#source: gentleman bastard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pomefioredove · 18 days ago

Note

I have a silly idea: reader comes with Jade, Leona, or whoever else you want when they get their wisdom teeth taken out, so they can drive them home after, you know, but [Jade, Leona, or whoever] has a strong reaction to the anesthetic and is very loopy (and emotional, and honest) afterwards.

I hope you feel better soon!

arguably leona is the funniest one 😭😭 ty for this anon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ forget it

type of post: fic characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, reader can drive, I feel like that needs tagging, I didn't write this about jade but he snuck his way in anyway

"Careful. Mind your head. Let's get you into the car- there we go,"

Leona mumbles something nonsensical, holding an icepack to his jaw.

You'd think, with the pain and all, he'd be in an even worse mood than he usually is.

But then, you'd be wrong. He's full of surprises.

He runs his free hand over the armrest of his seat. "Where'd you get this thing, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be poor or 'somethin,"

"It was a gift, actually," ...from Leona himself, which he doesn't seem to remember. Hm.

"Whoever bought it must like you a lot..."

You give him a strange look before you start the car. "I suppose so?"

"Lucky bastard,"

You laugh. Then he laughs, which takes you by surprise. It's not like him to be so... unlike him.

He's very talkative, too.

Leona's been mumbling nonsense to himself since he got out of the dentist's door, but this is actual conversation, now... if a little slurred.

"'s a good thing you're 'doin this. If it was Jack or 'somethin I'd never hear the end of it... you're dependable, 'ya know?"

Laughing gas. The nurse had warned you he might be a little loopy for a short time after the procedure. Euphoric, is the word she actually used.

You can definitely see that now.

Leona is looking at you like you're the prettiest thing he ever saw, his eyelids lowered.

"Do you got a boyfriend or 'somethin?"

The numb, slurred state of his words makes it uneasy to understand him, but with the look he's been giving you, it's not exactly hard to guess.

"No, not presently," you say, trying to keep your eyes on the road. "Why? You gonna ask me out?"

"Yeah. Maybe,"

You roll your eyes. The nurse had also warned you he might experience some mild memory loss.

An effect of the laughing gas, again.

He won't remember this conversation in a few hours. A sense of disappointment hollows out your chest. You ignore it.

"Okay, then. Meet me on Friday. Six PM. I want dinner and a show, your pick," you say, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Done,"

"And I want flowers. Imported from Sunset Savanna,"

"Can do that,"

"And I expect a kiss at the end. A proper one, not a teen boy one,"

"Pfft. A teen boy one?"

"You know. Eyes open, dumb look on their face, tongue sticking out. You'll have to kiss me like a gentleman, Kingscholar. I really like you. Like-like you. Make it count,"

"Yeah, yeah..."

He mutters, closing his eyes and kicking back against the car seat.

Not all things are so different about him now- he falls asleep just the same. And he snores. All the way back to school.

You nudge him awake and he only growls, though not very menacingly, and lets you help him back to his dorm, your arm under his. Once he's tucked in bed, medication on the bedside table and a checklist in Ruggie's hands, you're done.

Walking back to your own dorm, you feel that same hollow sense of disappointment. And some relief, too. You confessed to your crush, and he won't even remember it!

"Ah, it's you. I was wondering who might be out so late,"

You jump, and spin on your heels towards the source of the noise. Behind you, the owner of the mysterious voice comes out of the shadows.

"Oh. Jade," who else would you expect at this point?

"Good evening," he bows, a little too formally for the sharp-toothed smirk on his face. "Might I inquire what you're doing, out here so late?"

"I had to drive Leona to a dentist thing," you shrug, walking again. Jade follows alongside you.

"Oh? And that went well?"

You chuckle. "Very. Besides the side effects on the anesthesia they put him on,"

That familiar curiosity gleams in Jade's glassy eyes, giving him a predatorial look. It's... unnerving. As usual.

"Oh? I wish you had told me. I've become quite interested in land creature teeth lately... tell me, what anesthesia was used?"

Creepy. But not unusual for Jade. "Some injection, and laughing gas,"

"...Interesting... you were in the car for a long while?"

"Uh..." where's he going with this? "Yeah, I guess. And we had to fill out some paperwork in the lobby before leaving."

"Interesting... very interesting,"

The gleam in his eyes almost becomes hungry, as if he's feeding off of what you're telling him.

Like... he knows something.

You narrow your eyes. "What?"

Jade grins, showing you rows of sharpened teeth. "Oh, nothing..."

You wait for him to go on. He waits for you to ask. You both walk down the long path to your dorm.

"...It's just that the effects of laughing gas wear off no more than ten minutes after the flow has ended. I'd dare to say that Leona was perfectly lucid by the time you got into the car,"

You slow. Then you stop. There's no way...

That... absolutely bastard of a prince.

Jade's grin sharpens.

"It seems as if whatever secret you have so clearly given Leona while you thought he was drugged isn't so secret now... is it?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader

840 notes · View notes

pastorpresent · 4 months ago

Text

Since Logan moved in, it was finally deemed that their singular double bed was an unrealistic sleeping arrangement for three people. It had barely worked when it was just him and Al, but Logan was fucking huge and most of the time the older mans attempts at sleeping on the lumpy, cocaine stuffed couch would end up with him on the floor and aching the next day.

Wade saved up and managed to find a sofa bed that would actually fit in their tiny living room (which he only did so Logan would stop bitching, obviously. He only worked an extra thirty hours ish because Logan was pissing him off with his moaning, and Wade was prepared to kill anyone who suggested otherwise).

Originally, it was supposed to be for Logan - but him being the annoyingly gracious gentleman he was, he offered it up to Al since it was now the most comfortable sleeping option going. (Wade once tried to tell him to give it up, that Al didn't have a good side to get on, but then he'd been proven wrong by the fact that Al was fucking smitten by the bastard. Wade was convinced they were conspiring against him.)

It left them both sharing the double bed and, again, Logan was fucking huge. Even if Wade made every effort to restrain himself and lie strictly on the very edge of the bed, nine times out of ten he'd wake up the next morning curled around the big hunk of muscle.

It felt... so fucking good. Wade wasn't a cuddler, funnily enough, but there was just something about it being Logan specifically. He'd genuinely never felt safer than he did wrapped up in his arms, listening to the quiet snores of the older man and feeling his heart beat right up against his own.

And it's not like it was a conscious thing he was doing - he was literally asleep! Plus Logan never objected, and he always cuddled back, and sometimes there was a tiny and disgustingly hopeful voice in the recesses of his mind asking if their position was due to Logan pulling him in rather than Wade's unconscious and persistent disregard for personal space.

They'd had this unspoken, completely-undiscussed-for-any-period-of-time-whatsoever arrangement for about two months when one night Wade woke up to agonising pain.

He blinked blearily, brain still half asleep as he struggled to comprehend what was going on, and his first thought was Logan. If someone had broken in, what if he was hurt too? What if they'd found a way to kill him? It felt like he was dying, with the horrific sharp stabbing in his sides scratching his heart and popping both lungs like balloons, leaving him unable to breathe properly as his chest sucked inwards. What if he was truly dying? And worse still - what if they'd found a way to kill Logan?

There was a soft growl that tapered off into a small whimper just inches from his face, and he forced himself to calm down and focus.

They were locked in their usual embrace, but when Wade looked up at Logan's face, it was screwed up. He was shaking his head rapidly, breaths coming out short and laboured, his eyes still tightly closed.

It was then he realised what the source of his own pain was. Six adamantium claws piercing through both sides of his body, ripping up his organs into gruesome confetti.

Shit.

Logan thrashed a little, his claws deepening, and Wade cried out a little at the explosion of pain. He lifted an arm and clamped it down onto Logan's forearm to not only steady himself, but to try to get the man to wake up from whatever nightmare he was having. Wade knew too well about how violently real they could feel. It really wasn't a stretch or exaggeration to say that seeing the frightened look on Logan's sleeping face, usually the only time he got to look some sort of peaceful, was more hurtful than any of the physical pain Wade was currently experiencing.

When he gripped Logan's arm, he was shaking like a leaf.

"Logan," he called, struggling around his rearranged insides, tightening his grip on the man's arm in an attempt to ground him.

Logan snarled, embedding his claws deeper until they were peeking out the opposite sides of Wade's body, his warm fists pressing against skin, and if Wade could bring himself to focus on anything other than the blindingly white shot of pain or the emotional turmoil on his best friends face he may of mourned his now tattered Hello Kitty sleep shirt.

Logan's claws hurt sinking into him even when he had the suit on, but he'd never experienced their wrath without it - and it was much worse.

"L-Logan," he called out, coughing up blood and chunks of flesh onto the already destroyed bed sheets and yeah- he'd probably need to change them now, considering he was bleeding out most of his body's blood all over them. He just hoped the mattress wasn't completely fucked, because his paycheck probably couldn't stretch to new sheets and a new mattress.

Logan let out a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, and there was a wetness beneath his lashes. Ok no - this needed to end now.

"It's W-Wade, Logan. M' right here, you're s-safe, 'ts ok," it was getting really difficult to talk, especially loud enough for Logan to hear him above his own sounds of distress.

He ran his fingers up and down Logan's arm, scratching lightly. His own body was feeling dangerously weak, and he knew he was about to die from blood loss probably - which usually took a good few hours to regenerate from.

He couldn't have that. He couldn't leave Logan like this, so he needed to pull him out of it soon.

He hesitated for only a second before inching himself closer, gasping and writhing at the agony it caused, and let his head drop against Logan's, moving his hand upwards with a soft grunt to stroke a hand through his hair.

"T's me. L-Logan 'ts ok, y-you're ok," he has to turn his face away to cough wetly into his shoulder, wincing at the metallic taste of blood.

"Lo, please," he pleads quietly, and he isn't sure what does it, but Logan wakes up.

His eyes shoot open, and dart around rapidly, chest heaving, and then they zero in on him. On the bloody mess of their bed, and their current position, and Wade really is getting tired now. His eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, and he let's the hand he was running through Logan's hair go limp, allowing it to fall against the older mans pillow.

"G'd job, big guy. K-knew you'd come back f'r me," he slurs out, his head lolling back despite wanting nothing more than to keep it pressed against Logan's. He can feel himself slipping.

"Wade. WADE! Fuck, Wade!"

The claws retract out of his body suddenly, and it feels like a punch to his insides. Logan screams, or maybe he does, he's not sure anymore.

He wants to comfort Logan and tell him it's fine, that he'll be healed up and ok in an hour or two, that it wasn't his fault, because he already knows the man will blame himself for this which is beyond fucking stupid.

He can't do or say any of it. His insides are trying to heal, but they'd been so torn up it wasn't all that fast.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Wade stay awake, alright? Keep your eyes open, you asshole. I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry," Logan's panicking, he can hear it in his voice. He's really panicking now, and Wade can't figure out how to communicate that he will be perfectly ok soon enough.

"Baby, please. Please, I'm so sorry."

Did Logan just call him baby? He must really not look great.

He manages to lift that shaking hand off of the pillow behind Logan's head, and lifts it enough to cup the back of his neck, stroking his thumb over the shorter hairs there. Logan wraps his arms around him like he's about to dissapear, pulling him in flush against his warmth, all but cradling him, and he can't tell if the wetness on his shoulder is Logan crying or blood.

Blood seems more likely. The beds covered in it. Wade's covered in it too, and he feels like he should be trying to push Logan away so he doesn't get covered in it as well.

It's the last thing he remembers before the world goes black.

When he wakes up, it's daylight - which isn't all that surprising. Regenerating your bodies blood cells was a right bitch, and he'd never had to do it on this big of a scale before.

He blinks his eyes against the harsh lights, and goes to sit up only to be stopped by a soft, perfectly manicured hand against his chest.

"Easy, Wade. Just stay lying down for a minute until your brain catches up," Vanessa advises gently and - Vanessa? What was she doing here?

"Where's Logan?" He blurts, not quite caring if it's rude. He needs to see him. He'd been trapped in that shitty nightmare and then had nobody to talk it over with, since Wade's stupid body decided to give up on him.

He hates the brief look that flashes over Vanessa's face. The twist of anger and disgust, and he doesn't fucking get it which only makes him hate it more.

"What?" He demands, and as much as he was healed up, his lungs still burnt a little when he sat up, brushing her hand away.

"You don't need to worry about that now, Wade. He can't hurt you again. He's gone," she hissed, and Wade had heard her be less seething with grabby customers at the bar.

Her words made his stomach plummet, and his newly generated blood flow went cold.

"What the fuck do you mean 'gone'?! Where the fuck is he?"

The TVA had always offered to send his Logan back to his own timeline. Everytime Logan had dismissed it, said this was his universe now. The idea... fuck, the idea of him back in his own? Where everyone calls him the 'worst wolverine' and he spends all his time alone, shunned by everybody for reasons he's more than made up for... no. No, fuck, please say he didn't go back there.

"Wade, calm down-"

"No! I don't want to fucking calm down! Where's Logan?!"

It's loud and harsh, and he startles himself a little bit because he's never, in all the years he's known her, yelled at Vanessa - but he feels so off balance. Like everything around him is just... wrong, somehow, and he needs to understand why in order to fix it. He needs Logan.

Vanessa removes her hand, mouth opening then snapping shut. Her expression goes from shocked to tight and hard in an instant, but she only holds it for a moment before deflating entirely, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know. He called me upset and said he'd hurt you really badly and that you needed help. By the time I got here you were starting to heal but... it was really slow. We patched you up and Logan told me what had happened and... and I lost it, I told him to go and to stay far away from you. No ones heard from him the last couple of days since he walked out," Vanessa looked somewhat guilty, but it didn't quell Wade's anger.

"Hang on - a couple of days? How long was I out?"

"Three days. Colossus said you'd pretty much lost all the blood in your body, and ended up putting you on a drip to help your body regenerate it faster," Vanessa explained, and Wade swallowed.

Three days? He must've been worse off than he'd thought. He knew he couldn't die from it, but to be on the brink for so long sounded... unpleasant. He did feel a pang of sympathy for her then, dealing with that. It's not like his immortality came with a guide book, and so for him to appear so very close to actual death for so long it was likely more than unsettling.

"Look, it wasn't Logan's fault-"

"Wade-" Vanessa tried, her voice exasperated as if she'd been anticipating this.

"I'm serious. Logan didn't mean to do it, he didn't even realise," Wade argued.

"If he knows he could be dangerous he shouldn't of slept in the same bed as you! He- he shouldn't of been doing that anyway!"

The room went painfully quiet after her explosion. There was far too much to unpack in the meaning of her words, and frankly Wade didn't have the time or the energy.

"I'm going to find Logan."

She didn't argue with him when he got up this time.

It didn't actually take long for Wade to track him down. With his past history of profession, tracking people down was sort of a specialty at this point.

Didn't hurt that Logan was hard to fucking miss, and even harder to forget. Wade would know a thing or two about that, maybe.

He was just relieved he hadn't high tailed it back to his own universe, even as he pushed his way into the seedy bar and well - if even Wade would describe it as fucking seedy...

He spotted Logan immediately. Hunched over the bar on a tatted bar stool, adorning his old leather jacket ('why don't you get a new one? This ones like, peeling.' Logan had shrugged, adjusting the fabric on his shoulders, 'I like this one.')

The bartender was refusing to serve him another shot, and Logan was begging in that sort of gruff but all together desperate kind of way, promising to leave after this one.

It was so fucking nostalgic of their first meeting that Wade almost wanted to go over there and pull his gun, just for nostalgia sake.

It was equal parts depressing too, because Logan had come so far. In terms of coping with his shit and the alcohol, and yet here he was, back to a literal caricature of square one, ground zero, and it only made Wade that much more pissed at the whole situation.

"You know I won't kiss when you have whiskey breath, peanut," Wade made his presence known in the only way he knew how. Obnoxiously.

He slid up to the bar next to Logan, taking the unoccupied seat to his left.

Logan stared at him for a long moment, eyes scanning over the entirety of him frantically as if he was checking for non-existent damage.

"I'm fine, big guy. Sheesh, you think you're the first to try bleeding me dry? I still don't shut the fuck up for long," he joked, because joking just seemed easier. Nevermind the fact that it was mostly a lie - no one had ever tried that method of murder yet, or at least not purposefully.

Logan was still looking at him with that pained look. It was one he recognised - much akin to the expression he wore the night when he had told him all about the xmen of his old universe and what had happened to them.

"I'm honestly okay. Look," he reached out to grab Logans hand, bringing it to his clothed side to prove he was still all in one piece, but when Logan realised he yanked his hand back so harshly he stumbled off his stool, his face utterly horrified.

"Logan-"

"Don't, Wade! I can't touch you. I can't," Logan stressed, eyes wide.

"It was an accident! Fuck, you were asleep! You didn't mean to do it, and I've healed up completely!" Wade emphasised, but Logan ducked his head to avoid his gaze, swallowing thickly.

"I... I can't fucking risk it, alright? Not again. Jesus, we didn't think..." Logan tapered off, his eyes growing distant, "we didn't think you'd come back from it, bub. I really thought I'd... I'd killed you for good."

Logan wouldn't look at him, but even the emotion in his voice had Wade's newly repaired heart shattering all over again.

"But you didn't. Give me your hand."

Logan frowned, "Wade I'm fucking serious, I can't touch you again. I shouldn't even be anywhere near you after what I did," he argued, and Wade scoffed.

He unholstered one of his guns, relieved that the place was rough enough that doing so barely earned him a sideways glance.

Logan watched him wearily.

Wade jabbed the barrel of the gun against his own torso, turned upwards for a direct shot to his heart.

"What the fuck are you doing?! You're barely healed!" Logan blanched, trying to grab for the gun. Wade clicked the safety off in response, stopping the older man dead in his tracks.

"Let me have your hand and I'll holster it. If you don't, well... I'll just need to shoot to prove I'm not some delicate damsel. I know I have the looks to qualify as a Disney princess, but they won't take me, so you're stuck with me. And that's gonna be a lot fucking harder if you're going to go the running away and avoiding touching me like I'm some sort of plague route, sweetness."

There was a few beats of silence, and Wade really hoped Logan would just take the first option. Lodging a bullet into himself right now sounded fucking painful.

"You're fucking crazy, bub," Logan muttered in disbelief, but reluctantly held his hand out in offering.

Wade put the gun away, grabbing the large, calloused hand in his own scarred one. Logan's was scarred a little too, the only place on his body to show any sort of lasting damage. Little white scratches across each knuckle where the metal retracted out of his body repetitively.

('Does it hurt?' Wade asked one day when they were sat watching mindless TV, staring down at the marks between Logan's fingers. Logan doesn't ask for clarification, or even glance away from the screen, 'everytime.' Something in the way he says it upsets Wade so deeply his chest literally aches for a moment.)

He takes Logan's hand and snakes it beneath his shirt, (he can't even bring himself to make a stupid innuendo about it) guiding it over his healed skin.

Logan flinches, eyes shutting momentarily, breathing slightly shaky, and Wade can feel the tension in his arm, wanting to pull away but not. Trusting Wade, even if he doesn't trust himself.

"It's okay, see? There's nothing there anymore. Feel."

He let's go of Logan's wrist, and the older man gently, so annoyingly gently, runs his finger tips over his sides that were once leaking out oceans of blood between them.

"It doesn't change the facts that I did it. I did it again, and I lucked out again, but if you didn't have your powers..." Logan went to pull his hand away again, but Wade held it firmly in place, searching his face.

"But I do, so we're not worrying about anything else."

He wants to ask what Logan meant by 'again'. He wanted to know everything about the man in front of him, but Wade knew the secrets would come with time. Or not at all, and Wade could make peace with that too if it's what Logan needed.

"I'm really glad you're ok, bub," Logan murmurs after a beat of silence, his gruff tone softer.

Wade smiled, "I'd be better if you'd come home and continue our marathon of keeping up with the kardashians."

Logan side eyed the bar, before turning his entire focus back to Wade, nodding wordlessly.

They left the bar together, and while Wade continued his usual tirade of adhd fuelled conversation, Logan just watched him with a secret smile he'd later swear wasn't there.

And if he occasionally brushed an arm against the mercs side just to make sure he was truly still in one piece, Wade didn't say anything.

620 notes · View notes

zvtara-was-never-canon · 3 months ago

Text

I'm not one to police how "dark" people should make their fan content, or to act like there's something morally wrong with making a character go through hardship or with having a kink, but man, there sure is a noticeable pattern in how zutarians imagine Katara.

Every attempt to "empower" her always comes with some for of humiliation, violence, trauma or loss of identity.

No one is allowed to love her and treat her well. Not her dad, not her brother, not her friends, not her canon love interest. She needs to be just babysitter/cinderella to them. She needs to be made to feel lonely, isolated, disregarded and unloved until Zuko shows up to the rescue.

Gone is her strong connection to her tribe, that made her want to honor it even when she was traveling the world like she dreamed of. Instead she'll long to be part of the nation that almost erased her culture, commited genocide against her people and killed her mother. Gone is her right to be mad at them for it, even though she canonically always stops herself from letting that anger cross the line into blind hatred.

Instead SHE is the one who needs to learn a lesson on "not judging people just because they're different", and making them learn basic empathy towards someone they see as "other" is no longer on them, or on the guy that literally stepped up for that role of his own free will. Nope, that burden should be on Katara's shoulders instead. It's her job to convince the racists that she is, in fact, a human being and deserves to be treated like one.

And she should always be wearing red instead of the colors of her tribe, her children should grow up in the Fire Nation palace, preparing to inherit that throne (aka their father's legacy), and any waterbender she gives birth to will absolutely be taught bloodbending as that is supposedly Katara's legacy - even though she never wanted to learn it and refuses to use it 9 times out of 10 because she finds it immoral AND it is a source of trauma for her, as it was used by a predatory adult to violate her body.

She should not be "Just the Avatar's girl" and "Aang's reward" (even though she was always her own damn self before anything and their romance was a "reward" to both of them), but instead should be just the Fire Lady - after all, in their eyes, Zuko "deserves her more" and that's somehow Not The Same.

Gone is her right to remain a kind, compassionate soul. Instead she needs to let anger consume her and push her to do things she finds morally wrong, like murder or bloodbending, because she needs to hate pacifism so she can hate Aang by proxy.

In fact, Aang should be made to be the REAL source of oppression and violence in her life (combined with her tribe and family of course).

Compassion should no longer be something they both believe in, it should be an idea Aang tries to force into her head. The scars on her hands after he accidentally burns her should be permanent, not healed by Katara herself, to make her more of a victim (with "parallels" to Zuko) and Aang more of a bastard. Aang not wanting to let go of her should be a result of obsession and entitlement, not a combination of his own trauma, the natural desire to be with those he cares about, and the very explicit fact that Katara did not want to be let go of (see her reaction to him leaving in The Awakening).

And more importantly, Aang horribly failing to read the room and kissing her when she didn't want to be kissed, and immediately chastising himself for it because he meant no harm, should be turned into him full on forcing himself on her, preferably more than once. The more traumatizing the better, so Zuko looks like even more of a hero when he saves her.

But that is not say that he needs to be a perfect gentleman when rescuing her, oh no. It's totally fine if what "frees" Katara from the "burdens" that are her family, friends and culture is being taken to the Fire Nation against her will, especially if she's not just a regular prisoner, but instead made to forcibly marry Zuko - or be his sex slave. It's totally fine is this "rescue" involves her being beaten into submission and assaulted until she learns to like it. It's for her own good. It's "feminist" when Zuko does it to her. It's only abuse when Aang does it.

And obviously any anger she has ever felt towards Zuko, even when he sent an assassin after her group, is really just her being "mad at herself" because, secretly, she TOTALLY wants him to do exactly that.

Truly the perfect way to "empower" a character. Mutilate them until they fit in the box you designed for them - and then call people "fake fans" who just "don't understand or care about the character" when they say they liked the original version way more.

Zutarians really shot themselves in the foot with that "holier than thou" attitude. It's IMPOSSIBLE to take their version of "respecting Katara's character" seriously.

#anti zutara #pro kataang #pro aang #katara deserved better #pro katara

149 notes · View notes

deuxcherise · 7 months ago

Text

Look At Me

C/w: Includes adult content, NSFW, unhealthy relationship dynamic, unhealthy behavior, murder, animal cruelty, animal death, male x female, dom reader(?), sub lover(?), mentions of sadomasochism, no beta we die like men

A/n: So I wanted to rip something out of my head today and throw it down into something tangible instead of just letting it ferment like all of the other ideas. Writing is hard, aughhhh.

But here's my good boy oc! Enjoy him!

Masterlist

As the daughter of the Astoria Empire's Royal family, there is nothing you can do that can tarnish your reputation. Even if the people see you as “The Mad First-born Princess”, they still worshiped your family's lineage, especially your father, the Emperor, as descended from the heavens and their salvation.

A cultivated image, maintained by the powerful and the rich. You cared not for it, since this empire has never been a source of comfort.

Unfortunately, there is a law regarding marriage that greatly involves the first-born, even if you are literally a princess of the empire. Before any siblings can get married, the first-born must be married off. It is akin to presenting the image of the family forth in public, to serve as a model for the younger ones and other potential suitors and maidens. It is all about connections, yes? And luckily or unluckily depending on your tastes, you seem to have been engaged with a… strange gentleman.

“Princess?”

You sit, one leg crossed over the other, on the edge of your king-sized bed, dressed in a sheer nightgown. On his hand knees, still dressed in formal attire, the man’s chin rests on the dorsal side of your out-stretched foot and looks up at you with the most depraved looking eyes you have ever seen.

Naoki Nightshade.

The one and only son of Baron Nightshade. Considering his family is just slightly above the commoners and far below all of the many eligible dukes, marquess, viscounts, and earls, it would have been impossible for the both of you to become acquainted with one another, much less become engaged. Alas, he is a cousin of Lillian Vallar, who happens to be your best friend.

Lillian had actually been the one to suggest this match, claiming that it would bring you and her closer. You and the girl have a deep history together, having forged your bond through life and death during your teens. You know she had no further intentions. That girl seriously just wanted to become your sister-in-law.

And… well, you had to give some credit to your father, that neglectful bastard, since he had the main authority to approve this engagement.

You hold eye contact with Naoki with your chin tilted up in an arrogant manner. His yellow eyes burn with molten gold as they meet yours, making your eyes flick over to some part of the room out of… discomfort.

“... What?”

He closes his eyes, holds your foot with one hand so that he can give it a light kiss before laying more kiss as he moves upward your leg. You don’t stop him, prideful as you are. You are the first-born princess of Astoria. If you so wanted, you can simply kick him to the side. You could hit him. You could tear him apart. Humiliate him. No one would vouch for this man of low status, and no one would dare speak against the empire. And he certainly could not do anything against your physical strength.

He stops at the middle of your shin and looks up at you again. He doesn't look anywhere but your eyes, only waiting for a chance to meet them.

Uncomfortable.

Not in a bad way, just… With the low lighting by candlelight, the intimate setting being your bedroom with its dark red walls and decor, his connection to you… any other man in this situation would be ogling your body through the sheer material. Many men have, even when you are covered head to toe in opaque clothing in the balls you've crashed. But Naoki… he keeps searching for your eyes, no matter the situation or circumstances.

“Princess… please, look at me,” Naoki whispers.

“...And why should I?” you whisper back sharply, still avoiding his eyes, though more out of mischief.

You don't hear his response for a good few seconds, prompting you to look down only to meet his intense gaze yet again. You look away, then feel a quiver from his body from where his hands are holding your leg. He's taking amusement from your reaction, making you grit your teeth.

“What's so funny?”

He doesn't answer, only pressing his lips against your leg, resuming slowly. moving upwards with each kiss. It tickles, but you don’t stop him. It feels like forever but once he kisses your knee, he whispers in the most quiet and gentle voice you have ever heard from him, “I love you.”

Heat fills your cheeks, his stupid line adding onto why you’re avoiding his eyes. “Liar.”

“It's true.”

“We just met two months ago.”

“Indeed, we should've met sooner.”

“I recall you didn't want anything to do with me just weeks ago.”

He rests his cheek against your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yes. A mistake on my part. M’ sorry. I love you.”

Having been hidden and isolated since birth by a superstitious court, you escaped and crashed the Crown Prince's coming-of-age ceremony because every child of your family got to have an age-of-coming ceremony except you. Ever since your first public appearance, you've been known to torture the royal guards, insult the royal court, and crash uninvited to every single ball you held an interest in. It is like a game to you, to see just how far you can go before someone in the empire finally realizes just how rotten this country's worship is to your family.

But truth be told, you’re anything but mad. Personally, you'd rather stay out of the spotlight. You'd rather sit at home and read a good book or spend your days drinking tea or coffee and enjoy a good evening scenery. Quiet and serene, quite different from your outgoing and insane persona–merely a petty revenge against your father and the country.

You sigh. What the hell happened to this man? The Naoki you met for the first time always kept a practiced smile on his face, no matter how wicked you displayed yourself, yet this happy expression had never reached his eyes. He'd keep his distance whenever he could both physically and emotionally, though he always made sure to accept any and all invitations just to appease you, like a merchant. He used to be so visibly uncomfortable when you would constantly invade his personal space to spout some of the cringiest lines you could come up with when you’re in character. You had heard the gossip, as you always do, about how pitiful the man was to be engaged with someone like you.

You didn't expect much, for what sane person would want to marry a mad woman who could easily take the lives of millions with a single tantrum. In fact, one of the benefits of this persona was to keep away any potential offers of engagement. Why would you want to marry anyone from this empire you hated? But it is law for first-borns to be married, and this is all for the sake of your youngest brother, the Crown Prince, to continue the bloodline. You may have a vendetta against your father, but you could not fault your dear youngest brother for anything.

It was only just a few weeks ago when you revealed your true personality to him accidentally. There was only so much you could do before you had to drop the act eventually. The moment you shared your inner thoughts as the calm and collected lady you truly are, he became so…

You feel the urge to slap him. Again. You've done it before out of some silly punishment, but his face… oh, how could you forget the way he drooled and begged for you to touch him again? It woke something in you that you hadn't expected.

You may have delighted in watching people of the royal court beg for their lives, but they deserved it. They were all who always ignored you, abandoned you, and never batted an eye when you cried and wailed out of loneliness as a child.

This man making himself comfortable on your lap, on the other hand?

You grip the hair on the back of his head harshly, drawing out a shameless moan from him. You click your tongue. That stupid voice of his makes your body feel weird.

“Shut up,” you demand.

“But Princess…”

“What?”

“It feels good, touch me more…” he mumbles against the plush of your lap.

You release his hair and take your hand back. He whines, getting on his knees to rest his chin between your breasts. His eyes, when you make a quick glance at them, remind you of a puppy along with that pout. Damn his cuteness.

“Princess… look at meeee…”

“No.”

You hear him make a huff. “Is it because of the Duke of Elsie?”

Confusion overrides your bashfulness, and you meet his eyes. They look angry… and hurt, though they soften when he realizes you're meeting his gaze like he asked.

“The Duke of Elsie? Who-”

He cuts you off by pushing you down onto your bed. He places a knee between your legs and leans over you. One of his hands is holding his weight, and the other is caressing your sides, sometimes teasing the underside of one of your breasts with his thumb. One of your hands flies to his chest and the other wraps around his throat, a threat–a bluff, he knows. You raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“At the last ball he attended, you kept looking all over him without so much of a glance at me,” he explains.

The last ball? Ohhhh… the Duke of Elsie. If you remember correctly, he owns a vineyard and is known to let his pet birds have a taste of fermented berries occasionally. You were paying attention to the bird he came with, who was dancing quite vigilantly on his shoulder that night. What you find strange is that everyone who approached the Duke of Elsie simply wanted to get a closer look at the entertaining fowl. How did your fiance miss the forest for the trees?

“I was looking at the bird.”

“The bird? You mean the one that was dancing on his shoulder?”

“Yes. It was quite entertaining, was it not?”

He stares at you for a moment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you mock him.

A giddy smile breaks out on his face before he lowers himself on top of your body and hugs you tightly. You can hear him giggling right next to your ear, clearly happy that his assumption was wrong.

Regardless of your feelings for him, you'd never disregard your commitments. He is your fiance and you plan to be loyal to him, not shamelessly gawking at some other person or start an affair. Besides, you have no interest in anyone else anyway.

----------

And he'd like to keep it that way. Naoki plants multiple kisses on your cheek and neck, taking in your seductive natural scent.

Oh how it turns him on. Your scent, your body, your personality, your… everything. He lifts his bottom half up slightly, not allowing the bulge forming in his pants from making contact with you. He'd very much like to rip off this thin material you’ve dared to wear, to touch you in places you’ve never been touched, and mark all of his territory, but he can't risk scaring you.

Of course, no one would dare assume scaring you is an easy feat, but Naoki isn't as stupid as he–well, he is stupidly in love with you but he's not naive. He knows you don't take too kindly to extreme measures. Especially coming from him, seeing as you've been on guard with him ever since his personality took a 180.

Like how after the ball, he had secretly cornered the Duke of Elsie. He beat that man black and blue with a cane before dragging him off to hang his body by stabbing his limbs onto very sharp stakes. Oh, and just before that poor man lost his conscience, Naoki captured his bird and held it with two hands in front of the bleeding man. With a devious smile, Naoki snapped the bird into two. And the smile dropped as quickly as the snap that bird made.

Of course, Naoki had cleaned up the mess and erased any evidence that would implicate him. No one will question about the Duke of Elsie for a while, but he'll have to convince you to avoid the east garden for now. The gardeners have yet to get rid of the faceless rotting corpse, since it's feeding the little animals quite well.

For now, he'll simply work on training his beloved to make eye contact with him more often. The more you look at him, the less he'll assume you're looking at someone else. Okay? Mwaah <3

#random writes #depraved thoughts #yandere #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere male oc #yandere x reader #reader insert #fem reader #royal reader #may the heavens forgive me #good lord why did i write this #deuxcherise writes

20 notes · View notes

one-winged-dreams · 4 months ago

Text

Hpnotiq

ship: every dog has his day (cygnus x gallagher) source: honkai star rail word count: 1449 cw: inebriation

i don't even know, call this a pseudo vent fic ig i really wanted to write about him ;_;

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @kylilah @dorothys-wife @the-sleeping-city

@goldenworldsabound @dear-gambler @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitosoulmate @faerie-circle-ships

Visits to the bar were always low-key. It wouldn't do for someone of Cygnus's status to be seen getting publically plastered, Maria would raise hell if she had to deal with the media repercussions that would inevitably come from such a thing.

Much like everything else in Penacony, drinking was a gamble. The appropriate term would be ‘lightweight’.

Misery begets escapism, and libations were the dream within the dream.

“Think you’ve had a bit much, doll.”

Gallagher’s forearms rested against the bar, a blatant disregard for how the damn thing had just been wiped down. Concerned was a description for his expression, but he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t just a little bit amused.

“Nooo. No no no, I’m… It’s fine. Can I have a shot this time? Want a Hpnotiq Breeze, pleeease?” Cygnus’s eyes were already hazy. His words were already rubbing elbows with each other, but Aeons, he was so fucking loose right now it wasn’t NOT funny.

Gallagher’s head dipped down with a fond sigh before fixing Cygnus with a squint.

“Don’t think you need any more Hpnotiq tonight, sweetheart. Gonna be seein’ blue if I give you any more. Why don’t you call it quits for the night, yeah?”

“Nooo! I’m good, I’m- HCC, ‘scuse me, I’m okay, just one more shot?” Cygnus whined, lashes fluttering like wings trying to keep his eyes open all the way.

Shaking his head was the IMMEDIATE response, but Gallagher’s lips pulled into a smirk. Damn damn damn, what a cutie.

“Not gonna happen, doll.”

“Take one fr’me, then. Come on, come on. Wanna seeya…” Cygnus slurred, his refined, usually sheepish demeanor smashed in the most literal sense.

“That right?” Gallagher chuckled. “Alright then, just for you.”

Swift and efficient, prep was nothing. If it sated his pretty little bird, he was gonna do it right.

“That it?” Gallagher held the glass with his thumb and forefinger, tauntingly close, but Cygnus was a sweet little thing, if not a bit captivated by the scenario his addled brain had conceptualized.

“Yeah yeah! Wannasee… All for me?” Cygnus rambled, his words making less and less sense.

Fuck’s sake, that was a whole different type of ‘celebrity charm’ for Gallagher to handle.

“Yeah, doll. All for you,” he replied, that low tone on par with the way all those prior drinks had made Cygnus all warm and fuzzy.

Hazy silver eyes went wide as the glass touched Gallagher’s lips, the blue concoction making a warm, pleasant journey down the bartender’s esophagus. Gallagher couldn’t tell which was hotter, the heat of the alcohol, or that gaze burning a hole in his throat.

“Yaaaay!” Cygnus was clapping and giggling like a schoolgirl, swinging his legs on that barstool that could be considered a second home.

Not that he was prone to this level of indulgence.

It wouldn't do for someone of Cygnus's status to be seen getting publically plastered.

“Alright doll, you’ve had your fun. Gonna call your driver and get you home.” Gallagher procured his phone, just a few taps away from his frequent contacts list. He was a gentleman, after all.

“Noooo!” came the immediate protest, cute pink lips pouting and all.

“Noooo?” Gallagher questioned. “Told you, doll, I ain’t giving you any more.”

“YOU take me home.” Cygnus’s reply was a whine that was outright insistent.

“Me?” Gallagher chuckled with curious amusement. “Why me?”

“B… Big sexy Bloodhoundsecurityofficerrr- Security officer… You can take me home, right? Please take me home, I wanna be with you more,” Cygnus whimpered.

Well, even more than a whimper, it was a plea. Something about the tone didn’t sit right with Gallagher and goddamn, what kind of heartless bastard would keep a cutie like that all sad and lonely?

“Alright, alright. Can you walk okay?”

The way home was a blur to Cygnus, all he could fathom was the warmth of Gallagher’s arm around his shoulder and the occasional interaction directed his way.

“Aren’t you that one actor?” “Ease off, buddy.”

What a damn good guard dog Gallagher was.

Without much more fanfare, Cygnus was lowered to the couch with the same finesse as how Gallagher would pour a drink. Gotta be careful with the merchandise, valuable as this one was.

“Alright doll, you all settled? Not gonna have to toss you in bed, am I?”

“Nuh-uh… ‘m oookay,” Cygnus feebly reassured, circling his thumb and index finger.

“You sure? Don’t wanna leave you here if you’re just gonna pass out, if you wanna sleep I’ll carry you to bed.” Gallagher crossed his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow with a good amount of skepticism. He knew plastered when he saw it, and he was certainly seeing it.

“Then don’t go…” Cygnus spoke in a voice that was softer, less belligerent than he’d been all night. Drastic as a turn it was, Gallagher didn’t need to be told twice that something was up.

He took a seat next to the pitiful form lying on the couch, hair splayed out like he could have been Halovian. “Something the matter, doll?”

His concern afforded him only silence as a reply, a bit unfair but when did anyone in Penacony ever play fair?

“Gotta talk to me if you want something, sweetheart, need to use your words,” Gallagher gave Cygnus’s shoulder a little shake. “Can’t fall asleep on me after droppin’ something like that.”

He felt the tremors under his hand then, the feeling of jackassery descending upon him instantly.

Fuck.

“You cryin’, doll?” He gave another small shake, biting his inner cheek as an inappropriately placed curse rose in his throat like bile. He wasn’t good at this shit, not at all. It was unfair to both of them how unattuned to genuine sympathy he was, really. Couldn’t really fault himself, but damn did it sting when he saw his little vice cry.

“I don’t think I’m real,” the little crystal bell of a voice whimpered from the cushions.

Aw fuck.

“Whatdya mean, doll? Talk to me,” Gallagher coaxed, settling in for the long haul as he transferred that pretty little head to his lap. And oh how willingly Cygnus came, how willingly people were to be comforted by the ones that they loved so dearly.

And oh how dearly he… felt the same.

“Feel like I’m some shallow projection of someone else’s dreams and desires,” Cygnus sniffled, and Gallagher felt hot wet pinpricks of moisture blossom on the fabric of his pants. “’m scared I’m part of some dream that’ll just dissipate when someone wakes up.”

A pause.

“Well hell, doll, do you think I’m real?” Gallagher managed to regurgitate his signature lie.

More bile.

Another pause.

Gallagher sighed.

“You’re you, Cygnus. I promise. You trust me, don’t you?” That Hpnotiq Breeze felt like it was going to make a comeback. Something burned in his gut, in his chest, and then spilled out from his lips; “I wouldn’t lie to you, you know that.”

“I know… I know. Don’t actually believe myself when I think these things, just… Feels like that. Don’t know if I’m happy living like this. ‘r if I e-ever was…” Cygnus mumbled, curling in on himself like he could tuck himself under wings that weren’t there, clipped by circumstance.

Gallagher’s hand hovered over a shoulder that vibrated with silent tremors, sighing to himself.

His little bird was feeling the ache of a cage he was beginning to outgrow. And even though Cygnus couldn’t see those bars, for Gallagher, they were clear as day.

“‘fraid I can’t answer that one for you, doll.”

No amount of gentleness could keep the walls from crumbling, or maybe it was ONLY that delicate touch that could break them down. As soon as his hand settled, the contact sent a shockwave of pain that no harsh strike could ever recreate.

Gallagher had seen Cygnus cry on stage, he sometimes marveled over how a person could crank out tears as hard as a script could even demand. But no one was demanding anything now. Ugly sobbing, and not in the beautiful theatric way that was tailored to play at people’s emotions. Those were to get the audience invested in the story, these were for no one to see.

Well no, maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe this was all part of some bigger stage play. Unpracticed, no auditions, no dress rehearsals. Cygnus was the lead, and Gallagher was simultaneously the plot and the audience, the co-star and the extras, the props, and maybe one day he’d be the curtain too, but there was currently no script to tell him what would happen. And he was fine with that.

He liked to think he was pretty good at improv.

#kind of want to make a continuation of this #because i'm not sure if I JUST wanted it to be about cygnus drunk crying through an existential crisis #some even SOFTER gallagher would be nice to indulge myself (hah) in #but i'll leave it like this for now #dream fics #self ship #self shipping #every dog has his day

11 notes · View notes

46ten · 9 months ago

Text

Rethinking the narrative of Hamilton as a poor child held back by illegitimacy

We’ve outgrown a number of the myths that Chernow invents or embellishes from Flexner and Miranda ran with, but AH as a humble child in the West Indies, struggling with poverty and the stigma of illegitimacy seems to persist, no matter the lack of initial evidence for that narrative and the excellent scholarship over the past 10 years or so that flips it on its head.

AH’s maternal grandfather was very wealthy; Rachel Faucette’s inherited wealth was what supposedly attracted John Lavien.

James Hamilton (b 1725 or so) was notably not wealthy. Though a “gentleman” from a respected Scottish family, as a younger son he went to make his way as a merchant at the Caribbean, and pretty much failed at every business venture, as far as we know. In 1765, he was hired to settle a matter in St. Croix, and at some point Rachel and their two kids, James and Alexander, either joined him or made their way there independently. It’s not at all clear that James “abandoned” the family or what happened - it seems just as likely that Rachel, perhaps realizing that their sons’ best options were getting involved in trade, decided to stay where she had an extended wealthy family who could also support her as a merchant/shopkeeper. AH started working really young (he’s 9 if you believe the 1757 birthdate), which was a pretty fantastic way to gain knowledge and experience, especially if his parents realized - and they likely did - that he was intellectually gifted.

Upon the death of his mother, who owned 5 enslaved persons, had silverware and leather chairs and a decent collection of books - definitely middle-class-ish - AH initially goes to live with his uncle and cousin, who were the two wealthiest people on St. Croix. As mentioned above, he was also already working as a clerk, ascending to what can best be described as the business manager by the time he leaves for NY, earning a pretty tidy sum as a single-man - he was likely upper-middle class. [A brief note: at no point does Edward Stevens or Thomas Yard, his brother-in-law, state that AH or his brother ever lived with the Stevens family. That conjecture comes more than a century later sourced to a census of the Stevens family that they had two male servants around the ages AH and his brother would have been. But I think if AH lived with the Stevens family, that would have come up well before the 1920s.] His first cousin provides him with what Newton calculates as 196 pounds sterling at that time, when the average British and American worker made somewhere between 10-15 pounds sterling PER YEAR. AH arrives in the colonies and lives with either the comfortably middle-class (Mulligan) or the wealthy elite (Elias Boudinot and William Livingston) before beginning his studies at King’s/Columbia College. There’s also no note about any difficulty in him getting into Elizabethtown Academy or King’s - no one was holding it over his head that he was a bastard.

So the facts of AH’s life 1768-1779 don’t really seem to be what’s shaping the narrative. Instead, it seems to me that two things are interfering with the interpretation:

1. AH’s 1769 letter to Edward Stevens in which he gripes “I contemn the grov’ling and condition of a Clerk or the like” which makes him seem somehow downtrodden in poverty. But there’s no evidence that that was the case, or that AH wasn’t just annoyed by being a clerk and thought a different job - or a war - would better employ his talents/allow for greater study for him to become a leisurely gentleman.

AH may have started working for Beekman and Cruger as early as 1766, at the age of 9-12 years old, perhaps having previously worked in his mother’s store. JCH writes:

The little leisure which he could command from his mercantile duties was devoted to study; his knowledge of mathematics was enlarged; he became fond of chemistry; and although his proficiency in it was small, he often urged it as a pursuit well adapted to excite curiosity and create new combination of thought.

Among the books to which he had access, he preferred those which treat of some branch of ethic. His favorite authors were Pope and Plutarch....

He often also, at this time, exercised himself in composition on moral topics, to which he afterwards occasionally resorted as a relaxation from the arduous labours of his professional life; and thus, by his varied studies, his mind became rich in materials awaiting his call. The Life of Alexander Hamilton

Although AH wrote to Edward Stevens in 1769 that "I contemn the grov’ling and condition of a Clerk or the like,” and Nathaniel Pendleton would later write that Hamilton “conceived so strong an aversion to [clerkship] as to be induced to abandon altogether the pursuits of commerce”, according to JCH, his father also felt his time as a clerk was very important:

This occupation was the source of great and lasting benefit to him; he felt himself amply rewarded for his labours by the method and facility which it imparted to him; and amid his various engagements in after years adverted to it as the most useful part of his education. The Life of Alexander Hamilton, my emphasis.

Other biographers have speculated that AH’s time as a clerk was probably critical for his understanding of commerce and finance and to the development of both his leadership and writing skills.

JCH also writes:

With a strong propensity to literature, he early became a lover of books, and the time which other youth employ in classical learning, was by him devoted to miscellaneous reading, happily directed by the advice of Doctor Knox, a respectable Presbyterian divine, who, delighted with the unfolding of his mind, took a deep interest in his welfare. The Life of Alexander Hamilton

This role for Knox is doubtful; Rev. Hugh Knox first visited St. Croix Sept/Oct 1771, and did not come to reside there until May 1772, only a few months before AH would leave for NY.

2. AH, in 1779-1780, certainly is sensitive to his lack of advancement in the army while others with less ability/experience advance thanks to nepotism. He doesn’t have the family connections, true, but he’s far from the only person frustrated by the way appointments are handed out - James Monroe also left the army because he couldn’t get a command.

And at no point does AH’s illegitimacy ever seem to hold him back - in fact, up until he made a number of political enemies, no one seemed to care. Illegitimacy was not at all uncommon, particularly in the West Indies; Newton offers up another example of a couple pretending to be married. There’s no record whatsoever that AH was ever taunted about being a bastard as a child, adolescent, or young man (the first recorded innuendos about it actually date from the late 1780s - he’s 30 or older). Likewise with the loss of his mother - a lot of children were orphans. These were just not life details that put him outside any veneer of respectability.

He’s able to rise to the level of aide-de-camp for Washington and married into a wealthy Dutch-American patrician family with, based on the lack of comments on his birth, not even a shrug. JCH does note that marrying into the Schuyler family was one of the most important events of his father’s life, but one never gets the impression from AH’s own writing that he thought they were inherently superior to him - no, this was the class of people whom he had always belonged with and rubbed shoulders with.

And perhaps other than the times he was in school, I’m 90% comfortable stating he almost always had servants - while living with his parents, his mother alone, his cousin, as a clerk, in the colonial American households, and then perhaps with a brief break while studying, he also had at least one servant in the colonial Army and for the rest of his life.

Hamilton’s St Croix education

More about Hamilton’s Faucett relations with links to Newton’s discussions

A summary of the amounts Anne Mitchell (and Peter Lavien) provided to AH.

#Hamilton was not like us and I wish that narrative would die #For many reasons #he's not relatable

12 notes · View notes

writingsofwesteros · 1 year ago

Note

Ramsay is married to a woman that learned to be as deranged as him over the years. He kisses their children goodnight, beds her passionately and leaves off for the Battle of the Bastards in the morning, rubbing her heavily pregnant stomach for good luck... luck that never reached him, but instead his family. She goes into labor on her own, delivering her 4th child on her own, his head popping out right as Jon enters the room covered in her husband’s blood (he killed Ramsay in this au) His men vote they kill her and Ramsay's children to ensure the erasure of house Bolton and get their revenge, but Jon decides to spare her.

Something about taking Ramsay's wife excites him, especially seeing the fire in her when she fought against the men who'd gotten to close to her and her newborn babe. She didn't let her guard down at all, her body tensing more as she watched more of them drag her children into the room, almost struggling to her feet to rip the men away from them. She pulls a knife from under her pillow and slashes at them, slicing a large gash into a few of their arms as her children run up to her bed. They have to hold her down as she kicks and screams, Jon walking briskly to grab her baby before it fell along with to turn the attention on that as his men took away her weapon. He holds her baby carefully, looking down at his chubby little cheeks as he tells her to stop moving unless she "wants her own baby fed to the dogs."

Jon smiles at the baby and her other children, before telling them he will be their new father. Her eldest son asks how he can be their father when they already have one and Jon just explains that it's his right to take the boy's mother as his wife as he was the one to slay her husband. Jon announces to his men that he will have her to ensure the next baby born in Winterfell shares the blood of house Stark and to get one over Ramsay even in death. He marries their mother the next day in front of the weirwood, Sansa watching on warily as it feels wrong to her to let this go on even if during her stay there was talk of her thirding with Ramsay and his wife. Jon is the perfect gentleman, taking care of her their children as she heals from birthing her newest son.

As soon as the maester clears her, Jon carries her to the Weirwood and fucks her against it like a virgin getting his first taste. He makes sure to work hard at making his kid, figuring that if the first bastard could have a family like a nobleborn man does, he should too. He decides he'll have at least one more kid than Ramsay did, eagerly anticipating all the work he'll have to put in to bring forth 5 children with this woman. She doesn't let him get her easily, but that's not to say she doesn't enjoy it. Part of her and Ramsay's fun was hunting the other down before having their way with them, so her and Jon's relationship was strangely reminiscent of it. By the time he'd gotten her pregnant, she'd slowly warmed up to him a bit more and would initiate sex a bit (blowjobs/handjobs) only after he'd finally destroyed the last of her and Ramsay's toys that she'd hidden.

She begrudgingly would "allow him to give her pleasure" and would do her best to keep quiet to deny give Jon the satisfaction of hearing him make her feel so good. She would sneak into his room to fuck him, waking him up many times to assist her as she gets farther in her pregnancy. Sometimes she would get so impatient that she'd just sit on his cock and let the feeling of his veiny dick clamped tightly against her walls bring her to release. They'd often get reprimanded for their loudness as they were both very vocal together, many times both fucking and fighting. They would slap each other around and leave dark bruises behind from the force, him often being decorated in black eyes and her with split lips, all being the source of many rumors and questions.

Her children had luckily been moved to far away rooms before Jon started slipping inside their mom, the sole reason she was allowed her own room was to be closer to them. That all changes once her mobility decreases from carrying the new weight and she realizes she can't waddle all the way to Jon's room to be railed anytime her hormones make her horny. He forces her to move into his room with him, manipulating her as he slowly licks at her cunt overflowing with slick and promises to keep her satisfied all night. He drags his fingers in and out of her, hitting her g spot each time as she rolls around, her pregnant belly limiting her as her tits slosh around with milk inside them. Jon makes her cum before taking his time to carefully suck on her pert nipples, drinking in the sweet milk her beautiful body was working so hard to make for the fruit of his seed. He swallows mouthfuls of her milk from each side of her swollen tits, covering them in his spit as he soothed the ache he knew she wasn't telling him about. Jon feels himself begin to reach the end of his rope just from this and swiftly removes his pants to stick his dick inside her. He makes sure to cream inside her everytime he cums, even if he begins with his hand.

Jon had read in a book that women can become pregnant with their next child while already carrying one in their womb, becoming obsessed with that idea. He could only hope for his wife’s fertility to allow him to breed her quickly and surpass Ramsay's brood. Ramsay's widow gets used to this, not thinking much about it and only focusing on how he makes her feel and distracts her from the pain of losing her husband and having to fuck his murderer to protect their kids. She's mortified to learn minutes after delivering her second twin (4th son, her first born twin being the 2nd girl as Ramsay's daughter is the 2nd born) that it's likely she's already carrying Jon's next one 👑💀

!!!!!!

#i can't add anything to this masterpiece #👑💀 anon #taking another's wife

20 notes · View notes

our-flag-means-death-ao3feed · 2 years ago

Text

Ezra Fell and Redbeard, the Ineffable Pirates

by purplemoonabove

It’s the meeting scene of Stede Bonnet and Blackbeard from ‘Our Flag Means Death’. Except with Aziraphale and Crowley, respectedly.

Both human. Both pirates. Both smitten at first sight. After a stabbing and close hanging, of course.

(Watch the show if you don’t get it. Season 2 is coming soon for both shows!)

Words: 2260, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV), Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Adam Young (Good Omens) (mentioned), Pepper (Good Omens) (Mentioned), Anathema Device (mentioned)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: did this story in one day, A PERSONAL BEST!, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Bearded Crowley (Good Omens), you read that right, Crowley is the Legendary Blackbeard, Aziraphale is the Gentleman Pirate, Same People Different Worlds, cant change my mind, The Them are Aziraphale’s crew and are older, No Children aboard on the pirate ships, Pirates AU

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/45424900

#Our flag means death #ofmd #https://archiveofourown.org/works/45424900

0 notes

fideidefenswhore · 1 year ago

Note

Some difference of opinion as regards the marriage arranged by Anne between Henry Howard and Frances de Vere as well...

If Chapuys is taken at face value, the following:

"Their relations had soured earlier in the year, when Anne accused him of dynastic ambition in seeking to marry his son and her cousin, the fifteen-year-old Henry Howard, the new Earl of Surrey, to Princess Mary. It was a potentially lethal charge, the more offensive to Norfolk since, until they quarrelled, Anne had encouraged the match. To deflect the attack, the duke quickly betrothed his son instead to Lady Frances de Vere [...]" Hunting the Falcon, John Guy & Julia Fox

Versus, taken critically, and with more detail:

Earlier, Norfolk may have been angling for his son to marry none other than the Princess Mary herself (after all, had he not married a princess, [Anne of York], once?) If so, Anne Boleyn would not tolerate this threat of Catherine of Aragon's daughter being legitimized by a marriage with the highest English genealogy-- her own blood. Even if the princess were bastardized, the children of Surrey and Mary Tudor would always threaten her children. At least this is the interpretation Chapuys offered Charles V on 16 April 1532. As Chapuys had assured the Emperor two years before, Norfolk had confirmed that he [would] marry Surrey 'in order to avoid the suspicion of the world that he would stain the Princess'. 'La dame Anne' has now compelled her uncle to do this '[...] because the match is not very good', says the ambassador. 'The young woman is neither of great wealth nor of important alliance.' Chapuys was misinformed on both counts. Of ancient Essex nobility, Oxford settle lands on Surrey that yielded a yearly rent of £300. The formal marriage then took place in the following spring, with the Earl of Oxford giving his daughter a fortune of 4000 marks [...]" Henry Howard, the Poet Earl of Surrey: A Life, William A. Sessions

Chapuys was always at pains to explain and defend himself to Charles V when something he had promised and assured him of never panned out (one example: he claimed the Earl of Rutland was going to defend Mary's rights to the throne in Parliament session, and then alleged that the Earl had visited him secretly and reneged because Thomas Boleyn had yelled at him), otherwise he would seem like a weak source of intelligence. It's very convenient that he thus blames Anne for Norfolk's alleged volte-face as it concerns his son's marriage, and the possibility should be allowed that Norfolk was all along placating and trying to get Chapuys on side to gain intelligence from him, and never had any actual intention of marrying his son to Princess Mary.

Chapuys was also remarkably inconsistent in his claims about what Anne Boleyn's intentions were with her future/present stepdaughter. At turns he claimed she wanted to weaken Mary's claim and neutralize the inherent threat of her position by marrying her to Anne's cousin, and then here he claims she has dropped out of that plan and is 'forcing' her uncle to do something else instead. He claims Anne plans to force Mary to wed a 'varlet' or low-born gentleman (which Henry Howard, when he despised the match, was, and wasn't when he was convinced and/or claiming that Anne had thwarted it) but the truth of the matter is that while Anne was queen-in-waiting and later queen, Mary wasn't married to anyone, by force or otherwise, low-born or otherwise.

What are your thoughts on Anne's relationship with her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk? Do you think the assumption that they didn't get along is true, or perhaps has been exagerated?

The Duke of Norfolk was among the first and most premiere of the nobility to try to front the queue to be granted properties from the Dissolution in 1536. If Anne and him ever argued, it was probably over that.

If you look at the circumstantial evidence as separated by Chapuys’ spin on it , it doesn’t actually seem like it , does it? His daughter becomes a Duchess due to Anne’s ‘machinations’ and is her premiere lady who carries her train. His mistress is also among Anne’s retinue of ladies.

Retha Warnicke argues against the traditional view of their relationship, in both her biography on Anne and her chapter in Writing Biography: Historians and Their Craft. Granted that’s probably to be expected since she doesn’t rate Chapuys’ as a source (and she goes more in-depth as to why here). The historian Dale Hoak does the same.

What I will say is that their relationship has probably been read backwards, from that last day upon which he’s the grand chair of the jury who condemns her. While this isn’t quite as unfair as her relationship with her father (who condemned the men accused on the other jury, apart from George since he wasn’t a commoner) being judged so; it’s perhaps a bit unfair and due reassessment.

#retha warnicke argues norfolk was actually deliberately feeding chapuys misinformation #frances de vere

45 notes · View notes