.

"I'll take good care of you, sweet Y/N. And this..." he said, patting the golden thing over the table. "This you brought me will be greatly useful."

"What do you intend to use this thing for, Ivar?" the red-haired man asked while the green-eyed was mindlessly eating from his plate, ignoring your presence as if it wasn't something really important for him.

After all, you were just a slave...

"These were my old braces, Ubbe," Ivar said, with a smile on his face, "I was intending to make new ones. But with these, the blacksmith can study a better way to make me stand."

His thick fingers caressed your face once again and he smiled.

"Thanks to my sweet Y/N here, I'll soon be able to walk beside you, brother... Soon. Very soon..."

Somehow, even that man he was calling a brother seemed to have fear into his blue eyes towards Ivar. So, you thought it wouldn't be wise not to fear him. However, something in his eyes was telling you the praises and smiles were genuine and somehow the one they called "the devil himself" was happy with you...

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff​ || @ivarswickedqueen​ || @directionlessbuthappy​ || @akamaiden​ || @bang-kim-bap​ || @cris101071​ || @solveigs-temple​ || @volvas-temple​ || @alicedopey​ || @captstefanbrandt || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ || @lol-haha-joke​ || @normatural​ || @readsalot73​ || @shutter-bug124​ || @rekdreams247​ || @slutforasoldier || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434​ || @honestsycrets​ || @rabeccablake || @2thequietone4​ || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @wallabieswisher​ || @sincerelysinister || @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @littledeadrottinghood || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @notyouraveragegirl17 || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @youbloodymadgenius​ || @alwaysbenhardysgirl​ || @marvelouuse​ || @tgrrose​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ ||  @hissouthernprincess​ ||

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

[theamberwriter]

Levi’s Secret [Mod!Levi Ackerman||Fem!Reader]

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader [Mod!AU]

Word Count: 2012

Warning: Cursing, pregnancy

A/N: I posted this a while ago on Quotev, DeviantArt, and Wattpad (I think). I updated it for you all!

Levi Ackerman, co-vice president for one of the most powerful companies in the world, Titan Industries, has a secret. Nothing dangerous - well, maybe it will be if anyone finds out, but it'll only be dangerous to their health. He plans on keeping it that way as long as he can. The shitheads he works with don't need to know about his personal life.

But what is that secret?

If one were to go into the upper left-hand drawer, supposing they got the key, and found the insert in the bottom of it. One could find a mysterious paper object lying flat in the bottom of it.

But what is this object?

Well the other VP Hanji Zoe is determined to find out. She's continuously caught the short man looking at – something – in the drawer. But even the security cameras can't reveal what it is. She only knows where the mysterious object is located. News spread quietly around the office when Hanji blabbed, and some people began to take bets; a porn magazine, nudes of his wife and just regular ole important papers were among the guesses.

Almost everyone wants to know what is in that drawer.

Even the president, Erwin Smith, who is an old friend of the co-VP, is curious about Levi's mysterious drawer.

Hanji knows better, though, than to ask the stoic short man about his secret. She knows he’d blow her off, or threaten her, or move the thing – whatever it is. Hanji also knows better than to ask his wife, [Name], who will only give her a mysterious smile and tap the side of her nose to tease her.

No amount of begging will force [Name] to give out any of her husband’s secrets. And not in fear of Levi getting angry, but because she loves to mock the nosey woman. [Name] knows a side of Levi nobody does, knows things that no one else knows – and that drives Hanji crazy, she wants to know everything. Mostly just so she can pester and tease her short friend about it.

Currently, it is a Friday morning – about 10:54 AM. In the main HQ of Titan Industries, in front of a large set of double doors up on the 34th floor, can be found a certain brunette Hanji Zoe and a young office worker from the floor below. Eren Jeager is the long-time friend Levi’s younger cousin, Mikasa, who also worked in the office.

         “Hanji,” says Eren, looking nervously about him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

         “Of course, it is,” reassures the woman as she slowly opens the door. “Shorty’s in a meeting, and shouldn’t be back for a while. Besides, I know exactly where to look. I’ve seen him do it a million times on the cameras. – look, just signal me if something goes amiss, alright?”

         Eren sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Right.”

         The woman creeps into the room, after ruffling Eren’s hair, and slowly makes her way over to the pristine desk. She is going to try not to mess it up – it’s so tempting! But she is also trying not to get caught, so she resists the urge.

         Ever so gently, Hanji removes the pen she always sees Levi use from its place in the mug on his desk. It’s one [Name] gave him Hanji notices (even after having seen it a million times, she never took note of what was on it), it’s pictures of their wedding and honeymoon a few years before. But, to Hanji’s dismay, there is no picture of the man smiling or being anything but his usual self! [Name] must have made this specifically for his desk.

         With a sigh, Hanji shakes her head and kneels to retrieve the key from under the desk. If one didn’t look closely, they would miss the small key held in brackets screwed to the top of the desk. The brunette carefully slides the gold key out, glancing it over once, before shoving it in the lock and turning it. She flinches as it makes a soft click sound.

Sliding out the drawer, Hanji then looks for the spot where the tip of the pen would fit. It’s hard to spot, even with the sunlight streaming in the wall of windows behind her. But she does find it. She grins to herself as she lifts up the insert. Standing, Hanji puts her hands under the panel and feels for the edge of the object. When she finds it, she fishes it out and drops the insert.

Placing the pen on the desk, the woman looks at what’s in her hand. At first, it appears to be a white folder but as she flips it over, she finds it’s something else. Hanji’s eyes widen, a squeal escaping her throat. So it was none of the dirty things the office workers conjured up.

She completely ignores the loud, ‘Hello, Mr. Ackerman!’ that Eren just about yells from outside the door. Nor does she hear the growl from the short man as he snaps at the boy to ‘quit fucking shouting’ and ‘get the hell away from his door if he’s just going to stand there like a dumbass.’ Hanji also completely ignores the short man as she runs out of the office to tell Eren of her discovery, even though she tosses him a ‘hey, shorty.’

“Eren, you will never believe –” starts Hanji, but then stops as she realizes that the short man is seething behind her.

         “Oi! Shitty Glasses!” grits Levi, his fists clenched as he glares her down. “Who in the hell gave you permission to go in my office when I’m not there?! And how the fuck did you get that – give it to me!”

         But Hanji simply turns and runs, ditching her heels and knee-highs as she does so that she doesn’t trip or slip. Levi immediately takes off after her, but not before glaring at young Eren and snapping at him to get back to work; Eren shakily does as he’s told.

         Hanji, meanwhile, sprints down the stairs and runs to one of the desk lined floors. Waving the thing in the air, she yells, “I’ve got it!”

         When people look up, all they see is her running with Mr. Ackerman hot on her heels. She only stops when Erwin enters the floor, having seen the commotion on the cameras. Levi stops as well, and then he and Hanji begin to sprint and jump in circles around the president. But this stops as Erwin takes the thing from Hanji, who’s now behind him, while Levi glares down his friend from in front.

         “Erwin. Give. Me. That!” spits Levi, but Erwin sighs and shakes his head as he holds the object high above his head – knowing that his tiny friend can’t reach that without assaulting him.

         “Sorry, Levi,” mutters the blonde. “Everybody’s just curious.”

         “It’s none of their damn business! – and why do those shitheads know that I keep that in my – four eyes, what the fuck?!” Levi’s glare shifted over the broad shoulders of his boss, to where Hanji’s eyes were just popping over them.

         “Well I couldn’t keep to myself that you had a secret, now could I?! – and anybody who said it was porn or nudes has lost their bet, I hope you know!” calls Hanji, at this Levi whips around the glare down everybody in the room. Especially those forking over money, or claiming they had to go to the bank.

         “S-So, what is it?” stutters poor little Armin Arlert from his desk nearest the trio.

         “It’s none –” starts Levi, but he is cut off by Erwin.

         “You might as well tell us, or else Hanji will,” states the blonde. From behind him, Hanji agreed and began to bounce excitedly.

The raven-haired man glares but then sighs in defeat. “Fucking fine! Give it.”

Erwin carefully lowers the object into his friend’s expectant hand. Turning, Levi faces the floor with the white side showing. But then, he turns it around and looks grumpily away.

Slowly, people gather to get a better look – it’s a thin paper picture frame.

DADDY’S LITTLE BABY is hand done in pale orange block letters across the top of the paper frame. Around the outside is decorated in swirls and dots, it even has a mint green bow tied in two holes punched in the corner. In the frame, lies a black and white ultrasound picture.

“Levi’s gonna be a daddy!” shouts Hanji, running around to throw her arms around the man. Levi growls at her but says nothing.

Erwin puts a hand on Levi’s shoulder, smiling lightly down at him. “Congratulations, Levi.”

“Yeah, thanks,” is all he mutters.

Hanji chuckles, “you could be a bit happier!”

“How the fuck can I?! You damn bunch of shit minded assholes weren’t supposed to fucking know! You shouldn’t even know I’m fucking married, but somebody had to go running her damn big shitty mouth!” Levi spits, glaring around the group gathered.

Hanji and Erwin roll their eyes, Hanji ruffling Levi’s hair. “How could I not?! It was exciting! Also, how were you going to explain the fact that [Name]’s in here all the time?! She probably would have told us herself!”

“What would I have told you?” [Name]’s voice cuts through the chatter. People move to the side as the woman pushes her way through with a box in hand. She smiles sweetly lightly as she sees Levi seemingly presenting the picture frame she made him three months ago for his birthday. “Aww, Levi, you’re showing off our babies!”

The plural catches Levi’s attention, any thought of a blush disappearing. Levi raises an eyebrow slightly. “Babies?”

[Name] giggles, nodding and holds out the box to him. Slowly, he takes it while handing her the frame. He eyes her warily as he opens the box. Inside is a new ribbon and an ultrasound picture clearly showing two circles – twins?! Levi about drops the box at this, but only [Name] notices.

“Twins?!” yells Hanji, causing the man to flinch away from the loud sound.

“Yes, Hanji,” [Name] chuckles loudly. “Levi and I are having twins. Can I have a small hole punch someone?”

More chatter flutters through the room, and then Armin shuffles up with a punch. He mutters a ‘congratulations’ to which the woman smiles. Punching through two more holes in the frame, [Name] hands the punch back and walks up to Levi. He just stares intently at her.

[Name] ties the new ribbon through the holes, and then slips in the new ultrasound. Also paper clipping on a matching ‘S’ that was hidden beneath it onto the end of ‘baby.’ The misspelling makes Levi cringe, but he knew it was his wife’s attempt to be funny.

“How long have you known? When the hell did you get that done?!” utters Levi, watching [Name]’s face intently.

[Name] kisses his cheek with a smile. “I went about two weeks ago, when you were out of town.”

“And you’re just now telling me?! We have to go get more shit for the nursery!” hisses Levi, causing Hanji to laugh loudly.

“Don’t worry shorty! We’ll throw you a baby shower!” she says, as though it’s simple. Levi goes to glare, but [Name] cuts in.

“I’d appreciate that Hanji,” she says, “Levi wasn’t going to let me invite any friends.”

“Forget just friends! We’ll have the whole damn building doing in on it! All 35 floors!” announces the insane brunette, bouncing up and down again.

Before Levi could stop her, Hanji began to ramble on and on about all that could be done. As well as going around and assigning things to each employee, who was still in shock that their grumpy boss was going to be a father.

And, though he despises the brunette sticking her nose in his business, Levi knew it made [Name] happy to have everyone finally know.

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t mind sharing his secret.