#low cost diamond ring

[theostrophywife]

dress.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: dress by taylor swift.

author's note: can't stop thinking about that anon that called me out on being feral for theo yet soft for my baby boy cutie pie sweetie enzo. they were so right, but can you blame me? enzo is the pretty boy. he invented baby girlism.

“How do I look?” 

Beautiful. 

Breathtaking. 

Devastating. 

Enzo blinked away the words that materialized in his mind, shaking off the thoughts that he had no business thinking about his best friend. His honey eyes darkened as you descended the winding staircase, the billowing skirt of your ball gown kissing the checkered floor of your family’s mansion. 

The pretty lilac shade complimented your complexion, making you glow underneath the crystal chandelier. Every curve draped in luxurious velvet fabric, like temptation wrapped in a pretty little bow just to torment him. 

“Earth to Enzo,” you teased, poking at your best friend’s shoulder with a gloved finger. “Have I lost you?”

Enzo sucked in a breath, relishing in the sight of you. “Sorry. You look…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “You look stunning, Y/N.” 

Your smile nearly took his breath away. The action lit up your entire face, crinkling the corner of your eyes in the most endearing way. Enzo was entranced as you straightened his tie, pinching his cheek because you both knew that he secretly loved it.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Berkshire.” The playful tone of your voice made his heart skip a beat, the steady rhythm echoing in his ears as Enzo offered you his arm. “The girls will be envious of my handsome escort.”

“I think they’ll be more envious of that dress,” Enzo murmured softly. The smooth, low cadence of his voice flowed through you like honey. “I don’t think anyone will be able to keep their eyes off of you tonight, love.” 

Including him. 

The ballroom was filled to the brim with guests from the sacred and influential families, the women dressed to the nines in silk, lace, and velvet, their ears and wrists and necks dripping with diamonds. The men wore impeccably fitted suits with watches and family heirloom rings that cost more than a year’s worth of wages. 

All around the room, attendees nursed their cocktails and indulged in the impressive spread of hors d'oeuvres, whispering excitedly about the grandeur and opulence of the ball your family hosted every year, but he barely picked up on their conversations. Enzo smiled and nodded politely, but his attention wasn’t on any of them. 

Instead, the entirety of his focus fell on you. Enzo watched as you chatted and charmed the crowd, even going so far as gaining a slight smile from his surly uncle Lucius, who was notoriously unimpressed by anything and everything. Your best friend was entirely convinced that you could’ve charmed the feathers off of a hippogriff. 

“What a delightful girl you are. Exactly the type of lady young Lorenzo should be courting.” Lucius drawled. “Draco would do well to follow his cousin’s example.” 

Narcissa smiled. “I’m afraid our son is too late. These two are quite smitten with each other already.” 

Neither one of you corrected the couple. There was truly no use. Despite the countless attempts at clarifying the nature of your relationship, the adults still assumed that the two of you were together. Sometimes it was just easier to play along. Enzo had no complaints. Especially not when you placed a kiss on his cheek and nodded in agreement. 

“Can you blame me, Mrs. Malfoy?” You teased, winking at Enzo. “Lorenzo’s quite the catch. Anyone would be lucky to have such a perfect gentleman by their side.” 

Enzo tried not to blush as Lucius and Narcissa nodded in approval. Luckily, his aunt and uncle moved along, allowing you to greet the other guests. Throughout the night, Enzo stayed by your side, chiming in when needed, refilling your drinks when you ran out, and feeding you appetizers in between breaks. The rest of his friends teased him for it, but Enzo was perfectly content with playing the part of escort. 

“Mother was right. Y/N has every male in here eating out of her hand,” Draco said, looking over at you in appreciation as he took a sip of champagne. “Can’t blame them. That dress is something else. She looks proper fit.” 

“You don’t stand a chance, Malfoy.” Mattheo scoffed as he popped a bacon wrapped fig into his mouth. 

Theo nodded in agreement, eyes glazed over from the smoke break that he and Mattheo took in the gardens earlier. “Blondes aren’t Y/N’s type.” His mouth quirked as he glanced over at Enzo. “Isn’t that right, Berkshire?”

“You lot are insufferable,” Enzo said with an eye roll. 

He glanced over the top of his champagne glass, smiling softly to himself as he watched his mum fawn over you. She often joked about taking her engagement ring out of the Gringott’s vault despite the fact that Enzo repeatedly told her that the two of you weren’t in a relationship. Along with everyone else, his parents seemed convinced that the two of you were meant to be. 

“What’s the matter, cousin? Jealous that Y/N might take a liking to me?” 

“She’d sooner snog a rat,” Enzo replied sarcastically. 

“A ferret is close enough, isn’t it?” asked Regulus.

“Malfoy might stand a chance after all,” was Tom’s deadpan response. 

Mattheo chuckled. “Good one, brother. Come on, lads. We should let Enzo get back to his date.” 

With a sigh, Enzo downed his champagne glass before rejoining your side. You were in deep conversation with his parents, but broke out into a goofy grin the minute you caught sight of him. 

“There’s my handsome date,” you exclaimed. “I must say, you raised quite a gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Berkshire. I couldn’t have asked for a better escort. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he looks quite handsome in a suit.”

Enzo flushed as you straightened his tie. His father smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I reckon Lorenzo gets that from me.”

“No doubt, Mr. Berkshire. All the ladies seem to think so. Perhaps I should stop hogging him to myself and give the others a chance.”

“Try as you might, Lorenzo only has eyes for you, dear.” Enzo groaned, blushing at his mum’s embarrassing statement. “What? It’s true. You two make a beautiful couple.”

Enzo was about to correct his mother for the millionth time, but you simply slipped your gloved hand through his elbow and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Berkshire. We clean up rather well, don’t we?” 

You giggled as Enzo turned red in the face. Completely unaware of his desire to melt into the marble floor, his mother flashed you a pleased smile. “There’s no need for formalities. I insist that you call me Helene. You’re practically family at this point. Though I do hope my son will add you into the Berkshire brood soon enough. Speaking of which, what is your ring size, dear?”

Never in his life had Enzo felt so mortified. It was one thing to have the adults mistake you for a couple, but to have his mother imply marriage was an entirely different beast. One that Enzo had no plans of tackling tonight. 

“That’s our cue for a dance. I think you’ve kept our gracious host long enough, mum.” 

His mother started to protest until his father placed an arm around her shoulder. “Now, now, my love. Let the children be. Plenty of time to discuss serious matters during Y/N’s next visit, which we hope will be soon. Our grand piano has been feeling a bit neglected lately and we have missed your lovely rendition of the classics.”

“Well we certainly can’t have your Steinway sit idle for too long. I promise to come by for tea before term starts.” You kissed both of his parents on the cheek. A friendly gesture that he had never seen them engage in with any of his friends. “It’s always a pleasure, Helene and Henry. Now if you’ll excuse us, Lorenzo and I are about to put those waltz lessons to good use.”

Enzo’s father clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let this young lady get away, Lorenzo.”

The tips of Enzo’s ears went positively red as his parents departed. “Sorry about that. I’ve tried to tell them that we aren’t dating, but as you can see, it’s fallen on deaf ears.” 

You grinned, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “It’s alright. I truly don’t mind. Your parents are quite charming. Clearly you inherited that trait.” You rubbed at the kiss print you left behind and giggled. “Now, I believe you promised me a dance, Mr. Berkshire.” 

Enzo smiled, his arm already circling around your waist. “I always keep my promises, Ms. Y/L/N. Prepare to be swept off your feet, love.” 

Time seemed to still as Enzo escorted you onto the dancefloor. You beamed at him, curtsying with a silly grin while he bowed in return. The two of you waltzed together as the live musicians played a soft and slow tune. Enzo couldn’t help but admire you as you twirled around in your pretty lilac dress. A few curls fell out from your updo, sweeping against your rosy cheeks while you fell into step with him. As he held you tightly against him, Enzo hoped to Merlin that the music was loud enough to drown out the rapid beating in his chest. 

Deny it as he may, Enzo knew deep down that his heart only beat for you anyways. 

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. Ever the gracious host, you personally said goodbye to each guest until the last person left the manor. Given the late hour, you insisted that Enzo stay the night, a request that was quickly turned into a command by your parents. They adored Enzo as much as you did, perhaps even more. Though he doubted that their affection would remain the same if they knew the filthy thoughts that plagued him every time he stayed over. 

“C’mon, Enz,” you said, tugging at his hand. “Last person up the stairs has to pick up croissants in the morning!”

Enzo chuckled before breaking into a sprint. You squealed as he gained in on you, gathering your dress up in your hands while slipping your heels off and making a run for it. You nearly tripped on the taffeta, but luckily Enzo caught you around the waist and hauled you over his shoulder. 

“I guess we both lose, honey.” 

You giggled as Enzo marched into your room before discarding you gently on the four poster bed. He smiled as you sprawled out on the mattress and dragged him down beside you. Scooting up against the pillows, Enzo traced the initials that the two of you carved against your bedpost when you were ten. 

“Do you remember the day we carved those in?” 

Enzo nodded. “The summer before our first year at Hogwarts.” He smiled as he recalled the memory. “We were both so scared of being sorted into different houses, but you said that if we carved our initials together, then nothing would be able to separate us.” 

“Mum and dad were furious,” you said with a chuckle. “But it was worth it. Ten years later and it still stands true. If we’re lucky, it’ll last for an eternity.” 

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Enzo declared. “I’d still be by your side even when the carvings fade.” 

You smiled softly and turned over to face him. Enzo brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, those honey eyes flickering with emotion. “Do you really think so? What about when we both get married? I don’t think your wife would appreciate me hanging around, Enz.” 

“That won’t be a problem,” Enzo countered confidently. 

You traced over his dimple, memorizing the feel of his skin underneath your fingertips. “How can you be so sure?” you teased. 

“Because you’re the only one I could ever picture myself marrying.” 

The gravity of his words settled between you. Enzo almost wished he could take it back if not for the relief that flooded his entire body now that he had spoken his true feelings out loud. After years of silence and patience, of pining and anticipating, of hands shaking from holding back from you, Enzo felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

Whether or not you returned the sentiment mattered very little to him. All Enzo knew was that he loved you and he could no longer sit here and pretend that you weren’t carved into his heart and soul like a golden tattoo. 

“Lorenzo,” you whispered softly. If it were anyone else, Enzo would’ve loathed hearing his full name, but the moment you said it, everything just stopped. “I don’t want you like a best friend.” 

His heart stopped beating. “Do you mean that, Y/N?” 

“Of course I mean it,” you affirmed. “You’re my favorite person. You’re not only my best friend, but you’re my lifeline. We’ve seen each other through the best and worst of times and somehow we haven’t grown sick of each other and I don’t think we ever will. You’re the only person I see myself marrying too, Enzo. You’re my one and only.” 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he whispered softly, noses brushing close. “Though it’s not nearly as long as I’ve waited to do this.” 

You held your breath as Enzo leaned forward, closing the gap between you. The space that signified the boundary of your friendship was nearly nonexistent now, filled with longing looks and shaking hands. Your eyes fluttered close as soon as your lips met. 

With a shaky exhale, you melted into Enzo’s arms as he clutched you close. One hand weaved around your waist while the other cupped your jaw. You sighed into the kiss, relishing the feel of his lips against yours. Enzo tasted like champagne, making you dizzy with the sweetness as he deepened the kiss. You giggled as Enzo tugged you into his lap, tracing your fingers over the initials on the headboard before tangling them in his hair. 

The feel of Enzo was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. This was your best friend. You knew every scar and mole and freckle by heart, but the soft sighs and plush lips were an entirely new experience that you longed to explore. 

“I wish you hadn’t waited so long,” you whispered against his lips. “We could’ve been doing this all along.” 

“We have all the time in the world to make up for it, my love.” Enzo caressed your cheek with such tenderness that it made your heart ache. “Do you even know how hard it’s been to hold myself back? How many times I’ve had to physically restrain myself from kissing the breath right out of you this night alone?” 

“You’re not alone in that. You look so damn good in that suit, it should honestly be considered a crime.”

Enzo chuckled as you straightened his lapel. “If this suit is a crime, then that dress would land you a cell in Azkaban. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the entire night.” 

“Good,” you said with a cheeky smile. “I only bought this dress so you could take it off.” 

Those innocent honey brown eyes darkened as Enzo toyed with the strap of your dress, kissing every bit of exposed skin available to him. “Allow me to do this properly, then. Now that I have you, I intend to savor every smile, every touch, and every kiss you give me.” 

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as Enzo tugged at the laces of your dress, carefully unraveling you like his own personal gift. He helped you wriggle out of the purple fabric, sliding the dress down over your body with such gentleness and care. Your lips met once more as you slid off his jacket, your fingers making quick work of the button shirt underneath as well. When both of your clothes were piled up on your bedroom floor, Enzo lifted his head up to properly look at you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he drank in the sight before him. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Enzo breathed, his voice full of awe and wonder. He tugged at the ribbons in your hair, setting your curls free. 

Tenderly, Enzo laid you back on the mattress and captured your lips with his. As promised, he took his time exploring every inch of your body. Slender fingers caressed your skin, eliciting satisfied sighs while Enzo lavished you with kisses. He groaned as your fingers tangled through his hair, pulling him impossibly close until you couldn’t tell where you began and he ended. 

You moved as one, the trust and care evident between you and Enzo. He knew you better than anyone. Knew all the quirks and flaws and oddities that made you you. Enzo knew how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to look at you in a way that made you feel like he truly saw you. 

Enzo pressed his forehead against yours. “We don’t have to rush. I’m perfectly content to wait until you’re ready.” 

It was sweet and such an incredibly Enzo thing to say. Even after waiting all this time, all he cared about was that you were comfortable. 

“I think we’ve both had our fill of waiting.” You smiled up at him, cradling his jaw. He leaned into your touch like he was savoring every bit of affection he could get. “I’ve never felt more ready for anything in my life. I trust you more than I trust myself. I love you, Lorenzo Berkshire.” 

The smile on Enzo’s face was blinding. It was like feeling the sunshine on your skin after years in darkness. It was golden. 

“I love you too, Y/N.” Enzo confessed. “I think I’ve loved you even before I knew what love was.” 

“My one and only,” you whispered, peppering kisses along his jaw. “My lifeline.” 

With heartbreaking gentleness, Enzo wrapped your legs around his waist. Honey eyes latched onto yours as he hovered over you, his astute gaze flickering over your face as he eased into you. Enzo was slow and gentle, giving you time to adjust to his size and brushing your hair out of your face while lavishing you with luxurious kisses. You moaned into his mouth as his hips met yours, feeling full and content, like joining your bodies together in this way was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Look at me, honey. I want to see those pretty eyes.” 

Your eyes opened to the most beautiful sight. The candlelit room cast a hazy glow over everything, bathing Enzo with its soft golden light. Your chest tightened as you admired him, fingertips grazing the curve of his jaw, the angles of his cheekbones, the cheeky dimples that you loved so much, the perfect aquiline nose, and the dark lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes. In the dim light, they looked like pools of honey and you felt like a fly swimming in liquid gold. 

“You’re beautiful too, Enzo. Like a work of art,” you beamed as he flushed. “My pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that, sweetheart. Not unless you want this to be finished quicker than it started.” 

You chuckled. “Is that so? Have I found your weakness?”

Enzo groaned, shifting his hips in a way that had you moaning underneath him. “You are my weakness, my love.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and rolling your hips against his. “Show me how weak I make you, pretty boy.” 

The precarious thread of self control that Enzo was desperately holding onto snapped. With a roll of his hips, he set a pace that had you clawing at the sheets. He chuckled darkly as you clambered for control, nails raking at his back before finding purchase in his hair. You tugged hard, desperate for more. 

“Oh god, Enzo.” You moaned as he slammed into you, feeling boneless as he silenced your sounds with a filthy kiss. 

“You wanted to see what you do to me?” Enzo teased, gripping your hips to hold you in place while he slid all the way out. The head of his cock barely brushed your cunt and you ached to feel all of him again. You whimpered in response as he teased you, taunted you. “You drive me fucking insane, Y/N. I think about this, every second of every day. You’re all I want. You’re all I need.” 

“So have me,” you breathed. “Have all of me, Enzo.” 

You groaned as Enzo slammed back in. It felt good to be full of him. It felt right. You murmured as much into his mouth, canting your hips to his as he raised your arms above your head and twined your fingers together. In that moment, there was nothing in the world but you and Enzo—the boy you loved making love to you. 

Despite the lust swimming in his eyes, something softer reared from underneath the surface. A look that Enzo had given you countless times over the years. A look that was pure love and adoration. Your heart swelled as you squeezed his fingers. 

“I love it when you look at me like that,” you whispered.

“Like you’re my whole world?” Enzo murmured against your lips. “You are, you know.” 

You kissed him, slow and deep. “You’re mine, too.” 

“Don’t take those pretty eyes off of me, honey.” Enzo said as he pushed your body to the brink of pleasure. “I want to watch you come apart for me.” 

“Together?” you asked, brushing the hair out of his eyes. 

“Always,” he responded. 

Enzo pressed your forehead against his, slipping past the edge with you and indulging in the sweet ecstasy of your bodies fitting perfectly together. The orgasm rocked over you first and you panted into Enzo’s mouth as he watched in awe. His own pleasure took over after a few more thrusts, your name falling sweetly from his lips as he chased the high. 

Neither one of you made any indication of moving. You were content feeling the full weight of Enzo’s blissed out body on top of yours, smiling to yourself as you ran your fingers through his hair. He sighed happily against your neck and cuddled closer. 

Enzo took your hand and kissed your fingertips. He intertwined them through his, squeezing gently as he examined your hand. 

“Four and a half.” 

“Hmm?” 

“That’s your ring size, isn’t it? I’ll have to tell mum. We’ll need to get her engagement ring resized.”

You chuckled. “Engagement ring? You haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet. Now you want to jump to being my fiancé?” 

“Well, girlfriend is certainly not strong enough to describe who you are to me,” He said, kissing your ring finger. “I prefer the love of my life. My future wife and the mother of my children. Though I suppose I’ll settle for fiancé.” 

“Will you at least let me get used to calling you my boyfriend first?” 

“Fine,” Enzo huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You can call me your boyfriend. For now.” 

“How generous of you, Mr. Berkshire.” 

You grinned and pulled him in for a kiss. Enzo nuzzled his nose against yours, looking down at you with those innocent honey eyes. “I’ll show the future Mrs. Berkshire how generous I can be. Then you’ll be calling me your husband in no time.” 

“I like the sound of that, pretty boy.” 

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

every online judaica store ever:

"your package has been delivered! it will either be in a literal trash bag or so much packaging youll wonder if we even want you to have this item"

"your purchasing habits have shown that your income is low. here's a ring for 1000 USD encrusted with diamonds. this seems like a reasonable thing to advertise to you"

"we have seen no proof you have a baby or any children at all. would you like items for toddlers now?"

"you just bought a new tallit! would you like 15 more?"

"this tanach is so small that only a bug could possibly read it. the next size up is only a few centimeters larger and costs 50 USD more"

"we firmly do not believe in making reading easier for anyone. this is why none of our books have a table of contents, index, and the font size changes 5 times per page."

"here are some nice kippot! also heres the ugliest kippah you've ever seen in case you wanted that too"

"the buttons on this site technically work and we think that's good enough. they dont work well but that's your problem, not ours"

[lntheconservatory]

Here's an interesting fact for you: Carolyn Jones, who played Morticia Addams in the popular TV series "The Addams Family," wore a ring on set that only cost 6 dollars. According to her husband, Peter Bailey Britton, one of Carolyn's close friends was interested in the ring, thinking it was made of diamonds. Despite its low cost, the ring was a unique piece of jewelry that added to Carolyn's distinctive style as the beloved matriarch of the Addams family.

[seongwave]

⎙  » hidden agendas

pairing : lee woojin x kang!oc

synopsis : taunting the taboo couple.

warning : lowercase intended. not proofread. revenge. mentions of pedophilia. implied nsfw. usage of korean words.

a/n : a continuation of vengeance ?? and to the anon in my inbox, i definitely agree with you ! we need more hierarchy fics !

observing as their teacher strolled with a new hermes sack was a sight to see for chae. she was doing her best not to chuckle at how proud their pedophile teacher was, flaunting it.

'hmm, let's see,' chae thought as she planned things in her mind.

sitting on a stool at the bar in the private club known among the certain group of friends, chae patiently waited for a man to take the bait.

'well, that wasn't so hard,' chae thought, smiling slightly as she felt the next stool beside her become occupied by a certain man.

"never saw you around here before, what's your name?" woojin asked after ordering a drink, observing the girl next to him.

"chae laurent, pleased to meet you, mr.?" chae held out a hand, smiling slightly and batting her eyes at the man. seducing her target.

"lee woojin, a delight" woojin greeted her, holding her hand and kissing the back of it while tenderly caressing it, feeling like he had ensnared the girl when in reality, it was the opposite.

events unfolded and they found themselves in woojin's studio. bodies was shared throughout the night.

the ringing of a phone stirred them awake, with chae being the first to rise and woojin just stirring. noticing the caller's name, H, she smirked slightly and chose to answer the call.

"woojin? where are you?" their worried teacher's voice came from the phone. chae wanted to answer, but a hand stopped her from speaking.

woojin snatched the phone from her grasp and hung up the call. he questioned her in frustration, "why would you do that?"

"I picked up the phone when it was ringing for a long time, assuming it was urgent," chae replied, acting naively. "but why is ms. han calling you so early in the morning?" she asked, trying to provoke him.

"It's not your concern," woojin said gruffly, trying to leave, but chae stopped him and pushed him onto the bed. "why are you getting so agitated?" chae asked as her hands explored his body, their eyes locked. and bare bodies pressed against each other.

"it's not a big deal," woojin averted his gaze, while chae chuckled. "aww, you're adorable, you think I'm clueless?" chae teased, smirking as she caught him off guard.

"oh bunny, how could a teacher like her possibly have enough money for a hermes bag?" she teased as she moved closer to his face, her hands exploring his cheeks. "i also saw you both entering the art room, just so you know," she laughed. "just what happens there" she added, smirking widely.

woojin attempted to move her aside but chae caught him off guard by connecting their lips. despite the surprise, woojin reciprocated the kiss as chae drew him in closer. pulling way, chae started putting on her clothes when woojin asked, "what do you want to keep you silent?"

"hmm, don't fret, you have accomplished enough," chae said with a smile. what he didn't know she had placed cameras around his habitat. and stole a copy of the spy cam from the pen.

in the school hallway, a sophisticated lady and a cheap girl faces each other. "ms. chae, would you be open to having a conversation?" asked the teacher.

chae chuckled when she felt the woman's fear and craving for blood, "there's no need to talk, teacher," she said with a smile. "actually, there is. please come with me," she said, grabbing her arms, which chae dismissed.

"If you don't remove your hands off of me, I will shove my fucking mouawad diamond purse into your low-cost rear end, teach."

masterlist !

[chloesolace]

The Last Great Wizarding Dynasty - Lucius Malfoy x Reader

summary: After Lucius and Narcissa get divorced, he enters a marriage with a younger witch from France. However, the low social status of her family, despite their pureblood status, as well as her lifestyle do not please the British wizarding elite, and soon she finds herself at the center of merciless gossip. However, she soon realizes that her new husband is not as uncaring about as he might seem.

pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: age gap, handjob (f receiving), praise kink

a/n: Another contribution to my Taylor Swift series, where I write one-shots based on Taylor's songs. This story is based on The Last Great American Dynasty.

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

And they said, "There goes the last great American Dynasty Who knows, if she never showed up what could've been There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything"

Curious eyes followed you as you hurried through the foyer of Malfoy Manor, a wine glass in hand that threatened to spill with each step you took. Your long gown was made of a dark blue material, hugging your figure tightly yet not in a way that would be suffocating. You saw out of the corner of your eyes how curious heads followed you, accompanied by muffled chatter you only occasionally understood. 

“Scandalous, is it not? How she walks through this house as if it was hers”, a female voice said, dripping with disapproval. 

“It is hers, Margaret,” another voice remarked, this one male. “From today on, officially.”

You tried to shut out their voices as you raised your glass to your lips, the bittersweetness of the wine filling your mouth while you entered the dining room. The large table at the center had been set by house elves prior to the event, and many guests were sitting at it, dining and chatting with laughter filling the air. 

Standing in the door for a moment, you exhaled, letting your eyes wander over the scene. These were your guests now as much as they were his, and though you did not have many connections within the British pureblood elite, you tried your best to make a good impression. Despite the foul tongues. 

Your husband sat at the end of the dining table, overseeing all the other seats, when he noticed you standing there, a little helpless which was more apparent than you had wanted it to be. Your family never hosted events like these, most were intimate and familial if anything. Today, you had to entertain almost eighty guests. 

“There she is”, Lucius Malfoy said, silencing the chatter around him as he lifted his own wine glass towards you. “Come and join me, my dear.” 

You looked at the few dozen eyes scanning you and tried to ignore the whispers that followed as you made your way towards Lucius, hoping to Merlin you would not trip and fall then and there. You had always been rather clumsy, and though it had never bothered you much in the wild, tumultuous life that Paris offered. No one had noticed before, and no one had cared either. Here, at Malfoy Manor, the slightest mistake might come at the cost of respect.

When you reached Lucius, you stood next to him, resting your free hand in his as he remained seated. You overlooked the grand dining table, seeing how the guests stared at you expectantly. Some were focused on the diamond ring on your finger, reflecting the chandelier’s light, while others looked at your face and you hoped your nervousness was not all that visible. You were expected to say a few words, you just needed a moment to find them. 

“Thank you all for coming to our first formal outing as a married couple,” you began, tightening the grip around your wine glass so it would not slip from your fingers. Your gaze briefly dropped to Lucius, who did not meet your eyes. Swallowing, you continued, “it is an honor to stand here as the new Mrs Malfoy. Food and drinks will be available to you all evening, and our entertainment for tonight should arrive any minute. We hope you will enjoy this evening, and thank you for being here.” 

Raising your glass higher, you smiled at the gathered as they did the same. As if on cue, loud music began playing from another room; you had hired a band from Paris to play. They were prevalent amongst the young, French wizarding community, but in England barely anyone had heard of them. Some of the elderly guests gave each other curious looks when the music started playing, but you looked away when you felt Lucius pull your hand up to his lips. You looked down at him, eyes locked with his. 

“You should get to know some of our guests better,” he said in a low voice so only you could hear, his breath tickling your hand. “I will find you later.” 

Before he let go, he planted a soft kiss on the back of your hand, the only form of tenderness he had ever shown you. Sighing, you turned around and left the dining hall, painfully aware of the eyes staring at you, waiting to make a mistake. They reminded you of vultures circling above a dying animal before the inevitable happened and they could feast on it. 

You greeted the people you saw, offering them warm smiles, and practiced politeness. Even as you were conversing with an older couple that seemed quite lovely, it was hard not to overhear the humiliating comments made by some of the more disapproving guests. 

“Yes, already spending the Malfoy family fortune, I heard,” a woman said disapprovingly, and it was all you could focus on despite the friendly conversation partner. “And goodness, this loud music is giving me a headache. Please excuse me.”

Bitter about what you had overheard, you took a sip of your wine and hoped the evening would be over soon. 

Later that night, you slipped into your nightgown in the master bedroom, lips stained from red wine and muscles aching. Letting out a groan, you sank into the soft sheets, the material feeling more luxurious than anything you had ever touched before. You have been living at Malfoy Manor for a while now, but only called the master bedroom yours for a few days. 

The wedding seemed so far away now. You remember looking at your aunt’s proud face right before you said vows that were pre-written and void of passion. Many decades ago, your family had reveled in glory but ever since your great-great-grandfather gambled away all the Bezants your family possessed, all that it was left with was a surname associated with greed and blood that once flowed through noble veins.

You turned your head to the side, looking out the window at the dark woods surrounding the manor. It was so different from the rush of the city. So quiet. 

A shiver ran down your spine and you sat up on the bed, wrapping your arms around your upper body. The manor was so big, and you were alone in it with only your husband, whose late hours prevented him from keeping you company, and since his son was away at Hogwarts, you were left with a handful of house-elves who barely spoke to you. It was frightening. 

“I see you’re comfortable.”

Lucius stood in the doorway, still dressed in his formal wear as he looked at you, lips barely curled up into a smile. You had to look twice to see if it was even there. 

“I’m rather tired after tonight,” you said, pulling the blanket over yourself a bit. You had not slept in the same bed for long and still felt some shame with him seeing you so vulnerable. It wasn’t like you had never been intimate with a man, but they had mostly been flings, heavily influenced by intoxication and touch starvation. This man, however, was your husband, whom you’d married out of duty to restore some honor to your family.

He hummed in response, letting his gaze drift through the room before settling on you again. For a moment, he seemed unsure what to say, before he parted his lips to speak. 

“I will have Feepy bring you some chamomile tea. You should rest, I might still be awake for quite a while so you do not need to wait for me.”

You nodded slowly and smiled faintly as you watched him pull the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the large room, with nothing but the vastness of the forest outside to keep you company. 

—

Loud music filled the hallways of Malfoy Manor, dancing witches, and wizards exchanging drinks and gazes as a female voice sang in French to the fast melody. In the midst of it, house elves were offering drinks on platters and you were standing by the side, chatting with one of your friends you knew back from when you had been a student at Beauxbatons. Louis was a young, handsome wizard who worked for the Ministry in Paris and was currently enjoying one of the wines Lucius had offered you for tonight. 

“Where is your husband, anyway?” Asked Louis in English out of politeness towards the English witch who had joined you a while ago. It was too loud to have an actual conversation, so you simply took a sip from your drink and shrugged your shoulders before signaling you’d retreat for a while. 

Drink in hand, you swayed to the music and greeted the guests you hadn’t yet, laughing and hugging people you hadn’t seen in ages. Finally, after days spent in this cold, large mansion you felt alive again, and less scared of what lay in the woods. 

When you passed the entrance door briefly, you heard knocking coming from the other side, which was mostly swallowed by the music. You stopped, blinking the intoxication away before opening the large door, aided by the door’s enchantment since it would usually be way too heavy for you to open alone. 

On the other side stood two elderly women with angry expressions. They were wearing dark clothing, and you recognized one of them from the event Lucius and you had hosted a few weeks ago. 

“Can I help you?” You asked as you stepped into the November evening air, pulling the door shut behind you so you had some quiet to talk, but the music could still be heard, it just sounded more distant. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” one of them said, her voice dismissive. “We live in the town nearby and want you to turn down the music this instant.” You knew what town they were talking about; it was close and filled with large houses owned by rich wizarding families of high status. It was quite small, too, almost too small to call it a town. 

“It is awfully loud,” the woman continued, “no doubt magically amplified. This is the third time in two weeks that we have been robbed of sleep and peace.”

You blinked. You had made sure to always host parties on weekends only, and were unsure how they would even be able to hear it, despite it being indeed magically amplified. Nevertheless, you wanted to be polite to them, so you smiled, took out your wand, and turned the music down with a flick of it. There were some annoyed reactions from inside the house, but you focused on the women in front of you. 

“Of course,” you said with a forced smile. “My apologies.” 

The women scoffed and exchanged a glance before the one you did not recognize said, “It better stay that way now.” 

They gave you another look before both turned around and vanished by portkey, leaving you sighing in the cold November air. There was no way they could have heard the music, but for some reason, they seemed to leech onto every opportunity they got to criticize or gossip about you. As if you were some social experiment they were only waiting to fail. 

“(y/n),” you heard Lucius say behind you, the music briefly increasing in volume as he opened the door, before shutting it again. “What was this about?”

“Lucius,” you said in surprise, blinking a few times. He usually liked to stay upstairs in an enchanted soundproof room during one of your parties, and you had not been expecting him to come out. “They just asked me to turn the music down.” 

“Did they.” He contemplated the words for a few moments, before locking eyes with you again. You noticed how he had bound his hair back. You had not seen him wear it like this before, but you somehow preferred it open, it suited him better in your opinion. 

“Well,” he continued, “I will return to my study. If you need anything, Feepy will be available to you.” 

“Right. Feepy,” you replied, watching as he vanished behind the door again, leaving it open for you to follow him inside, which you only did after taking one last look at the path leading away from the manor, where Lucius’ white peacocks slept with their heads hidden behind their feathers. 

Your guests left at around half past one, and you helped the house elves clean even though they kept reassuring you that you did not have to. Still, you felt bad about it, but you were feeling extremely tired, so you excused yourself and climbed the stairs towards the first floor. Already dreaming of the soft sheets that would envelop you soon, you noticed light coming from Lucius’ study, and stopped in front of it. 

After knocking gently, you pushed it open a bit and stepped into the room. It was filled with bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling, and a large desk in the center with a lamp. Lucius was sitting in his chair, a quill in his hand with which he wrote something into a book before him. His handwriting was quite elegant, you could tell even from that far away. 

When he looked up at you, your eyes met and you felt a faint shiver run down your spine. 

“(y/n). Did the guests leave?” 

You closed the door behind you, brushing some lint off your dress. “They did,” you replied as you looked at him with tired eyes. Lucius leaned back in his seat, placing the quill down on the desk. 

“Why do you tire yourself out with these affairs? You barely even seem to enjoy them.” 

You furrowed your brows, unsure where he got the idea that you did not enjoy your own parties. Back in Paris you had visited and hosted countless ones, and had never felt more alive each time. 

“Why do you say that?” You asked, crossing your arms as you began walking through the room, taking a long look at the bookshelf next to the door instead of meeting his eye. The leatherbound books seemed quite old, some of them had faded golden letters while others had clearly been read over and over again. 

“You smile at your friends yet it fades the moment they turn away. You are never hosting without a drink in your hand. Your eyes are tired.” Stopping in your tracks, you swallowed, not aware that he had been observing you. Or that he had even left his study at all during any of your celebrations. “It is like you are afraid of being alone.” 

Your jaw clenched and you turned your head to look at him again. He was still sitting in his chair, elbows leaning on the desk with his head resting on his intertwined fingers. Even now, you felt like he was studying you. 

“Why do you let me host these parties?” You asked, avoiding his deduction. “It is not like you particularly enjoy them yourself.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched and he exhaled deeply, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back again. 

“This is your home now, too, (y/n). I see no reason to keep you from your pleasures, and though I know this marriage is far from ideal I hope it will not become an unhappy one.” 

You bit the inner of your cheek while you listened to him, gaze dropping to the expensive carpet you were standing on, contemplating whether to tell him what had been burning on your tongue for a few minutes now. Sighing, you took a step towards the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“When I was a child, my mother and I were gathering herbs in the forest. She was a very talented witch when it comes to potions.” You cleared your throat, trying to contain the hint of panic arising in your chest as memories resurfaced. “She was sick. Something was not quite right with her head, I don’t know the specifics but she left me there. In the woods. Alone. I had never been so terrified in my life. Even after I was found by my aunt, and my mother sent away somewhere, I bore the scars of that experience. When it is quiet, and no one is around I feel… unsafe. I do not know how else to describe it. So I moved to Paris, a city that never sleeps, after I graduated from Beauxbatons four years ago. I did not stay there for very long, of course, because now I am here.” You looked up at him, seeing that he had been intently listening this whole time. “With a husband who barely looks at me and spends all his time in his study,” you added a bit breathlessly. 

Lucius pursed his lips, gray eyes flickering between yours, before he finally rose from his chair and walked around his desk until he stood directly before you. You blinked at him, unsure how he would react to what you had said. 

“You are a young, bright witch, (y/n),” he began, and by looking up at him you were reminded just how much taller he was than you. “I wanted to let you keep your freedom, but perhaps freedom was not what you needed after all.” 

As he said that, his gaze dropped to your lips and you inhaled sharply, your cheeks turning pink. Lucius took a step towards you, and you uncrossed your arms in response. Your heartbeat increased, and for some reason,  you could not look away from him, no matter how hard you tried. 

“What I need,” you whispered, inhaling the scent of his leather coat, “is someone who is there for me.” 

He raised a hand to touch your cheek but stopped mid-air as if he was contemplating whether he should. You saw his eyes shift to the wedding band on his finger, which was different from the one you were wearing only in size. Eyes narrowing slightly in thought, he looked back at you and brushed your cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. 

You parted your lips, embarrassed about how you reacted to this gentle touch when you had been sleeping next to this man for weeks now, yet it had still always been rather lonely. 

“Lucius-” You said, but he cut you off by pressing his thumb to your soft lips, his hold on your cheek becoming more dominant as he pulled you towards him. You gasped as your chest was suddenly pressed to his, head tilted towards him. 

“I have been wanting to do this for some time, but I did not want to overstep,” he whispered, and you felt the vibrations of his voice against your chest. 

“Well, I am your wife,” you replied as you looked up at him. “Perhaps you should start treating me like one, too.” 

You did not have to say another word before Lucius placed both hands on your cheeks and pulled you up into a hungry kiss, which you returned after a few seconds, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You had dreamed of this, truth be told. Each night that you had laid next to him you had played with the thought of curling up to him, especially when the wind was howling outside, or the woods looked particularly dark. 

All of it was forgotten, however, when he let his hands slide down your body until they reached the back of your thighs underneath your skirt, which he grabbed to lift you from the ground. You held on tightly to him, hands playing with the bow holding his hair together in the nape of his neck until it fell loose to the ground, unbinding his long platinum hair. You buried your hands in it, breaking the kiss only to gasp for air. Especially, when you suddenly felt the bookshelf in your back. The smell of the leather they were bound in reached your nose. It was a smell you had long begun to associate with him. 

His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your bare skin as he started tracing your jawline with his lips, planting kisses mixed with nibbles that made you shiver. Lucius gently let you down on the floor again, leaving one hand on the small of your back as the other slid up your thigh, stopping only when it reached the sensitive spot between your legs. 

You let out a soft moan when his fingers started tracing small circles over your sensitive flesh, separated from it only by the fabric of your underwear. Throwing your head back against the bookshelf, you moaned his name, which made him increase his pace. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice raspy and deep. There was an authority in his voice that said he would not appreciate defiance. 

“Lucius,” you complied, opening your eyes to gaze into his just as he pushed the fabric aside and buried two fingers deep inside you, earning a loud gasp from you that made him smirk. 

“Good girl.” 

You bit your bottom lip, hair sticking to your forehead as a thin layer of sweat formed there. You suddenly felt extremely hot, and you did not know whether it was the fireplace on the other side of the room, or him, or perhaps a mixture of both. 

“Perhaps tonight, we shall do more than simply sleep,” he whispered directly in your ear, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, which made you unable to respond properly. You only managed to hum in agreement, while his free hand found its way to one of your breasts, cupping and kneading it. 

As you reached your climax, you held onto his shoulders tightly since your legs threatened to give in. You were breathing fast, unable to properly process what had just happened while Lucius removed his hand from underneath your skirt, covered in your slick. 

“I fear you will be even more tired tomorrow morning than you are right now,” he said, tracing the edge of your lip with his finger, allowing you to taste yourself if you wished so. “But I will see to it that your future nights will be calm and that you can rest easy.” 

Lucius took a step away from you, nodding at you once before turning to leave. “I hope to see you in our bedchamber soon," he said, before shutting the door behind him.

Wizarding high society was only waiting for your marriage to fail, you were sure of that. But you were also sure that you would ruin their malicious hopes, and kill their rudeness with grace.

Who knows, if I never showed up what could've been There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen I had a marvelous time ruining everything

[bullet-prooflove]

Proposing: Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby@hufflepuffgirl@mimi-8793

Based on an ask about how Sean, Dean, Alden & Dwayne would recieved from my babe @mandy426. Each one of these got really long so I decided to publish them as individual posts.

With Dean, the whole thing is a whirlwind romance. He falls completely in love with you from the first time you spent the night together, your bring out the fun side of him, something that died long before his first marriage did. His rough edges get softer and his world a little brighter. His mornings are spent tangled up in you, his evenings full of happiness and laugher.

Never in a million years did he envision getting married again after what happened with Leanne but he starts to think about it, he thinks about it a lot especially after that accident in the morgue. He knows how head injuries can go, how close he could have come to losing you.

He starts to visit jewellers looking for the perfect ring but it takes a long time to find it. He doesn’t know what specifically he has in mind but he knows instinctively what you wouldn’t want. You’re a practical person and everything he comes across is too gaudy, too loud, too glittery. He’s on his way to Molly’s when he comes across the small pop-up boutique, he walks past the window and there it is, staring him straight in the face. A silver wave band, set with tiny diamonds. It doesn’t cost him much but that’s not the point. He knows the instant you lay eyes on this ring you’ll love it.

Dean spends weeks trying to plan the perfect proposal but he gets caught up on all the different scenarios. Nothing seems to fit. You’re a low key person, demure. The idea of something like that would be a nightmare for you.  He decides to go simple, personal.

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed and a white rose on Dean’s pillowcase. It’s a symbol of dedication, deep affection and genuine love. There’s a white ribbon affixed to it, threaded through a silver ring. You smile as you pick it up, inhaling the scent from the delicate petals. Dean watches from the doorway before he sits down on the bed, he unties the bow attached to the stem before he takes your hand in his and slides the ring onto your finger.

“Will you?” He asks, his voice a little rough.

“Yes.” You whisper before kissing him.

The two of you spend the rest of the morning in bed celebrating.

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[cl00udyyanan]

gotta get back to you

⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.}───── ⊰

synopsis: you threaten to leave him and he realizes he loves you too much to let you go

warnings: mentions of cheating (no actual cheating), mentions of swearing, crying, mentions of proposing

characters: kaeya

notes: i've never wrote anything like this before so i hope it's okay, i've had this idea for a while and i didn't know how to go about it since this is based off a song (gotta get back by p1harmony) i hope it's alright and im sure there are places i could improve but i think it's okay, enjoy!

kaeya hated fights, especially when they invovled you. fights always ended up with him losing something or someone. he knew the costs, thats why he hardly engaged in bickering with you, simply shutting you down by walking away or adhering to your wishes. it was far easier to give into your wants than to stand up for what he believed in those arguments.

yet this one just got to him. you yelling at him for coming home late for the fifth day in a row. accusing him of seeing someone else, you thought that low of him and yours relationship? so him coming home at an untimely manner made him a cheater. that hurt him the most. he acted like a child by turning you away and tuning you out.

what he didn't realise was the pure concern you had for him. everyday he came home he was drunk and would barely make it in the door way. he was letting himself go slowly and you had no idea why. what was causing him to drink so wrecklessly that he couldn't talk to you about? he was stubborn, so stupidly stubborn. all you could do was scream at him.

"you never listen!" "you go off without a word" "all i wanted was for you to comeback home!" his back was turned to you while you yelled. hands covering his ears. he didn't want to fight with you. he knew how it would end. you'd leave him. like everone else. "archons! I cant do this anymore" you're face was steaming, tears burned down your cheeks, your heart stung like kaeya had thrown a knife straight at it. he didn't say anything back to you, he didn't have the courage to see the hurt on your face.

it wasn't until l it had gotten dead silent kaeya finally decided to turn around. you were headed towards the front door, the thud of the door closing behind you. his hands balled up, eyes wide and watery. everything he wanted to say had evaded him and you weren't there. he should've listened to you, made it right and told you the truth. no he wasn't cheating he'd never, he'd been working more hours saving up to buy you the beautiful diamond ring he'd dream of proposing to you with. those nights he'd come home drunk were filled with doubt. would you even say yes? was all his late nights gonna be worth it if you deny him his love?

he wanted to pull you back through the hurt and swaddle you in a warm hug while he kiss your lips so gently. his apartment was so lifeless without you and he was alone once again with nothing but his thoughts as company. archons he hated his thoughts. the way they surrounded him in hatred and loathing, reminding him of all his regrets and past mistakes that would eat him up. he knew that without you he wouldn't have someone to catch his hand and lift him from the abyss he was descending towards. he had to get back to you.

he swung the door open leading out to bitter outside. kaeya he made his way to you, grabbing your arm and swaddling you into a warm hug, defeating the swirling winter around the both. you tried to shove him back, but his strong arm wrapped around your waist denied you any movement. yet, he didn't hurt you or try to fight back after all the horrible words you hurled at him. he simply held you in this chilling winter. his lips gingerly pecking the side of your neck while his free hand laid in the valley of your hair. his hold was tight as if he were scared you'd disappear if he let go.

small meaningful words were whispered from him into you ear.

"i know i'm not perfect"

"and i've hurt your heart before"

"i just wanna love you"

"forever endlessly"

"please don't leave"

how could you say no to him when he asked so sweetly? you wrap your arms around his waist, cheeks resting on his chest. "please forgive me."

in the burr, you find solace in the warmth of your lover. forgiving him and loving him once more, forever endlessly.

⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.}───── ⊰

[levans44]

Damage Control - Chapter 2

11:03 pm, Yesterday

Pathetic.

Not only was she pitifully on time to the party, but it was also painfully obvious just how much attention she had paid to her appearance. The last time she had spent this much time getting ready was for the giant annual SHIELD fundraiser last year.

She stopped just short of the entrance to Tony’s house, letting out a breath and smoothing down the front of her gown — a satin slip dress, rich navy shimmer. Low dip at the neck, tight around her hips before cascading down her legs with a luxurious sheen. Sparkly diamond earrings and necklace to match. Shiny black heels. The whole ensemble had cost her a fortune and a half.

To top it all off, she had managed to create an elaborate updo, spending hours trying to perfect it down to the last curl. Brushing a few strands out of her face, she peered up at the familiar yet still intimidating doors of Tony’s mansion. It stared back down at her with all its grandiosity, polished glass and gleaming gold daring her to enter.

Her staring contest with the door didn’t last long however, as she heard a line of cheerful guests chatting their way to the entrance of the party, sounds of shrill laughter and fancy shoes clicking against the marble pavement ringing through the driveway.

She bit her lip, determined to keep her worries at bay. She was nervous for more reasons than one, but decided not to dwell on them as she trailed behind the loud guests through the heavy glass doors.

As soon as she stepped inside, she was immediately greeted by a gust of live music and expensive perfume. Pepper Potts was quick to spot her at the door, greeting her enthusiastically and looking way too relaxed for her usual self at a Tony Stark party; she normally spent her time making sure that Tony didn’t blow half the house down to entertain the guests. Judging by the way she swayed back and forth, perhaps the champagne in her hand had helped.

“Hi, Pepper, how are you?” She greeted cheerfully as Pepper went in for a tight hug.

“Oh, just fantastic. What about you? I can imagine the recent debacle on Time Square’s been keeping you busy.”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a sigh. “I know. You’d think they’d be able to go one week without causing a ruckus” They both stared resentfully at the group of superheroes crowded around a bar in the far corner, watching Thor attempt to make an overzealous toast before clumsily knocking over a vase and three bottles of wine in the process.

Pepper shook her head and downed the remainder of the champagne in her glass, wincing. “Mm, when that day comes, I am taking a long holiday and never coming back.”

“You and me both Pepper.”

They made eye contact and shared a loud laugh. She remembered the first time she was introduced to Pepper, back when she was promoted to working as Tony’s assistant. Upon minutes of watching her work, she immediately grew to appreciate her tenacity, which was strong enough to handle even the great Tony Stark.

Soon enough, Piper was steering her toward the bar to “introduce her to the rest of the team,” an arm around her shoulders as they made small talk.

“How’s Anne doing? I heard about the tenure award.”

“She’s great, and yeah, the whole office got together for…”

As they approached the rowdy group of superheroes, she eyed them slowly: some sitting, some standing behind the bar. As soon as Tony spotted Pepper, he extended an arm toward her before stumbling tipsily, only to have Pepper lunge forward to catch him.

“Woah, ok, Tony. You might want to slow down on the scotch.” Pepper gave a nervous laugh, patting the front of Tony’s suit down in a familiarly threatening gesture.

Tony was too drunk to notice, however, as he waved her off with a mumbled “no, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

As Tony turned around, she was greeted with a loud “Manhattan!” The rest of the group’s attention fell on her, and she shrunk under their intense gaze.

She recognized everyone gathered there, even though she didn’t know any of them personally: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, and, most unfamiliar to her, James Buchanan Barnes. The nervous ball in her chest dissipated a bit after spotting Maria Hill sat in the corner, whom she had gotten to know during tedious meetings at HQ.

Tony spent a painfully long time introducing her to each Avenger, giving her information that was basically included in her job title to know top to bottom. It felt strange to meet these people in person, people whose messes she was so used to cleaning up after.

“… and that’s Seargent Barnes, a ruthless Soviet assassin now turned ruthless assassin for us.”

As her eyes trailed down involuntarily to the agent’s metal hand, peeking underneath the tight black shirt he was sporting, Tony bent down to her ear, whispering loud enough for the rest of the group to hear.

“Oh, and try not to bring up the giant shiny metal arm, he gets a lil’ sensitive about it.” He gave her a playful wink, which got an eye roll and a barely-detectable-but-still-there smile from the ‘Winter Soldier’, so she figured it was appropriate for her to smile and give him a small nod. To her surprise, he nodded back.

Tony peered around, frowning. “Where’s Rogers and Wilson?”

“I think you mean Wilson and Rogers.”

A familiar voice sounded from behind her and Tony, making her stomach jump. She whipped around with a wide smile, any remaining tension in her dissolving at the wide grin on the man’s face.

“Sam!” She didn’t know what had compelled her to do it, but she jumped up to give him a hug. Sam, who took a second to recover from shock, hugged her back even tighter.

Aside from the immediate joy of seeing a familiar face, perhaps she was so excited because Sam was a welcome change to everyone else she had met that night. While Tony and Pepper were amazingly welcoming people, and the Avengers seemed friendly enough, they all intimated her one way or another, be it the overbearing wealth, intelligence, or notoriety.

But with Sam, she felt nothing but ease and trust. They had met when she spent the summer of her freshman year of college volunteering at the VA. Over the months, she had become well-acquainted with his warm and playful nature, helping him arrange support group meetings for veterans. She was somewhat disappointed to hear that he had joined the Avengers as Falcon a few years later.

Pulling back from the hug, she got a whiff of his warm spicy perfume, nostalgic notes of cinnamon and sandalwood, and was reminded of much simpler times: picking up extra shifts in barely air-conditioned cubicles in the heat of July, made worth it by late-afternoon strolls around the reflecting pool, as she and Sam munched on half-smokes from Ben’s — ‘best in D.C.’, he had claimed through a mouthful of sausage.

The would partake in heated debates over hotdogs or sandwiches until the summer sun disappeared languidly beneath the horizon, sky bleeding a brilliant shade of orange. At one point, she had even thought that they would have made a good couple, if their friendship had been any less strong.

Now, as she stood in front of him, she couldn’t hide her surprise at how much he had changed since they had last seen each other. Cheekbones more chiseled, biceps twice as big, and shoulders wider, more confident. Plus a brand new fucking beard. The invigorating light in his eyes hadn’t faded, though, and when he smiled, that same endearing gap between his front teeth reminded her that at least a part of him hadn’t changed.

“Wow, how long has it been?” He exclaimed, gesturing toward her as he looked her up and down, incredulous.

“10 years?” She speculated.

Chuckling in disbelief, he shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Crazy.”

Another tight hug that neither of them could help.

“You look good.” He grinned, pulling back, with which she responded with a warm smile and a playful pat on the arm.

“You too, Wil”

“I see you’ve somehow already met Birdman.” Tony stepped between them, scratching his head in confusion.

“Yeah,” she nodded, still in awe at reuniting with the man in front of her, “We worked at the VA together.”

“Fascinating,” Tony responded insipidly, to which she just smiled and rolled her eyes.

Sam gasped, suddenly rushing forward.

“Oh man, my fault, I totally forgot!” He gestured toward the man who had been standing them all along.

A showy wave of his hand, and a small bow for extra dramatic effect. “This is the Steve Rogers”

“Sam.” The man next to him muttered and nudged Sam in his side, embarrassed.

As her attention shifted to him, her breath halted at the gaze that met hers. Soft eyebrows and even kinder eyes that crinkled at the corner, pink lips forming a gentle smile as he reached forward and extended a hand. At the gesture, the thin material of his shirt rippled, stretching against his bulging biceps and dear god, those shoulders.

She’s read plenty of material on America’s hero, but never seen him in person. Now she believed her coworkers when they said he’s more godly than Thor Odinson himself.

“Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure.” She replied, nodding.

“Please, just Steve.” A deep timber ringing deep in his chest as his warm palm made contact with hers. “And the pleasures all mine.”

She couldn’t believe that this was the first time they were being introduced to each other, considering how much she already knew about him. Now, seeing him in what people in her line of work called ‘civilian attire,’ a tight blue dress shirt and fitted black slacks, she couldn’t help but be intrigued about what kind of man stood behind the red-white-and-blue shield.

Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly by Tony, who made a point in rolling his eyes and snoring noisily next to them.

“God, is this a party or a press conference? Come on! Capsicle -” A tipsy finger pointed at the blonde hero “- I challenge you and Wilson here for a game of…” A pause for dramatic effect, an all-too-familiar mischievous grin on his face.

“…Beer Pong.”

A mixture of groans and bets erupted around the group as Tony shuffled everyone over to the ping pong table.

But as she was pulled aside by her ex-boss to discuss ‘battle strategy,’ she didn’t fail to catch the way Captain America’s eyes lingered on her, meeting her gaze for a brief moment before quickly faltering.

And when he thought she wasn’t looking, those same eyes trailed across her features and down the curves of her dress, in a matter she’s never seen Captain America do before.

12:37 am

Two rounds of beer pong (both of which she and Tony lost), followed by a bonus redemption round that Tony demanded on the account that both of their opponents had “unfair physical advantages.” Since then, Tony had ushered out the rest of his guests (not without introducing her to Brad Pitt first, of course), and organized a ‘SHIELD agents only’ afterparty of sorts.

They sat around in a circle in Tony’s giant living room — her, Maria, and the Avengers — with Thor’s hammer as the center of everyone’s attention.

“Whatever man, it’s a trick!"

“Well please, be my guest.” Thor gestured smugly to his hammer, sitting on the coffee table (which was most definitely not worthy).

Clint Barton rolled his eyes, twirling a stray drumstick in the air as he stood up, being the 1st out of many people that night to try and fail at lifting the mighty Mjolnir.

Next came Tony, who, despite the usage of his fancy mechanic gloves, couldn’t even get the hammer to budge.

“Damn, I really needed that win” He plopped down next to her on the couch with a defeated sigh. After spotting her, he smirked, crossing his leg and throwing an arm around the back of the couch.

“Havin’ fun?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Her hand slipped away from where it was resting under her chin, and she she sat up straighter, giving him a small smile.

“Manhattan…” Tony frowned, lifting his back off the couch, before he was interrupted by a roar of laughter from the rest of the group — Bruce Banner had almost fell backwards in his futile efforts to lift the hammer.

She bit her lip, glancing down at her dress and fidgeting with the fabric over her knee.

“I just…” She sighed, voice only audible to Tony.

“What am I doing here, Tony?”

He stayed silent, uncharacteristically so, and they both knew why.

“These people, your friends…” She trailed off quietly, though she doubted anyone else was paying attention, busy cheering on the next challenger in their test of worthiness.

Tony let out her name quietly, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hating them isn’t gonna change what happened, you know that.”

At that, she visibly flinched, blood turning cold. Deep down she knew he was right, like always — he was never afraid to be straight with her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but straighten up, standing abruptly, letting out a small ‘excuse me’ as she squeezed past the couch and Maria Hill, seated on the floor.

As she made her way over in the vague direction of the bathroom, the clicks of her heels and the beating of her heart pounding in her ears, she could faintly catch the distant exchange between Maria and Tony, drowned out by another roar of laugher from the rowdy group of heroes.

“She okay?”

“Yeah, yeah she’s fine…”

The water shut off with a quiet trickle as she stepped back from the marble sink, glancing up at the mirror. Running a wet hand through her hair, she took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs until the corners of her chest hurt. She was here at her own will, so she might as well try and enjoy the rest of her night. Plus, Tony was right — blaming any of the people out there wasn’t going to change anything. Maybe she’ll go back out there, apologize to Tony with another glass of whiskey, and play along to polite conversation the rest of the night.

But, there was one thing she needed to do first.

She made her way out of the bathroom and toward the balcony, making sure to take the detour route so as to avoid crossing the living room.

As soon as she reached the glass doors on the northern side of Tony’s house, reaching a small opening on the top floor, she was reminded of why this was her favorite spot in the whole tower, and why she had moved to New York in the first place.

Tony had the best view in the whole city, no doubt. Overlooking midtown Manhattan, she could spot Empire State from here, the Chrysler building, and just feel the busy bustle of city life that shined through during this time of night: flickering lights and honking cars, loud sirens, distant sounds of laughter and bar fights. The cold night air cleared her head as she let it fill her lungs, chasing the loud thoughts away.

“Mind if I join you?”

She perked up, turning around to see who had entered, before shaking her head, letting her eyes return to the city horizon.

“No, go ahead.”

Steve Rogers gently slid the door closed behind him, and stepped out into the balcony, joining her at the edge. She wondered briefly how he knew she’d be here, but figured it made no difference. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rest his forearms against the glass railing, bottle of beer casually hanging from one hand hand.

He was the first one to break the silence, voice resounding deep in his chest.

“You and Tony… you guys were great back there.” He said, jerking his head in the direction of the rest of the group.

A moment of confusion, before she realized that he was talking about beer pong. She let out a small smile, the lines of her lips too tight to feel genuine.

“Thanks.”

“Have you two known each other long?”

A pause as her eyes flickered over the Chrysler building, so close she could almost touch the glowing yellow triangles adorning the sides.

“Yeah, I… used to work as his assistant.”

“Ah, that explains the teamwork.”

She gave him an inquisitive look, and he added, “During beer pong? Sam and I barely beat you two.”

Eyebrows furrowed, she snorted, shaking her head. “You call 3-0 barely?”

“Well...” He glanced down, shifting the beer in his hand and straightening up a little.

“...you still put up a good fight.”

A small smirk in her direction as he takes a small swig.

She halted, head turning toward him with a raised eyebrow, genuine amusement tugging on the corner of her mouth.

“Did we now?”

A playful but shy glint in his eyes as he cocks his head, shrugging his shoulders, biceps flexing under his shirt. And the night air feels just a tad warmer.

Eyes narrowing with renewed interest, she slowly turns toward him, one hand on the railing, the other resting on her hip.

“And where did Captain America learn to play beer pong?”

He chuckles, cocking his head “Working with Tony you uh… you pick up a few things. Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Her eyes trailed down the front of his dress shirt, blue as the lights on the Empire State tonight.

“Damage Control, right?”

She nodded, eyes flitting back up to meet his. Same color as his shirt, except for a hint of green — specks of cool, deep jade amidst all the pensive blue.

“Times Square must’ve been a real hassle. Thought I’d come out here and apologize.”

Ah, was that why he was here? A small smile as she glanced down at the glass of Don Perignon in her hand, tiny bubbles clinging to the sides before fizzing their way to the top.

“It’s alright, I already chewed Tony’s ass off about it.”

“Still, if there’s anything I can do to make up for it, let me know.”

Her fingers halted over the glass of champagne, eyes snapping up to meet his.

Was he really…?

Tinted cheeks and a shy smile, crinkling the corners of eyes that glanced away and fixed their gaze forward.

Yes, he was.

And so she decided to play along, to whatever this was. Whatever game they’re thinking they can handle. Hoping they can handle.

She straightened up, the lights of New York dancing in her eyes as an infinite kaleidoscope of color peered into green-blue.

“Well, I guess I can think of a few things.”

6:01 am, Today

Her feet burn against the hot driveway as she drags herself out of the wretched compound, face still burning with humiliation. Squeezing her eyes shut, she's desperate to punch the nearest wall after the conversation she just had with Steve.

He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head.

“U-hm, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to join me for breakfast. I know this place just a few blocks away and-”

Her loud wince cut him off, as she squeezed her eyes and took a step back, closer to the direction of the stairs.

She hadn’t mean to reject him with such cruelty, but now that the ice-cold flame was out in the open, all the warmth had dissipated from the air between them.

“I…I don’t understand.” A soft furrow of his eyebrows and even gentler tone.

“Captain Rogers, we were drunk last night.”

She knew it wasn’t a great excuse — she was barely tipsy from that second glass of champagne, and him? Well, Thor’s Asgardian mead might’ve helped, but she remembered reading something somewhere about a super-soldier serum and a ridiculously high metabolism.

“I can’t really get drunk.” He responds instinctively, taking a step toward her in an almost desperate gesture.

She only sighs, because she knows the details of the account aren’t what matter, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Captain Rogers, I-"

It was his turn to wince this time, shoulders visibly shrinking into his giant frame.

“Steve, please.”

“Steve, It’s just that I…” Her gaze rises beyond him and scans the rest of the compound. She sighs, incredulous at the circumstance she’s brought upon herself.

“… I just can’t believe I did this.” She said under her breath, more to herself than anything, but that never stopped anyone with super-hearing abilities, did it?

A flash of hurt that flickers across his features, before it dissipates just as quickly, his face molding into the stoic professionalism she was most accustomed to.

“Right. I’ll call you a cab. Do you have everything that you need?”

Fucking unbelievable. Even in a situation like this he’s incapable of abandoning his superhero bravado.

“No, thank you. I’ll call an Uber.”

And that left her here, now, waiting impatiently on some random sidewalk, still barefoot, waiting for a black Toyota to arrive by the name of ‘Jim.’

If it weren’t for her entanglement in this whole thing, she would have laughed into next week at the irony of it all.

Tony was so wrong. About Steve. About all of it. 100-year-old virgin her ass.

As her mind wanders back to the events of last night, she’s reminded of the most minute of details. Goosebumps erupt down her spine at the thought of his lips, his hands, his mouth…

And yet when she spots the black car round the corner and come to a hault, she feels the wave of sickening disappointment move back in her stomach, settling down for good. Out of all of the men she could have slept with in the world, it had to be him. How could she have let this happen? The reckless irresponsibility of it all made her gut churn.

23rd and 5th, please.

As the car drives off, she tries desperately to stifle the remaining spark of guilt flickering in her chest.

But even with her eyes closed, the last impression of his face burns through the back of her mind.

Damage Control Masterlist

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Les Cartier de Meghan Part 5: So long and Tanks for all the fish by u/Mickleborough

Les Cartier de Meghan, Part 5: So long, and Tanks for all the fish To wrap up the ramblings of Cartier, Meghan, and That Watch.As far as I can tell, the Tank wasn’t particularly associated with Diana in her lifetime - not like, say, the Cambridge Lover’s Knot Tiara; the Lady Dior bag; or even the Revenge Dress, worn with the equally famous sapphire and pearl choker. It was just a watch she wore after her divorce.Apparently William and Harry were allowed to choose some pieces from her personal jewellery collection as mementos. Why did William select the Tank? Perhaps, at age 14 in 1996, when she began to wear it, that made the most impression on him. Perhaps he associated watches with her - the Prince of Wales has been seen wearing only 1 watch, the comparatively inexpensive Omega Seamaster Quartz 300m, rumoured to have been a gift from his mother when he was at Eton.For most of her marriage, Diana wore (and was photographed with) the watch that the then Prince Charles gave her for her 20th birthday, weeks before their wedding: a Patek Philippe Calatrava.Diana rocking the 2 watch look before anyone else: his and hers Pateks.In short, Meghan’s not wearing some significant piece from Diana’s collection. The Tank seems to have gained some notoriety only because she’s been seen wearing it. Otherwise, it’s arguably unremarkable - certainly not as well-known as the Ceylon sapphire and diamond engagement ring now on the finger of the Princess of Wales.And it’s very possible that, of all of Diana’s watches, Meghan prefers the Tank (so called because it’s meant to resemble a tank from above) because it’s gold, recognisable, from a well-known house (although, from a watchmaker’s perspective, Patek Philippe and many others are held in higher regard than Cartier), and can be displayed in a flashy manner - as Meghan often does.Not a diamond bracelet, but the Swiss Federal Republic watch, a platinum and diamond Vacheron Constantin given by Switzerland to the late Queen Elizabeth II in 1947 on the occasion of her marriage, and which she later gave to Diana. Oh Meghan! Aren’t they the South Sea pearl and diamond earrings, which the Princess of Wales has worn a few times?PostscriptWearing watches seems to be a generational thing. The late Queen Elizabeth II had several watches, from the best watchmakers. So does the King. In contrast, the Prince of Wales seems to have just the one watch, the Omega Seamaster from his mother (cost: low 4 figures). The Princess of Wales often sports her 3rd wedding anniversary present from her husband, a Cartier Ballon Bleu in stainless steel (also costing low 4 figures) - on other occasions, she wears a Tissot (not even 4 figures).Thank you for staying until the end! post link: https://ift.tt/l7Z8WS5 author: Mickleborough submitted: September 26, 2023 at 11:29PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[witchersmistress]

The Damned and the rage

Happy Monday, i'm back in action, so buckle up i guess

Trigger Warning: , swearing, anger and insanity

Word count: 4.2K

  Harper’s POV

* A few weeks later*

Every week is the same. I go through the motions, but I’m frozen inside, as if it’s not really me there at all. There’s a Harper-sized doll in my place, someone I used to be but am no longer. The world has forgotten my existence.

Only the Phantom remembers. I wait for him, for the clean smell of his house, the polished hardwood, the curl of his hard body around mine, the detachment I feel when he’s inside me that’s the closest thing to freedom I can imagine. When I’m not there, I’m a ghost walking the street at night, waiting for him to come back. He always does. Two days a week, he takes me home, feeds me. He fills half his closet with new clothes for me, shoes, jewelry, an expensive purse to carry my phone and keys and wallet. Everything comes to his house in boxes or bags delivered to the door, so he doesn’t have to leave the house except to get me and take me home. He checks the ring he put through my bellybutton to make sure it’s healed, puts dark-colored contact lenses in my eyes, touching my eyeballs like they are his own. I think maybe he’ll pluck out my eye and replace his blind one. But I don’t move, don’t try to stop him when he reaches between my lids and sets the thin lens over mine. “Good girl,” he says, stroking my cheek. “Beautiful.” He opens the closet door and sets me before the mirror. He tells me I’m perfect now, that I’m ready. I stare at the stranger in the mirror with dark eyes and dark lips and brown-black hair, and I think she looks ready, so he must be right. I don’t ask him what I’m ready for. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

A few weeks later, I notice the dark green field outside the Phantom’s window turning hay colored as the grasses droop in the late summer heat. Daisies and Black-Eyed Susans and w8ild asters dot the grass now. The Phantom stands there, looking out with his hands clasped behind his back, like he’s looking over an empire and not an overgrown field of weeds. “Have the Walkers contacted you?” he asks. I have the same phone number, but no one ever contacts me. Why would they? I haven’t contacted them, either. Everyone texted on the OnlyWords app, and I didn’t download it on my new phone. I didn’t have friends, anyway. Only the Walker boys and their friends got close, and they left me to die. They washed their hands of me, and I have no need to change that. I give my head a single shake, then realize he won’t see it. “No.” He rubs his jaw. I can hear the rasp of stubble. “It’s not enough,” he mutters. At dinner, he gives me a little black dress and tells me to put it on and do my hair. The dress is low-cut but not too revealing, and it hugs my curves and falls around me like it must have cost thousands of dollars. I roll on the stockings and garters he left with it. I put in the diamond teardrop earrings he left sitting on the dresser. I put my hair up the way he instructed and dab on some of the makeup he left sitting there for me. The lipstick is too dark, but I smear it over my lips anyway. I’m no longer startled when I see a stranger staring back at me from behind the closet door. Does it matter who she is? I know she’s a good girl.

The Phantom walks behind me and puts a necklace around my neck. I can feel it resting cold against my chest, and it makes me shiver. I touch the charm, a diamond ballerina. He runs his knuckles up the back of my neck, skims his fingertips along my bare shoulders. “You look like…” He bows his head, so I can only see his golden hair, not even his eyes or mouth to give away what he’s thinking. I’ve never wondered what he’s thinking before. It never mattered. After dinner, he orders me to the bed without the usual shower. He doesn’t undress me, just commands me to lie on my back while he pushes up my dress. Then he picks up his phone, angling it so it gets my whole body. “No faces,” I cry, my voice echoing in the high-end apartment. I throw my hands over my face, surprised I can still react that passionately to anything. He’s shot dozens of homemade porn clips of his dick going into me, but he promised me no one would know it was me. Usually he fucks me from behind, anyway. I feel exposed on my back, vulnerable and scared in a way I haven’t felt with him before. Suddenly, I’m shaking all over. “Keep your hands over your face,” he says, laying a reassuring hand on my thigh. “No one will know it’s you.” He plays with my underwear, rubbing his cock against the outside of them, pulling them between my lips, then down my thighs. I pull a pillow over my face. He tugs it a little higher, setting my necklace straight before going back to work.

I try not to feel what he’s doing, rubbing his cock between my lips, getting me wet. Finally, he pushes inside me. He lifts my leg and swings it around so I’m lying on my side, so he’s filming my hip with the tattoos. Someone could definitely recognize that. Above my hip, there’s a D branded into my skin. What if my attackers see it and come back for me? “Stop,” I gasp. “I’m almost done,” he says, moving my leg back where it was, so I’m on my back. He cums quickly, shooting once over my belly before pushing back inside me to finish. He doesn’t lower his phone until he’s gotten the whole messy scene. “Good girl,” he says. “You were perfect.” Then he steps into the bathroom, and I hear the shower running. I get up, my limbs shaking, my pulse racing. Something’s happening to me. Something awakening, some horrible monster that’s rising like a tidal wave inside me, like Godzilla emerging from the ocean. I can’t breathe. I want to race up the ladder onto the roof, to suck in the night and shriek into the sky. I want to sail over the edge, arms and legs wide, and soar to my death below. Some impulse in me rebels at the expensive silk constricting my waist, the heavy pads of the bra. Suddenly, I’m revolted by the body I’m in, by what I’ve allowed to happen to it. I yank off the dress, tearing at the strangling fabric, kick off the heels he put me in, rip off the garters and stockings. I throw them aside and pace the floor in my bare feet, naked as an animal. My heart is skittering erratically around my chest.

I feel trapped, caged, though he’s never once told me I couldn’t leave. In fact, he made me leave. I’ve been free all along, and yet, I’m not free. He’s treated me better than anyone ever has, than anyone should, and yet, I think I’ll scream if I see his mask again, if he calls me his good girl one more time. I pull off the earrings and reach for the box they were in, my fingers shaking. I lay them in the jewelry box. There’s a sleek black paper bag with the jeweler’s name on the side because he bought them just for me, maybe just today, and had someone deliver them. There’s a little tag stapled to the bag, the kind that comes on flowers. The kind that tells a delivery person where to send them, since the Phantom never leaves his apartment. There’s a name written on the tag. In looping cursive handwriting, the words Mr. D.

[mamiinmiumiu]

V-Day Gift Guide '23💌

It’s that season where everything is pink and red, hearts cover the stores, and love is alllll overrrrr! Y'all know what that means; it’s February, the month of love!

I personally adore Valentine’s Day, always have. Remember passing out little Valentine’s in school and getting the cutest treats? 🥰 Yeah, I always been a fan.

Plus, I love love. I’m here for alllll the cute lovey dovey shit!

So, with that being said, I decided to make things a little easy for anyone finding themselves a little stumped on what to get that special someone and cooked up a ‘lil gift guide! [ur welcome (˘ε˘˶ )]

From bougie gifts to the stuff that counts, I got y'all 💌

FOR HER:

1. Lego Flower Bouquet | Amazon $48

What girl doesn't love flowers? So, what about some that last forever? Plus, y'all can have a cute little date night building legos together. So cute! 

2. Venus Et Fleur Flowers | Not even gon’ hold yall, these hoes pricey. Prices range.

So luxe, so chic, so stunning!

You seen ‘em on IG & TikTok for sure, but Venus has been running the luxury flower game since like 2015! [I remember turning 15 and swearinggg up and down I was gon’ wake up to the biggest box on my bday. Ha! 🤣] Although they are very expensive, I’ve heard they are well worth the $$$ + do last long!

3. SKIMS | Skims.com $15-100 

What did Kim put in these? Let’s talk about it!

Every girl loves a good lounge set and basic staples that she can build outfits around so treat your girl to some Skims! Comfy, cute, and not wild expensive. I recommend the “Fit’s Everybody T-shirt” + “Fit’s Everybody Crew Neck Long Sleeve Bodysuit”

4. Fragrances 

Brazilian Crush Cheirosa 62 Perfume Mist | $38

Chance by Chanel | $95

Candy by Prada | $134

Very Good Girl by Carolina Herrera | $138 [MY ABSOLUTE FAVE + TOP PICK!]

5. Stationary/Planner

Nah, deadass why y'all together if y'all not pushing eachother to continuously grow & stay on y'all shit? 

I swearrrrr by my planner! It makes my life go so much smoother and is a place where I can situate my thoughts, plans, goals, expenses, etc. Help ya shorty tackle the new year and get her together with a planner. 💅🏽

2023 is about elevating, feel me?

6. Diamonds are a girls best friend, right? We’re talking Jewelry!

Good quality jewelry don't gotta cost you bands, you can get some cute, good quality pieces for the low. Plus, girls can get away with "costume" jewelry [jewelry from Dior, LV, etc., is “costume” jewelry, none of that shit is real.] too.

I love getting my pieces from Swarovski! Amazing quality, durable, and the shineeee! But I also love Pandora, The M Jewelers, and Nordstrom for when it comes to “designer” jewelry. 

Pictured Above:

Swarovski Pink Baguette Ring: $145

Swarovski Tennis Bracelet: $195

Palm Angels Bracelet: $180

7. A Purse

Every girl needs a good quality bag and lucky for y'all, designers love releasing the cutest on-theme purses for February, here's my picks;

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4 THE FELLAS:

Ladies! Our men DESERVE to get spoiled, too! Valentine’s Day is not just about us, show your man your appreciation and treat him! I picked out a few of my faves for the men this year.

1. Sneakers

If your man is anything similar to mine, sneakers are one of the for sure ways to his heart. [& y’all better not come up in here with that old wives tale about buying ya man shoes!] 

Plus, great thing about sneakers is there are so many different styles and color ways that you're for sure to find something that will fit whatever your man’s style is! But, if you want to keep it on theme with V-Day, lot’s of sneakers come out with Valentine Edition pairs. 

My personal favorites are the Nike Air Force 1 Low Valentine’s Day [2021] | Stockx $225

2. Playstation 5 / PC

What guy doesn't game? Upgrade him this year, sis! I plan to.

3. Hat / Beanie

Men love them a fye hat! And also, beanies are the hottest accessory right now. Think of a brand, I'm sure they got they own version!

I love the hats from Hat Club, they always got some dope color ways. 

Brands that got some fire beanies rn:

Billionaire Boys Club

Carhartt

Stussy

MM6 by Margiela 

Supreme

4. Cologne

I think I speak for all the ladies when I say; ain't nothing better than a man that smells good all the time!😮‍💨

These are all colognes I have personally purchased for my man and we loved.

My Cologne Picks (in my favorite order)

Viktor&Rolf Spicebomb Night Vision | $119

Bleu De Chanel | $102

Coach for Men | $105

Dolce & Gabbana | $135

5. Wallet / Card Holder

Men love them nice wallet so why not upgrade him? Think about it… he’s probably using the same wallet since forever ago, which no problem with that buuut an upgrade is always nice!

Pictured Above:

Burberry Sandon TB Monogram Card Case | $260

SAINT LAURENT PARIS Credit Card Wallet | $295

Givenchy Card Holder | $370

SAINT LAURENT PARIS Bifold Wallet | $525

6. Add to his passion/hobby! 🎭🎨🎙️🎞️

What does your man like to do? Is he an artist? Is he a collector? Is he into music? Or film? Think of your man’s interests and base a gift around that! Let’s say your man wants to start exploring photography, a good gift would be a tripod or ring light. Maybe he want’s to start up his own business? Purchase the LLC! Podcast? Buy him a nice mic! Or, if he’s into collecting a certain thing, add to it!

I think y’all get the point, lol.

7. Custom Rug / Art Piece

Men love art, too!

My man is slowly but surely tapping more into his artistic side and it's been so dope to see how his style progresses and what peeks his interests now.

A dope way to add to your man's area is by commissioning a custom piece for him! It can be a painting, rug, sculpture, etc. of whatever he likes! A rug of his favorite character, album, or even ya body ;) would be fye.

Pictured Above:

Curves By Sean Brown CD Rugs [MBDTF & VOL 3] | $250

Lighter Tufted Rugs by SatoriRugs on ETSY | $35

Wonderland Rug by @chris.cassette on IG | Prices range

Baby Milo tufted rug on ETSY | Prices range

EXTRAS:

KickBricks: Sneaker Building Blocks Handcrafted Air Jordan 3 | ETSY $59 | They have a few different sneaker options to pick from.

BE@RBRICK | Prices range | Super cute art piece and so many different styles + collabs.

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FOR YALL💏:

Matching tracksuits!: Such a cute + fly way to be headass! Lmao. Nah, but theres nothing cuter than a matching tracksuit, even cuter when you're matching with ya boo! So many brands have come out with their own variation of tracksuits so you're sure to find something that fit's yall <3

Brands with fye tracksuits right now:

Diesel

Marc Jacobs

Polo by Ralph Lauren

Palm Angels

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FOR YOUR GFS👯‍♀️:

Valentine's Day doesn't have to be about just romantic love! Valentine's Day is the perfect holiday to show your girlfriends some luv, too! Best part? It doesn't have to be expensive!

Here's my fave gifts to give my friends:

Self-Care Basket: One or my favorite things to make for my loved ones <3 You can really put thought into it and cater it to whoever you’re making it for! Some of my favorite things to put in are: A good book, blanket, eye masks, bath salts, candle, silk pillow case, etc.

Cute Treats + Sweets: Strawberries or preferred fruits, pretzels, etc! Super easy to make and fun, tbh.

A candle: I love gifting candles! The Replica candles are amazing! But, if you’re looking for a more affordable option, the Sand + Fog and the Sand + Paws candles are amazing! You can usually find them at Tj Maxx or Marshall’s for around $8-15 depending on the size. Also, candle's make cure decor, too. Body-shaped candles are such a cute, chic gift.

Wine + Matching glass: Also a great gift for a friend! I want to get more into wine this year so I don’t have many suggestions other than the only one I’ve tried; Stella Rose, lol. But, good wine + a pretty wine glass = perfect duo 😏

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Alright babes, that's it for the gift guide! I truly hope y'all enjoyed this years V-day gift guide & that y'all came out of this with some dope gift ideas for your loved one(s)!

If you do end up copping something from/or because of this guide, pls lmk! I'd love to know what y'all took away from this! 💌

Until next time,

H 💋

[grandmaster-anne]

The avant-garde Princess Margaret

By Andrew Morton | Published 16 June 2021

Decades before Prince Harry and Meghan Markle were flag-bearers of the progressive and global, Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon were established as Britain’s hippest couple, peerless representatives of the ‘Swinging Sixties’ and living proof that the monarchy could be both traditional and modern.

According to Lord Ardwick, editor of the Daily Herald, the Snowdons signified ‘a new kind of royalty’. He went on: ‘they had far more contacts among writers and artists and so forth, not among stuffy courtiers. They became the new family model of fast travelling, hard-working, affluent young people – but at a price, a cost that was not always welcome.’ Together, this bohemian couple raced through the streets of London on Snowdon’s motorcycle or in his new Mini, visiting street markets, jazz clubs and theatres.

Such was their appeal that even First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy was deeply disappointed when neither the princess nor her husband was present at a dinner in honour of President Kennedy held at Buckingham Palace in June 1961. Internationally, they were the royal version of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton: sophisticated, artistic and raffish. Once, Margaret tried on the 29.4-carat diamond ring that had been given to Taylor by her third husband Mike Todd. She joked it was ‘vulgar’. Liz replied: ‘Yeah ain’t it great.’

Vibrant, dynamic and glamorous, Margaret and Tony in the early years captivated the nation, injecting new life and energy into what Prince Philip called ‘the Firm’. Everything from their fashions to their crowd – naturally ‘in’ – was a playful counterpoint to the Queen and her Court. If the Snowdons were deemed ‘hip plush’, the Queen was ‘starchy matron’ – her fashions were still chosen by her dresser since childhood, Bobo MacDonald. Just as her father had done, it was Tony who guided Margaret’s style, urging her to adopt simpler, skimpier trends to mirror the taste and temper of the time. Though she never wore miniskirts, her skirts and dresses were still much shorter than those of other royal women. She also experimented with kaftans, lace stockings and costume jewellery, and at one point the princess was voted just behind actor Grace Kelly in the annual ‘World’s Best Dressed Woman’ contest.

In contrast to the Queen’s unalterable look, Margaret’s hairstyle was constantly changing, from glossy bobs to elaborate, high-reaching coiffures adorned with hairpieces. Nor was she afraid to showcase daring trends: pale lipstick, heavy eye shadow, long earrings, and a provocatively low neckline. Tony’s clothes were just as modish: velvet jackets, voile shirts and barrow-boy caps. He even wore a white polo neck instead of black tie to formal events.

While the Queen and Prince Philip remained on British soil for their holidays, Margaret and Tony quickly became members of the international jet set and much-sought-after guests of the rich and powerful. At a time when travel abroad was exclusive and expensive, their holidays on a millionaire’s yacht or villa excited awe and jealousy in equal measure. In September 1963, when the Queen and the rest of the royal family were at Balmoral, the Snowdons holidayed on a private Aegean island owned by Greek shipping tycoon Stavros Niarchos, which came fully stocked with game birds for shooting parties.

The following year it was the turn of the British-born Aga Khan to fly them on his private plane to the exclusive resort of Costa Smeralda on the Italian island of Sardinia, where they were able to water-ski, sail, snorkel and sunbathe in relative privacy. They returned to the island often. On one occasion, the Aga Khan’s yacht, the Amaloun, hit a rock and started to sink. Tony dove into the water and the others took to a life raft, from which they were rescued by a passing boat. Significantly, the first person Margaret contacted to say all was well was the Queen.

That escapade did not dim their enthusiasm for all things Italian. It became a favoured holiday destination. In the summer of 1965, for example, the couple drove to Rome in Tony’s Aston Martin to see the sights and be received by the Pope in a private audience. The paparazzi stalked them constantly, one photographer observing: ‘You have to remember that Princess Margaret and Elizabeth Taylor are the two most wanted women in the world.’

Once the Snowdons moved into their newly renovated, 20-roomed home at Kensington Palace in March 1963, an invitation to supper or for a sing-along around the grand piano became the hottest ticket in town. Their social circle reflected their bohemian bent, singers, musicians, artists and writers all beating a path to 1a Clock Court.

Their servants did not mind working 18-hour days when they had the chance to glimpse luminaries such as designer Mary Quant, writer Edna O’Brien – Margaret did a good impression of the writer’s breathless, confiding speech patterns – actor Peter Sellers and his wife Britt Ekland, ballet dancers Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn, and trend-setting hairdresser Vidal Sassoon. The Snowdons even befriended the Beatles, with John Lennon famously nicknaming the couple ‘Priceless Margarine’ and ‘Bony Armstrove’. On one occasion, George Harrison asked Margaret to get his drug-possession charges dropped. She declined. ‘I adored them because they were poets as well as musicians,’ the princess later recalled.

Their parties were replete with the rich and famous. The comedian and musician Dudley Moore would play the piano; Cleo Laine and her jazz musician husband John Dankworth would sing; John Betjeman, a future poet laureate, would tell stories. Often, Princess Margaret would join in playing the piano and singing tunes from her favourite musicals. When the lights were out at Buckingham Palace, they were still blazing until the early hours at the Snowdons’ salon – invariably at Margaret’s bidding.

Established in her own home for the first time in her life and with baby number two on the way, Margaret’s life was scintillating, busy and happy. She could even share the mutual joys and difficulties of pregnancy with her sister, as the Queen gave birth to her fourth child, Prince Edward, in March 1964. Elizabeth and Prince Philip made a modest concession to modernity: for the first time, Prince Philip was present at the birth, which took place in the Belgian Suite at Buckingham Palace.

During this time, the differing personalities of the two sisters became more sharply delineated and formalised as Margaret established her own home and social circle. At last she had her own salon where the princess, a performer and extrovert at heart, could literally hold court. By contrast, her sister focused her attention on her horses and dogs, her people being the country set who followed the jumps and the flats. Animals never broke her trust, let her down or came to her with difficult problems.

While Margaret inhabited a social halfway house, befriending the era’s popular icons as well as those with a handle before their first name, Elizabeth’s friends came almost exclusively from the land-owning aristocracy – she first knew her fourth prime minister, Sir Alec Douglas-Home, as the owner of land in Scotland – or were those from the Guards regiments such as Lord Plunket and Lord Porchester, her racing manager, who got to know her during the war. When her mother won the Whitbread Gold Cup with Special Cargo, Colonel Bill Whitbread and his wife Betty held a dinner party for the Queen Mother. After dinner they adjourned to another room to watch the race one more time. They were a chair short so the Queen sat on the floor, clearly being comfortable with the racing crowd she was with. It is hard to imagine her being so relaxed with Margaret’s friends. Like her father, the Queen was uncomfortable around artists and the avant-garde.

Trust was always an issue, hence the reliance on familiar faces, on the tried and tested. Arguably, for all their differences, her sister was the Queen’s closest friend and, along with her husband, most stalwart and loyal supporter. Though Margaret was the undoubted queen of the smart set, she was always the supporting act to her sister, never the star of the show. She gave a telling clue as to the origin of this family drama when she said: ‘I’ve never suffered from second daughter-itis. I’ve never minded being referred to as the younger daughter but I do mind being referred to as the younger sister.’ This was a question of place and position in the hierarchy. As historian Michael Nash observed: ‘While her father was King, her own position was more elevated. She was in the mainstream. Immediately after he died, she became a collateral branch.’

Since she’d been a little girl, Margaret was the one drawn to the spotlight, who loved being the centre of attention whether the audience was just her father or, during the war, a table full of Guards officers. Now it was in her sitting room at Kensington Palace that she reigned supreme, singing show tunes as she sipped Famous Grouse whisky.

She was, though, undoubtedly loyal to her sister, just as she was to her friends – a characteristic that pleased the Queen. Her role, as she told writer Andrew Duncan, was to support her sister in her difficult and isolated position. ‘In my own humble way I’ve always tried to take some of the burden off my sister. She can’t do it all you know. And I leap at the opportunity to help.’

Margaret was a pioneer in trying to remove the barriers of snobbery and protocol – but not all. Woe betide the conversational partner who referred to ‘your sister’ or ‘your father’. They received ‘the Windsor glare’. Though she struggled to turn on the electric kettle, when she was a guest at a weekend party she liked to muck in, whether it be laying the fire – a particular pleasure – stripping wallpaper or washing up. She hankered after a life more ordinary but not too ordinary. Royalty mattered most.

It was a social tightrope she walked all her life. As Tony’s business manager Peter Lyster-Todd observed: ‘I often stayed with them for weekends and you never quite knew what you were going to get; friendly Margaret or talking to “Ma’am”.’ It became a common refrain. While drag artist Danny La Rue found Margaret ‘witty and highly intelligent’, he maintained, ‘you always knew you were in the presence of a princess’.

For the Queen’s 39th birthday in 1965, the Snowdons joined Peter Sellers and several other friends in making a 15-minute home movie as a gift for Her Majesty. At one point in the film, Sellers, who played ‘The Great Berko’, proclaimed that in a world-record time of 11 seconds flat he would perform his celebrated impression of Princess Margaret. He then disappeared behind a screen and flung various articles of clothing into the air, after which, a few seconds later, the actual princess emerged, curtseying and grinning before retreating behind the screen. The Queen loved the movie and showed it frequently.

Within months, in November 1965, the princess and her husband were on a professional movie set, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Mary Pickford, Charlton Heston, Maurice Chevalier and James Stewart at Universal Studios in Studio City, Hollywood. The three-week, five-city tour of the United States was the chance to fly the flag for Britain and take time to enjoy the sights, courtesy of their host, Margaret’s long-time American friend Sass Douglas, who organised the tour. Besides Los Angeles, the couple charmed San Francisco’s old-money families, dazzled New York’s Upper East Side aristocracy, and greeted locals in small town Arizona – Sass’s home state – before schmoozing President Johnson at a black-tie dinner held at the White House. The royal couple, who had performed numerous successful overseas visits on behalf of the Queen, found themselves the subject of constant criticism – even though many thought the trip a triumph.

While the tour was followed with intense interest by the media, Palace officials watched in horror as the trip devolved into utter mayhem. The getting-to-know-you visit was supposed to show Americans just how sexy and unstuffy the British royals could be. Who more qualified to do that than the House of Windsor’s grooviest couple, Margaret and Tony? Instead, as one columnist put it, the visit caused ‘plenty of trouble’. The jamboree cost the equivalent of US$500,000 and many lost tempers. An aircraft of the Queen’s Flight was sent out to back up a Lockheed JetStar, which an obliging President Johnson had provided. In addition, British Airways lent them a VC10 jet. The couple’s entourage included a Mayfair hairdresser, two menservants, two maids, a detective, a secretary, a lady-in-waiting, a private secretary and the Deputy Captain of the Queen’s Flight.

What followed after touchdown was a litany of missed appointments, cancelled public engagements and highly publicised social snubs. The princess, with her dangerous mix of highfalutin’ formality and fun-loving affability, was difficult to read. One instant she could be all friends together, the next she would be the daughter of the King-Emperor astride her high horse.

At a party at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the princess sent a message across the room to say that she would like to hear Judy Garland sing. The singer was incensed by the lordly tone and the trivialising of her talent. She said: ‘Go and tell that nasty, rude little princess that we’ve known each other long enough and gabbed enough in ladies’ rooms that she should skip the ho-hum royal routine, pop over here and ask me herself. Tell her I’ll sing if she christens a ship first.’

Then, when Margaret met with President Johnson and his wife Lady Bird, she made full use of her ‘actressy’ nature. According to one observer, who saw her at a ball at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, ‘It’s a put-on; campy; tongue-in-cheek camp. She’s doing an impersonation of herself.’ Princess Margaret – always the performer – loved opportunities where she could showcase her ‘star’ nature, becoming an exaggeration of her own public persona.

The couple were subject to a flurry of critical headlines from both sides of the political divide back in the UK, the left-wing New Statesman describing her tour as a ‘private rubbernecking trip to the American fun centres’ while the right-wing Sunday Express called it a ‘holiday frolic among the tinsel princes and princesses of Hollywood’.

After her return to London in late November, questions were asked in the House of Commons about her behaviour. In a private report, the British ambassador, Sir Patrick Dean, reported diplomatically: ‘They worked hard and played hard. It was a mistake that so much of their time was spent with and organised by Miss Douglas. It was not always possible to persuade the American public that HRH and Lord Snowdon were serious as well as gay people.’ When the princess spoke of returning to the States in 1973, British ambassador Lord Cromer torpedoed the suggestion. Margaret’s private secretary Lieutenant-Colonel Burnaby-Atkins was told, ‘Lord Cromer is not at all keen on having the Princess in the United States, possibly for some time to come. This is mainly due to the behaviour of some of HRH’s friends, who tend to take such visits lightly.’

With headlines like ‘Luxury tour’, ‘Who pays’ and ‘Own hairdresser’, the impression was left in the public mind once again that the princess was neither pulling her weight nor cost effective. Once established, this narrative would dog her for the rest of her life, no matter how many public engagements she undertook on behalf of the Queen.

The wheels were beginning to come off – not just in terms of her public image but also concerning the couple’s private behaviour. Similar in so many ways, the personality traits that had at first united now gradually divided them. It was Margaret’s tragedy that consciously and subconsciously she fell for a man who exhibited similar characteristics to herself rather than her sister.

Tragically, it soon became apparent that, in the worst sense, Margaret and Tony were ‘two peas in a pod’, both strong-willed, competitive, ‘centre-stage’ people used to getting their way. The princess had long been indulged and coddled, while Tony was magnetic and ambitious, bolder and more conniving than Margaret herself. With their personalities ‘too alike, too selfish’, as friends recalled, they were bound to clash. In this battle of wills, Snowdon, as the Queen’s biographer Sarah Bradford noted, was much better at being nasty than Margaret.

Though the earliest years of their marriage were happy and stimulating, Snowdon soon chafed at the bars of the royal cage – as his friends had predicted.

Before the couple married, Margaret’s lady-in-waiting Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, who first introduced them, asked the princess if she could genuinely cope with Tony’s ‘bohemian world’. When Lady Elizabeth explained that he would be here, there and everywhere with his professional commitments and would not always be home for dinner, Margaret dismissed her concerns, believing that their passion and deep connection would overcome all obstacles.

For all her surface royal sheen, Margaret was a surprisingly shy, insecure woman, more so than her sister, and once marital hostilities began it was easy for Snowdon to knock her off her perch. In the beginning he could pass off his casual controlling cruelties as practical jokes.

In the summer of 1963, when the couple stayed with wealthy Greek ship owner Stavros Niarchos on his private island, Spetsopoula, friends on a nearby island threw a party to celebrate Margaret’s thirty-third birthday. When Tony arrived, he brought presents for everyone – except his wife. Then, as the two were getting ready for the barbecue that night, Margaret shouted from upstairs, ‘Oh, darling, what shall I wear?’ Tony replied, ‘I think that ball gown you wore last week.’ Margaret, suspecting nothing, arrived at the dinner dressed to the hilt, while all the other guests wore casual jeans. These kinds of jokes-in-disguise progressively undermined her self-confidence and her trust in her husband. As the years ticked by, the photographer’s controlling behaviour could be described as mental cruelty.

For all her differences with her sister, she saw the Queen’s successful marriage as a template she should imitate. Like Tony, Philip was an alpha male, creative, bombastic and strong-willed but accepting of his secondary role in the marriage. As he had once told a friend: ‘This is my destiny – to support my wife in what lies ahead for her.’ In the early years, Snowdon performed this role exactly as Margaret had imagined – a smiling, gracious and deferential addition to her retinue.

Once he began working for the Sunday Times, he reverted to type, a workaholic with a wandering eye. An early riser, he was working when Margaret, after a long night carousing, was still in bed, often until shortly before noon. After a row he might send her a note, loving but firm, suggesting that she drink less and retire to bed earlier. Given her later health problems, this note could be interpreted as a husband’s fond concern for his wife. He had the ability, which she found ultimately frustrating, of skilfully laying every problem with the marriage at her door.

She knew instinctively that if she started complaining to her sister or mother, they wouldn’t want to know. They had experienced a lifetime of Margaret’s rudeness and self-absorption, so probably would side with the angelic and courteous Tony. The Queen knew it had been a long struggle for her own husband to adapt, so she sympathised with Tony’s juggling act, working as a photographer as well as undertaking national and international royal duties.

The couple began to move in different worlds. Though Margaret had longed to create a life outside royal circles, at moments of personal tension she fell back on the familiar, namely the formalities and superficialities of the royal world. In this world, her natural habitat, it was others who had to compromise to her standards and requirements.

But as Tony began to exhibit a growing need for independence, she became increasingly possessive, calling him on assignments, at restaurants or at the homes of friends. Lacking Elizabeth’s economy of emotion, Margaret could not accept that someone had ‘out-royaled her’. Since she was a girl, she had used her personality and position to get away with murder. As the gloves came off in their marriage, she began to realise she had finally met her match.

Though she was aware of the backstage drama in her sister’s marriage, the Queen simply watched and waited, hoping that matters would resolve themselves.

The cracks remained, as Tony found his duties as consort increasingly burdensome. He snapped, ‘I am not a member of the royal family. I am married to a member of the royal family.’ He focused fiercely on his job, travelling around the world on assignments, both for still photography and filming documentaries. It was creatively fulfilling but it was a world that was alien to the princess. Though she pleaded with him to let her join him on projects, he flatly refused, saying he wanted to be as anonymous as possible.

Meanwhile, Margaret remained at home, pregnant and bored. Just as the sisters had faced the challenges of pregnancy together, Elizabeth fretted over the effects of the deteriorating marriage on her sister. She knew that Margaret’s doctor – worried that marital strain was endangering her second pregnancy – had even warned Tony directly about his behaviour.

While the pregnant princess marked time, Tony was busier than ever, shooting portraits of the likes of Charlie Chaplin, and Sophia Loren. He also designed the impressive Snowdon Aviary at the London Zoo, which opened in October 1964. Most importantly, he began to evolve into a progressive voice for change, championing the disadvantaged, dispossessed and disabled. Not only did he photograph blind and deaf children, as well as victims of rubella, but he also started making award-winning TV documentaries about old age, mental health, disability, poverty and children. He was delighted that the Queen watched his work, the Sovereign complimenting him fulsomely on his efforts.

As Snowdon’s star rose, Margaret’s only claim to fame continued to be an accident of birth – a truth she shrank from her entire life.

The seeds of discontent were now sown. Rows she could bear; at least they signified emotional engagement. It was the silent treatment she dreaded. He would arrive home late and then head straight to his basement work room, often ignoring his wife’s requests to meet with guests.

With the birth of their second child, Sarah Frances Elizabeth, on 1 May 1964, there was a temporary truce. Tony had his assistant fetch a huge bouquet for Margaret from the florist. Ever conscious of royal protocol that the Queen must be the first to know the baby’s birth and sex, Tony instructed the assistant: ‘If they do it up in pink ribbon, hide it – otherwise the press’ll know that it’s a girl.’ An hour after the birth, Tony visited his wife and new daughter, then dutifully telephoned the Queen and Queen Mother, who came to see the infant in the severe black of court mourning following the death of the King of Greece. It was not an auspicious omen.

This is an edited extract from Elizabeth & Margaret by Andrew Morton

[pctaldrunk]

@dreams-of-fate asked : 💍 (taliu) - send 💍 to jokingly propose to my muse. (Accepting!!)

“…You know, I think marriage is an outdated and low cost efficient practice.” He had - very calmly, blankly, inhaling through his nose - assessed what was offered to him then - lumpy and lopsided, clumsily twisted from what looks to be a broken bit of twine - and tried and failed to press down the beat his heart skips regardless. The person holding it was perfectly poised, however, knelt in the aisle of the chapel not with both knees like a devoted believer but with only one - like a person, like any other person.

Xie Ta must have been reading again. He liked horror, but he also liked Shakespeare, and fairy tales. When he felt like romance, even Bai Liu could be made to blush. Beneath the shadow of silver spirals, Bai Liu could see clearly the ice blue eyes that were much more like diamonds than the small, smooth, painted pebble at the center of the ring, peacefully, patiently, unmoving - looking at him. In the same way Xie Ta liked to pretend everything he said was meant for him to hear - sometimes Bai Liu wondered if Xie Ta ever looked at anyone else.

He swallowed unconsciously, mouth suddenly dry. “…Why do you want to marry me?”

“ - Because when two people get married, they can stay together forever.” The other’s voice matter of fact, sure, calm, as if he is saying the sun will rise, or that night will fall. “I want to…” Now Xie Ta blinks, and tilts his head only a moment as if puzzled, as if looking for the right words, “…Read with you. Forever.”

Bai Liu felt at once full and hollow, like he was flying but the air had been knocked out of him, the wind within and without at once. It occurred to him, that marriage didn’t work like that. He could have said so, and yet he had the feeling Xie Ta would still be kneeling there, waiting for him expectantly - to give a real answer. He didn’t have to wait for long. Like the very first time Bai Liu had seen Xie Ta in this chapel, like the very first time he turned his head and asked him, “Do you want to read together?” - Bai Liu knew his answer before the question had even been asked.

He stepped closer, the way only he ever seemed to do, and held out his hand, naturally. And, like he knew the answer already, equally naturally - Xie Ta slipped the delicate thread around his finger. It fit, by some miracle, snug against his skin, like a brand of fire. His fingers twitched, and Xie Ta’s fingertips stopped lightly, coolly against his palm, only for a moment, and then their fingers were entwining, and he felt Xie Ta twist the loop of twine, almost mischievously satisfied, before its thin thread was trapped between their hands.

The gods looked on with their stone eyes, unfeeling.

He felt Xie Ta’s pleasure, the unspoken - joy. A rare thing that was only ever shared with him.

“…I want to read with you forever too.” It was the first time Bai Liu admitted it, voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

The confession - the promise - was too quiet to echo in the open space of the chapel.

Now it becomes blurred out, warbled by the bubbles in the water.

The hand that held his fades away, along with the phantom sensation - he is the one holding onto that hand. The stone twisted into the ring beats upon his knuckle against the mysterious current, the twine almost coming loose under the water. Still, he holds on, bringing that hand closer. Together forever, Xie Ta said.

He did not have the chance to tie twine around Xie Ta’s finger - but rather around his ankle, anchoring him to this place, this lake behind the chapel, waiting for one day - one day.

I am a monster that cannot die, he said.

And Bai Liu - never believed himself to be a believer. He is just a person, only a person, and beneath the water, he can almost pretend that they’re the same temperature.

Bai Liu pulls the small loop of string, tied delicately around a painted stone, out from between his teeth. He thought Xie Ta’s handiwork had been rustic, but it turns out his own is even more so. His lungs constrict from the murk, bubbles exploding, and he drags it with great difficulty over Xie Ta’s finger.

The last promise, the last prophecy, the last shred of divinity that still exists in this place.

Together forever, the “monster” Bai Liu believes in had said.

The eyes of the gods he did not believe in ought to bear witness.

[evermoredeluxe]

Some say they don't think that's the price because opal isn't very expensive but the ring, apart from the large opal stone, has small diamonds around it, so I think that's the cost or at least 70k.

i was thinking low-to-mid-5-figures not high 5 figures, but im also not well-versed in jewelry prices so 🤷‍♀️

[fratboykate]

well it’s kind of a funny story actually! we were in france for a competition (naturally), the competition was in a city but we decided to stay about 35 minutes away in the countryside in the village i’m from! free accommodation. i’d been thinking about proposing for a really long time, i knew i was going to marry her pretty much as soon as we started dating tbh, but i was really in my head about it because i wanted it to be perfect because she deserves it! one of the days we were in the city for comp day and i was running late so she had to leave without me but she sent the teammates who weren’t shooting that day to pick me up so i didn’t have to worry about being in hurry and driving around all the roundabouts (rural france has a lot of roundabouts, i hate them/they make me nervous). so we parked the car and we were walking down this street to the venue and i turned my head by complete chance and i saw the perfect ring in the window of this jewellery store. it was perfect, but we were running late so i asked if one of the other girls would come with me to buy it the next day. so the next day i tell agf that i’m going into the city to get our morning bread instead of walking to the bakery down the street, but really i was going with the team to buy the ring. the whole team turned up, including her coach AND her physio. they all wanted to see the ring, to make sure i was doing right by her etc. the ring is perfect: 24k white gold band, solitaire cut ethically sourced 1.5ct diamond, it cost more than the down payment on our house lol but if they hand asked me to cut off my arm with a wooden spoon right then and there i would have. i had originally planned to propose when we got back home, at the park where i first told her i loved her and i knew in my bones i was going to marry her - something really low-key. i forgot my bag so i had to put the ring in its box in my coat pocket and we went about our day and tbh i kind of forgot about it. it was bastille day - i think that’s what you call it in the US anyway - so we were at the small village festival, then later at my family’s house and it was nice because my sister who was abroad at the time had managed to make it home while i was in the city in the morning. it’s on a hill and we were looking down at the fireworks in the village below and i could hear the music and feel the celebrations of my family in the background and i looked over at her and i just remember thinking that i’ve never felt this safe and happy, and if the world ended that second i wouldn’t care because she was there. and i just realised i couldn’t wait any longer. i couldn’t wait for her to be my wife. so i put down my drink and i let go of her hand and turned around to get the ring out of my pocket and when i turned back, opened ring box in hand she was just opening the ring box with my ring in it. we laughed and cried and proposed and said yes (obviously). it turns out that she specifically flew my sister out to go buy the ring with her, because she saw the perfect ring on our first day there and she wanted to buy it that day, and she wanted my sister to be there. so she bought her a plane ticket and when they went into the city that afternoon they were actually buying the ring. from the same jewellery store. on the same day. there are like 3 other jewellery stores on the same street. and then we got married a month later! -agf

WHAT KIND OF GAYASS FAIRYTALE ARE YOU HOMOS LIVING IN AND HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR WEEKLY EPISODES BECAUSE I WANT ALL OF THE CONTENT?????????????????? LIKE???? I COULDNT WRITE THIS? THIS IS...DARE I SAY...BETTER THAN FICTION?????????? EXCUSE YOU???

BUT ALSO I HAVE QUESTIONS KJLSHJGKDFG HOW DIDN'T HER TEAMMATES KNOW SHE WAS PROPOSING AND BUYING A RING THERE TOO?! SURELY SHE WOULD'VE TOLD THEM? NO? KJDHGJSKDFG YOU GUYS BOUGHT A RING FROM THE SAME JEWELRY STORE BUT NOT *THE SAME RING* RIGHT?!??!?! THAT WOULD JUST BE TOO MUCH FOR MY GAY HEART TO HANDLE??? LISTEN I NEED DIAGRAMS, VIDEOS, PICTURES, A POWER POINT PRESENTATION. I FEEL LIKE I WILL NEVER HAVE ENOUGH DETAILS HERE.

[ammg-old2]

When I decided to propose to the woman who is now my wife, I gave a lot of thought to how I was going to do it. But I didn't think much about what I was going to do it with. Not only did a diamond ring seem the logical—nay, the inevitable—choice, but I had just the very diamond. My grandfather had scrounged up enough money to buy a diamond ring for my grandmother in the early 1950s, and the stone had passed to me when he passed away. I reset the diamond in a more modern band, got the ring appraised, and slipped it on my fiancée's finger.

It was a beautiful moment—a gesture of love and commitment spanning generations. And it was also exactly what De Beers Consolidated Mines, Ltd. wanted. I was a century-old marketing campaign, actualized. And I'm far from alone; three-quarters of American brides wear a diamond engagement ring, which now costs an average of $4,000.

Every so often, an article comes along that makes you thoroughly rethink a rote practice. Edward Jay Epstein's "Have You Ever Tried to Sell a Diamond?" was one of them. In his 1982 Atlantic story, the investigative journalist deconstructed what he termed the "diamond invention"—the "creation of the idea that diamonds are rare and valuable, and are essential signs of esteem."

That invention is surprisingly recent: Epstein traces its origins to the discovery of massive diamond mines in South Africa in the late 19th century, which for the first time flooded world markets with diamonds. The British businessmen operating the South African mines recognized that only by maintaining the fiction that diamonds were scarce and inherently valuable could they protect their investments and buoy diamond prices. They did so by launching a South Africa–based cartel, De Beers Consolidated Mines, Ltd. (now De Beers), in 1888, and meticulously extending the company's control over all facets of the diamond trade in the ensuing decades.

Most remarkably, De Beers manipulated not just supply but demand. In 1938, amid the ravages of the Depression and the rumblings of war, Harry Oppenheimer, the De Beers founder's son, recruited the New York–based ad agency N.W. Ayer to burnish the image of diamonds in the United States, where the practice of giving diamond engagement rings had been unevenly gaining traction for years, but where the diamonds sold were increasingly small and low-quality.

Meanwhile, the price of diamonds was falling around the world. The folks at Ayer set out to persuade young men that diamonds (and only diamonds) were synonymous with romance, and that the measure of a man's love (and even his personal and professional success) was directly proportional to the size and quality of the diamond he purchased. Young women, in turn, had to be convinced that courtship concluded, invariably, in a diamond.

Ayer insinuated these messages into the nooks and crannies of popular culture. It marketed an idea, not a diamond or brand:

Movie idols, the paragons of romance for the mass audience, would be given diamonds to use as their symbols of indestructible love. In addition, the agency suggested offering stories and society photographs to selected magazines and newspapers which would reinforce the link between diamonds and romance. Stories would stress the size of diamonds that celebrities presented to their loved ones, and photographs would conspicuously show the glittering stone on the hand of a well-known woman. Fashion designers would talk on radio programs about the "trend towards diamonds" that Ayer planned to start. ...

In its 1947 strategy plan, the advertising agency ... outlined a subtle program that included arranging for lecturers to visit high schools across the country. "All of these lectures revolve around the diamond engagement ring, and are reaching thousands of girls in their assemblies, classes and informal meetings in our leading educational institutions," the agency explained in a memorandum to De Beers. The agency had organized, in 1946, a weekly service called "Hollywood Personalities," which provided 125 leading newspapers with descriptions of the diamonds worn by movie stars. ... In 1947, the agency commissioned a series of portraits of "engaged socialites." The idea was to create prestigious "role models" for the poorer middle-class wage-earners. The advertising agency explained, in its 1948 strategy paper, "We spread the word of diamonds worn by stars of screen and stage, by wives and daughters of political leaders, by any woman who can make the grocer's wife and the mechanic's sweetheart say 'I wish I had what she has.'"

In the late 1940s, just before my grandfather started hunting for his diamond ring, an Ayer copywriter conceived of the slogan that De Beers has used ever since: "A Diamond Is Forever." "Even though diamonds can in fact be shattered, chipped, discolored, or incinerated to ash, the concept of eternity perfectly captured the magical qualities that the advertising agency wanted to attribute to diamonds," Epstein writes. A diamond that's forever promises endless romance and companionship. But a forever diamond is also one that's not resold. Resold diamonds (and it's maddeningly hard to resell them, as Epstein's article details) cause fluctuations in diamond prices, which undermine public confidence in the intrinsic value of diamonds. Diamonds that are stowed away in safe-deposit boxes, or bequeathed to grandchildren, don't.