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t-lostinworlds · 2 months

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Big, Hormonal Heart | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x pregnant!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship (marriage), fluff fluff fluff

》 SUMMARY: It'd probably take more than one lifetime for Bucky to list reasons why he was so lucky to call you his wife. He was certain your big heart was one of them. One that grew even more with pregnancy hormones. It was sweet, how you to got so upset when they got his order wrong. Your meal was perfectly fine. But when his wasn't? Oh it was a crime.

》 WARNINGS: pregnancy, a dog named Snow and Alpine the cat, pet names (doll, baby, my love, sweetheart), emotional!r (she cries. like, most of the fic), husband!bucky being the sweetest, domesticity and just overall fluff (pretty tame fic ngl)

》 WORD COUNT: 2.5k+

A/N: this idea was super random. i saw an insta reel of a pregnant woman having mood swings over some food and then everyone was sharing their experiences in the comments and i got inspired so here ya go alksalkss. DISCLAIMER! I'm not pregnant nor have i ever been lol. I did as much research as i could but still, don't count on me to be 100% accurate.

++ ALSO this was written in just a few hours. this isn't my best work. just something i wanted to write as an exercise since i haven't written anything in months. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

If someone had told him years ago that he was going to live in a quaint home in the suburbs, a lovely backyard space for a dog and a cat to enjoy, and that he'd be married to the absolute love of life, an angel on earth who was now carrying his first child—

He honestly would've stared at them dead in the eye, wondering how someone could make such a cruel joke.

Yet here he was, actually living it, a life that seemed so much like a dream.

Though he was quickly reminded of how real this was as he stood in the nursery, glaring at the manual that came with the crib you two had bought from the furniture store.

It looked simple enough at first—putting together ready-made pieces should be easy, right?

Wrong.

Not when you have countless amounts of screws that more or less looked the same but were actually not because each served a different purpose.

He was in the middle of figuring out how to install the legs to the main base when you walked into the room with your two bodyguards—Alpine the Cat and Snow the five-year-old Samoyed—in tow.

"How's it going, handsome?" you hummed as you reached his side, arms wrapping around his waist, your warmth immediately easing the frustration he had about this goddamn crib.

"It's…" he sighed, gesturing at the wooden pieces scattered around the floor. "Going."

You laughed at that, kissing his clothed shoulder before standing in front of him.

Bucky held your waist then, pulling you as close as he could given that your baby bump was in the middle of you both.

He honestly couldn't begin to express how much comfort and warmth covered his whole being every time he was met with the absolute love in your eyes.

And Bucky was sure his gaze shined the same.

So many people have pointed it out on numerous occasions, the twinkle in his eyes every time they land on you—his beautiful wife.

"I was thinking," you murmured, resting your hands on his chest, moving up his shoulder and down again in a sweet caress. "How about a quick break while we order some food?"

It was only about an hour after lunch, so Bucky wasn't particularly keen on filling his stomach some more.

But you, on the other hand, were nearing the end of your second trimester. It wasn't out of the norm for you to be hungry at this time, given you were eating for two. Plus, there was an added layer that your little peanut probably had some super soldier serum in their DNA—the baby's appetite could be enhanced for all he knew.

Other than that, the last thing Bucky wanted was an angry and hungry pregnant wife. So it wasn't really a hard decision to make.

"Okay, let's get you something to eat," he said.

Ever the observant person that you were, you quickly noticed his choice of words.

"For me?" you asked, brows furrowed. "You're not hungry?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not really."

Your bottom lip went.

He instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"But I'm hungry," you murmured, eyes starting to glisten.

He could never explain it even if he tried, but whenever you got upset, your bodyguards always seemed to notice it. The two have always been protective of you and that only grew tenfold when you got pregnant.

Today wasn't an exception.

Snow barked at him, whining his complaints as he put his fifty-pound body between your legs, slightly pushing Bucky back. The furball was well trained though, so his protectiveness never went too far beyond being vocal about it. Alpine, on the other hand, was sitting a foot away, glaring at Bucky—quite the traitor given that she was supposed to be his cat, but he couldn't blame her for loving you, either—as if she knew it was his fault you were upset.

But still, Bucky wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong.

"I know, sweetheart," he said slowly, a little confused, trying to navigate around Snow who was pawing at his leg as if trying to push him further away. "I'll order some food for you."

"But you're not hungry," you repeated, body slumping with sadness.

"I'm not," he agreed, quickly cupping your face when a tear slipped from your eyes. "But hey, hey, that doesn't mean we can't still order food for you, doll."

"No, I know," you sniffled.

"So, what's making you upset, hmm?"

You buried your face in his chest with a shaky breath as you said,

"I don't want to eat alone."

Bucky paused, pressing his lips and swallowing down a laugh because he couldn't have you thinking he was making fun of you. He wasn't. But you were so adorable it made his chest ache.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, kissing the side of your head as he rubbed your back in comfort. "I'll order something for me, too."

•••

A few minutes later, your little family migrated to the living room. You both were sitting on the couch together, the two furballs sprawled at your feet as a random show played on TV. Various take-out bags covered the coffee table, way too many for two people but hey, that's what fridges and microwaves are for.

Fondness filled Bucky's bones as he watched you settle your food on your lap, doing what he called your Cravings Satisfied Wiggle.

He couldn't contain his chuckle.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, words a little muffled with your mouth full. "What?"

"Happy?" he asked, reaching over to wipe the sauce on the corner of your mouth.

"Very much," you giggled, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

Even after all these years, the sight of your pure joy still made his heart stutter, chest growing warmer when you leaned closer with a pout.

Bucky met you halfway for a short yet sweet kiss.

"Thank you," you hummed, even though there was no need for you to thank him for ordering you food.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Reaching over the table, he took the one and only paper bag that was for him, because again, he wasn't that hungry.

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" You turned to him in concern.

"It's not a big deal," he reassured with a smile, shrugging because it really wasn't. "They got mine wrong."

You frowned. "You didn't get the nuggets?"

"No, they give me the burger meal," he said. "They must've misheard me.

Bucky immediately perked up when your lips started to tremble.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, cupping your face to wipe away your tears.

"You—" you sniffled. "You didn't get your nuggets."

Bucky pressed his lips to stop a smile.

God you were so fucking cute.

"It's okay, baby," he soothed. "I'm fine with a burger, too."

You cried even harder.

Snow and Alpine quickly stood, all alert and concerned as they nudged your leg.

"You wanted the nuggets, Bucky," you insisted, choking back a sob. "But you didn't get it."

He carefully pulled you closer, rubbing your back in comfort as you laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, but it's okay—"

"No, it's not!" you protested, all teary and frustrated, pulling away to glare at him. "You deserve to get what you want. Y-You deserve all the good things after e-everything."

Bucky might honestly start crying too with how sweet you were being.

"Oh doll, come here," he placated, pulling you in for a hug while trying to navigate the food on your lap.

He could take it away for safety, but he'd already learned his lesson the hard way. Taking food away from a pregnant woman was a death sentence.

"I want you to be happy," you sniffled, burying your face against his neck. "You wanted the nuggets and they disrespected that."

It took so much for him not to let out a chuckle. Because as much as Bucky hated to see you crying and upset, he couldn't deny how adorably funny this whole conversation was.

But you'd always had the biggest heart. Whether that was crying over those rescue animal videos, emotional scenes in movies, to feeling upset over something he was experiencing—your empathy was always high.

What more with the pregnancy hormones in the mix?

"How about I ask them to change it?"

Again, wrong thing to say.

He needed to get better at this.

"But they're probably so stressed and overworked already," you sobbed. "A-And it's about to rain. I don't want the delivery guy to get wet in the rain. T-They already don't get paid enough."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he hummed, rubbing your back. "Will you look at me, my love?"

You lifted your head then, Bucky's heart aching at the absolute distress on your features—pout in full play, eyes a little bloodshot with tear stains on your skin.

He cupped your cheeks with a soft smile, placing gentle kisses all over your face, unrelenting until you let out a whine of protest. He stopped then, thankful to see that you'd calmed down now.

"I promise you, the burger meal is perfectly fine with me. I'm not mad or upset about it. I don't mind it at all," he said.

You took a calming deep breath and nodded. It only took a second for you to look at him sheepishly.

"Sorry I overreacted," you whispered, embarrassed.

"Hey, none of that," he lightly scolded. "All the emotions you're feeling will always be valid."

You smiled, small yet sweet, leaning in and kissing him with as much gratitude as you could muster.

"Besides, it makes me feel so honored to know that you're willing to fight for my chicken nugget rights."

"Shut up, Barnes."

•••

You and Bucky always had a nightly routine and it usually consisted of the two of you getting ready for bed in your own different ways. They were intertwined, but not exactly the same. Like you'd be doing some skin care in the bathroom while he would be brushing his teeth.

But ever since you got pregnant, your routine became more in sync.

It usually started with a bath that he'd run for you. Most of the time he'd end up joining you, the length of said bath varying since that usually depended on what mood you were in. Bucky was always at the service of meeting his wife's needs, after all.

Recently, now that your bump wasn't particularly easy to navigate, he'd helped you get ready for bed. From getting dressed to your skin care, including rubbing some moisturizer on your stomach. That part was one of his favorite things to do.

Then it was the typical things, getting dressed, brushing your teeth—this one you stopped him from doing it for you even though he was more than willing—and overall just getting ready for bed.

Once you’d settled on the pregnancy pillow that Bucky fluffed up for you, he'd sit near the foot of the bed to give your sore feet a massage while you read a book.

Tonight, right when he was in the middle of doing that, he heard you sniffle.

Bucky looked up in concern, catching you already staring at him with tears already in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking you over. "Does something hurt?"

"No, I-I'm okay. I just—" You cut yourself off with a sob.

Bucky quickly moved beside you, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your form. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, body shaking as you cried.

"Hey, hey, talk to me," he murmured against your hair. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just—" You let out a shaky breath. "You're always taking care of me."

"Of course, sweetheart, you're my wife," he said. "And not only because it's my duty as your husband, but because I love you so much."

That made you cry even harder.

"I l-love you too, so much," you sobbed. "But I haven't been able to take care of you lately and that's not f-fair."

Bucky felt his heart grow as if it wasn't already bursting at the seams.

How could someone be so selfless and sweet?

"You're pregnant, my love," he stated the obvious reason as to why. "Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself. It's alright."

"No, it's not," you argued, pulling away slightly to face him. "You deserve to be taken care of, too! You deserve to get pampered a-and a break but you're always fussing over me and taking care of me instead. I'm not helping with any of it. I'm just making it harder for you."

"No, absolutely not," he stated firmly, holding your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I love taking care of you. It honestly makes me feel so fulfilled and happy when I do."

"Really?" you sniffled.

"Yes. It's the least I could do with everything that you've been going through right now," he said truthfully, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I could carry our baby so you wouldn't have to go through all the pain I would."

That earned him a small laugh.

"But I want to take care of you, too," you admitted after a deep breath.

"You already are," he hummed, thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. "You're taking care of our baby and my heart, and those are very important to me."

You scrunched up your nose adorably.

"That was so cheesy."

"But it's true, though."

You smiled, cupping his face. Bucky turned his head to kiss your palm.

"Thank you," you sighed fondly. "For putting up with me and for everything."

"First off, I'm not putting up with anything," he reassured, kissing your other palm before adding, "Second, you never have to thank me for taking care of you. Never."

You nodded, leaning closer to press your lips against his, pouring all your love and gratitude into it. Bucky kissed you back with the same fervor, never needing words to express what you truly feel for each other.

He felt so content—feeling your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your little peanut asking for attention too, kicking the second Bucky rested hand on your bump.

When you let out a soft, needy whine, he was ready to take the kiss even further.

That was until a wet tongue met his cheek.

Bucky groaned in annoyance, pulling away to see Snow giving you a kiss, too. He couldn't be angry at the dog for ruining the moment when your lovely laugh echoed in the air. Alpine jumped on the bed a second later, nudging her head against Bucky's chin before walking over to place a loving paw on your bump.

His smile was as bright as it could be as he watched the scene before him.

A wonderful home, a wholesome family that involved his beautiful, loving wife and two furballs, his family that was only getting bigger in a few months—

Yeah.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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velvet4510 · 6 months

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Ok here’s a whole essay’s worth of headcanons about some of the LOTR main characters’ lives in the Fourth Age, particularly their children.

(note: some of these names and marriages I’ve invented, and some I’ve borrowed from Elenya54’s phenomenal fics “All That I Had” and “The Gift of Ilúvatar,” which have many elements that I’ve absorbed into my hc, including Frodo leaving letters for Sam & Elanor and jewelry for Rosie, as well as Legolas ending up with Frodo’s healer’s daughter. Elanor & Fastred’s historian work is mentioned in Tolkien’s appendices. Frodo-lad’s love of dwarves and Rosie-lass’ love of the Entwives are taken from Tolkien’s unpublished epilogue.)

I have bolded all of the named characters that I’ve invented (some are named after canonical figures and some have original names).

All dates in Shire Reckoning.

Frodo wrote Sam a love letter before he left Middle-earth, which Sam carried in his waistcoat pocket close to his heart every day.

Frodo also left a letter for Elanor to read when she was older, letting her know how much he loved her and how sorry he was that he could not be there to watch her grow; he signed the letter “your Frodo-dad,” to which Rosie referred to him as she firmly felt that her daughter had two fathers in her life before Frodo had to leave. This is why Elanor called her father “Sam-dad” all her life.

Frodo left Rosie a set of freshly-polished jewelry (necklace, earrings, and bracelet) that once belonged to his mother Primula. Rosie always cherished these trinkets and wore them to every formal event she ever attended; she lent them to Elanor to wear at her wedding to Fastred.

Sam & Rosie’s entire family adopted the Gardner surname in the year 1424.

Sam taught all his children to read and write in both Westron and Sindarin. He was known as “the People’s Mayor,” as he helped the rich and poor alike. He came to know everyone in Hobbiton, regardless of class, on a first-name basis. He advocated for literacy in the entirety of the Shire, and his agenda ultimately modernized the Shire and created new opportunities for education, including the land’s first-ever public school in Michel Delving. He managed to change many conservative minds who used to not believe in the importance of reading by emphasizing how he only was able to accomplish what he did because of the knowledge he gained from Bilbo Baggins. He also personally planted many public and private gardens in the Shire, including a memorial garden for Frodo in the Party Field; his continuation of manual labor despite his affluent position went a long way in weaking the previously strict Shire social class system.

The efforts to rebuild after the Scouring, combined with Sam’s rise from lowly gardener to Master of Bag End and Mayor, shook up the class system. Many formerly upper- and middle-class families who had lost big chunks of their fortunes in repairing the Ruffians’ damage turned to manual labor to help the work move faster. It was a humbling experience for many, and the working class gained more respect than it’d ever had before. Sam’s brothers and cousins had their hands full taking on apprentices to learn their skills and help out. As a result, the Fourth Age saw more employment for hobbits than ever before; the bourgeois lifestyle became far less common.

Rosie became a leader in her own right, helping all the poorer hobbits in one way or another. She threw many parties at Bag End, including an annual celebration on September 22nd in honor of Bilbo and Frodo. Having been taught to read and write by Sam as a child (who passed on Bilbo’s lessons to her curious mind), she set her husband’s educational goals into motion by becoming a part-time tutor for hobbit children once her own children were older and in less need of her constant care. Many of the hobbits she tutored went on to become schoolteachers. She became extremely popular and respected, and when she died, a major party was thrown in her honor that went down in Shire history alongside Bilbo’s famous party.

Legolas and Gimli paid visits to the Shire as often as they could.

Elanor was a lifelong bibliophile and linguist. While working for Queen Arwen, she became fluent in Sindarin and translated many Elvish texts in the library. She was far more interested in the Elvish language and culture than any of her siblings. Besides Elfstan and Fíriel, she and Fastred also had 4 other children: Frodo, Astred, Arwen, and Rosemary. The couple led the Westmarch community together, doing a lot of impactful philanthropic work, and created an extensive library filled with historical records of the Shire, as well as Elves and Men, all the information that Elanor could compile while working in Gondor. Elanor also was struck with many dreams throughout her life of events in the Red Book, as she vividly imagined all the descriptions she heard and read so many times. A natural empath, she developed a deep understanding of Frodo’s suffering post-quest - mainly because of the personal connection she felt with him through his letter to her - and wrote several volumes of original poetry in both Westron and Sindarin, inspired by her two fathers. She became a beloved celebrity in the Shire, and eventually throughout Middle-earth when the Queen requested and published a copy of her work (with her permission). She, her husband, and their children continued to visit Gondor through the years and maintained a lifelong friendship with the royal family. Elanor eventually surpassed Bilbo Baggins as the oldest-lived hobbit in Middle-earth history, living to the age of 133.

Frodo-lad shared his father’s deep passion for gardening and they worked together on the flowers and vegetables at Bag End every day. He often teamed up with Elanor, his best friend as well as his sister, to help their parents manage their younger siblings growing up. He developed a love of Dwarves after reading about them in the Red Book; Gimli once created and gifted to him a harmless toy dwarf axe for his birthday. He was as skilled a scholar as Elanor, but didn’t enjoy it as much as she did, preferring the outdoors. However, he did help her with her research on Shire history for her library and eventually wrote his own book on gardening. He later married a hobbit lass named Violet, who hailed from the Bunce family. Besides Holfast, they had 3 other children: Heather, Wilfred, and Lavender. Frodo eventually became Mayor after his father retired and inherited Bag End when his father left the Shire. By this time, enough residents of Hobbiton had learned to read to enable him to open the town’s first-ever public library, which included copies of his own gardening book. The title of Mayor was later taken up by Holfast after his own retirement, and then later by Holfast’s son Harding of the Hill.

Rosie-lass was an in-demand artist who sketched and painted illustrations for the Red Book as well as portraits and landscapes which were given away as mathoms. The walls of Bag End were covered with her art. Framed in her and her sisters’ bedroom was her favorite creation: a drawing of a fantasy in which she found the lost Entwives. She later married Fredegar Bolger’s son Rudecar and they had 7 children.

Young Merry eventually took over operation of the mill formerly owned by the Sandymans and purchased by Frodo after the Scouring. He married Robin Smallburrow’s daughter Hazel and they had 3 children.

Young Pippin became a skilled furniture maker and married one of Fredegar Bolger’s daughters, Jessaminta. They had 5 children.

(The mother of Fredegar Bolger’s children was his wife Angelica Baggins, the last of the Baggins bloodline. Sam and Rosie were thrilled that their family was united with one of Baggins descent via Rosie-lass and Pippin’s marriages.)

As per canon, Goldilocks married Pippin Took’s son Faramir. They had 6 children and eventually became the heads of the Took family. Goldilocks loved to cook with her mother as a child and later insisted on helping the cooks at the Great Smials hands-on with preparing meals, class system be buggered. She and her husband made sure to pass this egalitarian mindset onto their children.

Hamfast loved the story of the Ents so much that he dedicated his life to forestry. He married Malva, who hailed from the Burrows family, and they had 3 children.

Daisy inherited her father’s knack for songwriting and composed many tunes which she eagerly performed at parties. She sang at all her siblings’ weddings. She herself married and had 4 children with Merry’s son Théodoc.

Primrose, a tomboy all the way, inherited her father’s talent with knots and became Hobbiton’s exclusive roper, alongside her cousin Anson’s latest apprentice, Nico Goodbody; they married and had 3 children.

Bilbo enjoyed a simple life working for the Quick Post and co-owning a bakery with his wife Azalea Hayward (daughter of Shirriff Hob), with whom he had 2 daughters.

Ruby became fascinated with medicine and eventually took on a career as a midwife. She was deeply moved by Frodo’s words in the Red Book about cherishing the beloved land that was saved by him and her father, and she took it upon herself to help bring the next generation of hobbits into the world to honor his wishes. She eventually married and had 5 children with Pippin’s son Beregond.

Robin followed in his namesake’s footsteps and became a Shirriff. He married Merry’s daughter Éowyn and they raised their 4 children in Frodo’s former residence at Crickhollow.

Tom became a merchant, traveling constantly between Gondor and the Shire. He never married but had a lifelong partnership with Pippin’s youngest son Beren. The two of them looked after the old hobbit in his final years in Minas Tirith, as he needed walking sticks to help him move due to lasting effects of troll-inflicted wounds. They shared their luxurious house with Pippin until his eventual death at age 106, two years after Merry had succumbed to a long illness in Pippin’s arms at age 112. Tom himself became quite an adventurer, retracing the Fellowship’s steps and sightseeing all of the quest’s locations with Beren. They both eventually rose in esteem to become advisors to the king.

Many times, but even more so in his later years, Sam had dreams of the Sea.

All of the children moved out of Bag End when they married, except Frodo-lad, who raised his own family in Bag End while also looking after his aging parents.

When Rosie fell ill for the last time, Sam and Frodo-lad summoned all 12 of Frodo’s siblings to Bag End, and they all were present in their mother’s last moments. On her deathbed, Rosie bequeathed Primula’s jewelry to Elanor.

Before sailing West, Sam showed Frodo’s love letter to Tom, Beren, and later Elanor. Although he never saw the letter, Frodo-lad also sensed his father’s true feelings for his namesake. They were the only members of their generation to be aware of Frodo & Sam’s secret romance; they honored Sam’s wish that this detail be kept private and left out of all records.

Elanor, Fastred, Frodo-lad, Goldilocks, Faramir, and Pearl all collaborated on the creation of the Thain’s Book, mainly working on it in the two years between Elanor’s inheriting of the original book and Pippin’s impending departure, which he was already considering and discussing with his family even before Éomer wrote to Merry.

When Sam sailed, he took with him several flower seed packets to plant in the West, a stash of Old Toby, letters for Frodo from the rest of the Fellowship (updating him on their lives and families), and a book of Elanor’s poetry which she intended as a present for Frodo. He also was given a small trinket from each of his children, which he kept and cherished as mementos of them. He left the Star of the Dúnedain and Sting to Frodo-lad, and both became cherished Gardner family heirlooms.

Sam happily reunited with Frodo on Tol Eressëa. Since time passed differently there, Frodo had not aged. Sam’s physical youth was gradually restored by the island’s rejuvenating energy, as was Bilbo’s. The couple lived happily together in a hobbit hole which Frodo had built for Sam.

In his time on the island, besides being fully healed by the combined efforts of Gandalf, Elrond, a Vanya healer, and Nienna herself, Frodo became good friends with Celebrían, as they understood each other’s similar reasons for sailing West. He became a gardener, realizing how much knowledge he absorbed from Sam through the years, and helped tend to many Elves’ private gardens as well as his own, and also became fluent in Quenya as a necessity for communication.

When Sam had settled in, Frodo taught him to speak Quenya and to swim.

Bilbo eventually chose to lay down his life after leaving nothing unsaid between him and the younger hobbits. However, Frodo and Sam continued on, and were still living when Legolas and Gimli finally arrived. They and Gandalf enjoyed many happy times together, especially at the beach, and reminisced about their lost friends.

When the hobbits finally accepted their mortality together, lying in each other’s arms after saying all their goodbyes, their bodies were laid side-by-side in their garden near Bilbo’s body, and their now-vacant hobbit hole became a permanent memorial for them. They left all of their possessions to be placed within a historical museum in Avallónë, containing artifacts from all the ages of the world. A second, more traditionally Elvish memorial for them was built near that museum.

Pippin & Diamond were friends since tweenhood, but only saw each other in a platonic light for many years, and Pippin had some fun flirting with and trying to impress lasses when he returned from the Quest. An avid reader, Diamond was fascinated by the stories of what happened to him. But she was also an unusually empathetic and insightful hobbit, and she could sense that not all of Pippin’s adventures were fun, and that he had some lingering trauma. She became his safe space to talk to, and they quickly fell in love. As Tolkien put in canon, they finally married in 1427 (when Diamond was 32 and not even of age yet, as they couldn’t wait any longer) and the heir to the Thainship was their son Faramir, born in 1430, who later married Goldilocks. Here’s my version of the rest of their family:

Faramir took after Diamond more than Pippin. He had his sense of humor but had a sense of responsibility much earlier on in life and grew to be a fine leader in his own right, long before becoming Thain. He bonded closely with his namesake during a year-long visit to Gondor in which he served as a page to the King. He overcame Goldilocks’ shyness toward boys via their lifelong friendship from childhood that blossomed into more in their tweens.

Once Faramir was born, Pippin & Diamond realized that they loved parenting and wanted a big family, not unlike Sam & Rosie. They wanted to take on the adventure together and they did. Diamond wanted all her children to have special unconventional names and encouraged Pippin to borrow names of people he met on his quest and who he’d read about. Pippin agreed as long as his wife agreed to allow herself her own honor by naming all their daughters after jewels like her. They visited Gondor together often.

Their 1st daughter Pearl was born in 1433. An introvert, she preferred to read and draw than go to parties. A natural scholar like her mother, she was responsible for the cultivation of the Great Smials’ library, collecting and writing much of the history of Gondor, helped largely by her youngest brother’s frequent travels to the kingdom. She eventually married into the Goodbody family to Elio, brother of Nico (who married Primrose Gardner). They had 2 children.

2nd son Boromir was born in 1436. He helped his older brother keep their younger siblings in check. He initially in his youth felt hurt that he was named after the man who tried to steal the Ring, but as he grew older and came to understand the full story better, he came to deeply admire and respect his namesake. He opened a law firm alongside his best friend Estel Brandybuck, and married Fredegar Bolger’s youngest daughter, Miramunda; they had 7 children.

3rd son Beregond was born in 1438. He worked as an auctioneer and married Sam & Rosie’s daughter Ruby. See above.

Twins Bergil (boy) and Opal (girl) were born in 1440.

Bergil followed in his grandfather Paladin’s footsteps and made a living from farming the fertile earth of Tuckborough. His sister-in-law Goldilocks was helpful in this endeavor, as she arranged for him to gain experience in his youth by helping her mother’s family, the Cottons, at their own farm for a year. He married and had 3 children with Lydia Hornblower.

Opal founded the Shire’s first theatrical company and wrote many plays that retold the full story of the Fellowship. It was her plays that enlightened the rest of the Shire regarding the extent of Frodo Baggins’ sacrifice, and his reputation vastly improved as much of the population finally understood his heroism. Opal married into the Grubb family to a lad named Aldo, and they also had 3 children.

When she heard the story of Beren and Lúthien for the first time while pregnant with Emerald, Diamond loved it so much that she insisted they name their next boy after Beren.

3rd daughter Emerald was born in 1443, named in honor of her great-aunt Esmeralda Brandybuck. She married into the Burrows family to Marco, brother of Malva (who married Hamfast Gardner). They opened an affluent restaurant together near the Three-Farthing Stone, which blended Shire cuisine with those of Gondor and Rohan via recipes collected by Emerald’s father and “Uncle Merry”. They also had 2 children.

5th son and youngest child, Beren, was born in 1446. He never married but had a romantic life partner in Sam & Rosie’s son Tom, with whom he worked as a merchant. See above.

After many happy years, Diamond died at age 86 in 1481, six months before Rosie’s passing. She held on until she heard the news that her youngest grandchild had been born safely earlier that day.

Estella pursued Merry for many years until she finally won him over. They married the same year that Faramir Took was born, and decided they wanted a smaller family than the Gardners and the Tooks. They ultimately had 4 children:

1st son Théodoc was born in 1432. Merry knew he wanted to name his firstborn after his late king; Estella agreed, admiring the king greatly from her husband’s stories, but wanted to continue the tradition of giving the future Master a name ending in “-doc.” This was their compromise. Théodoc was a born scholar like his father and helped him put together his book on old words and names. He later married Sam & Rosie’s daughter Daisy; they became the Master and Mistress of Buckland when Merry left the Shire for the last time.

2nd son Estel was born in 1436. His parents were amazed at how perfectly the name worked as a tribute to both Aragorn and to Estella herself. Estel was a mama’s boy and never minded his name’s resemblance to hers, even before making the thrilling discovery that he was also named for a king. He opened a law firm with his best friend Boromir. On a family trip to Bree, Estel met a real Underhill, named Amelia; they instantly fell in love and he brought her home to Buckland as his bride. They bore 3 children.

1st daughter Éowyn was born in 1439. She worshipped and maintained a lifelong friendship with her namesake, who sent her birthday presents every year, and in whose footsteps she followed by becoming the Shire’s most reliable healer. She also helped her father gather research for his herblore books, and gained much knowledge of herbal medicines from this project. She later married Sam & Rosie’s son Robin; they first got together when Tom & Beren played matchmaker.

2nd daughter Athela was born in 1441, named after Athelas in honor of her father’s love of herbs and her mother’s appreciation for the specific herb that saved her father’s life. She married into the Goldworthy family and had 3 children with her husband Fabian. She shared her sister’s passion for independent thinking and eventually became a teacher at the Shire’s first public school.

Merry was the first of the Travellers to be widowed, as Estella passed in 1480 at age 95. The following year, Athela named her newborn 3rd child after her mother.

As Tolkien wrote, Aragorn & Arwen’s firstborn was Eldarion, born in 1422, who eventually succeeded his father as king and created a long-lasting dynasty. According to me, Eldarion was followed by three younger sisters:

Melíriel was born in 1425. She remained in close touch with her Elvish roots and arranged for the history of Elves and Men to be taught in all of Gondor’s schools. It was for her and her sister’s sake that her parents were inspired to issue a law requiring girls to be educated as well as boys. She later married Elboron, son of Faramir & Éowyn (b. 1424), and they became Prince and Princess of Ithilien after Elboron’s parents’ deaths, and helped Legolas restore the land to its former glory. Their son Barahir wrote The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen (Tolkien canon).

Twins Celebrithil and Gilraeloth were born in 1429.

Celebrithil was a linguist and expert diplomat and helped her father with peace talks among the Southern and Eastern lands, made easier when she became fluent in the languages spoken by the Haradrim. She was close friends with Elanor, as they shared a passion for learning languages.

Gilraeloth was a tomboy who joined the remaining Rangers of the North in patrolling the woodlands of Arnor, eventually marrying a fellow Ranger.

All four of Aragorn & Arwen’s children were raised bilingual in Westron and Sindarin. The Sindarin language became common in Gondor once again, and was taught in schools.

Eldarion oversaw the restoration of Osgiliath alongside his father.

Aragorn also arranged for absolute premogeniture in the Reunited Kingdom’s line of succession, echoing the similar policy of Númenor.

Two centuries later, Eldarion laid down his life and passed the throne to his firstborn, Minyarían, who became the first Ruling Queen (regnant) of Gondor. Her younger sister was Nénaloth.

After another two centuries, Minyarían laid down her life and passed the throne to her firstborn, her son Iorhael (the Quenya translation of ‘Frodo’).

Also, in Ithilien:

Besides Elboron, Faramir & Éowyn had a daughter, Rohawyn (b. 1427), who became a healer like her mother. She exchanged much information with her close friends from the Shire, the hobbits Ruby Gardner and Éowyn Brandybuck.

The line of succession for the rule of Ithilien was made into an absolute primogeniture policy by Aragorn at Éowyn’s insistence. Thus, Elboron was eventually succeeded by his eldest child, his daughter Elwing.

Elwing was eventually succeeded by her eldest son Théoden. She also had a daughter, Haleth, and a younger son, Beren.

As for Legolas and Gimli:

Gimli was gray and aged when he and Legolas sailed West, but had a few steps left in him.

On his last journey, Legolas took with him three important items: a scrapbook of drawings of Arwen’s family compiled by her; a collection of letters for Sam from his surviving children, all of whom he had stayed in touch with through the years (especially Elanor and Tom); and his own copy of the Red Book in Quenya, which he’d made himself in Gondor from the Thain’s Book in order to keep the details of the story recorded for the populace of Valinor.

Upon arriving in the West, Legolas fulfilled his Queen Arwen’s last request to him and delivered the scrapbook to Elrond and Celebrían as a gift to them from her. Through the scrapbook, the bereaved couple were able to see their grandchildren and recognize that their daughter lived a happy and full life.

Gimli and Legolas were thrilled to reunite with the hobbits on Eressëa, having hoped they’d still be alive. At the hobbits’ insistence, the Elf and Dwarf joined them to live in their home.

Gimli bonded with the Elves who specialized in mining and delving on the island, and eventually learned Quenya.

Legolas fell in love with Laurëalotë, a Vanya resident of Tol Eressëa and the daughter of Frodo’s healer. He also finally reunited with his mother, Almariel, who had accompanied her best friend Celebrían to the West many years prior after they both had been ambushed by Orcs, and met his re-embodied grandparents, Oropher and Naurwen, for the first time.

After the hobbits’ deaths, Legolas and Gimli could not bear to live in the hobbit hole without them, so they accepted Elrond and Celebrían’s invitation to live with them for a while.

Gimli, being 260 years old when he sailed, ultimately lived to the age of 330. When his time came, he was given an honorary burial in Avallónë. The loss was extremely difficult for Legolas, but his friends and family all rallied to help him through his grief.

Many years after the hobbits and Gimli had finally passed on, Legolas married Laurëalotë and they had two daughters, Eryniel and Galadheth. They settled on the island and often visited the memorials of their late friends.

Gandalf sailed on to Valinor. His reward from the Valar for his deeds was to travel freely among the Blessed Realm whenever he pleased, no longer bound to be a servant. Thus, he often visited Legolas and the memorials on the nearby island.

Legolas’ copy of the Red Book became the most cherished item in his household, as he read the story to his wife, daughters, and grandchildren, and kept it alive forever.

For the rest of time, Gandalf and Legolas personally reminisced about the Fellowship, and their memories of and love for their friends never faded.

The Last Ship sailed from the Grey Havens in the year 189 of the Fourth Age. Among those onboard were Círdan, Celeborn, Thranduil, Elladan, Elrohir, Daeron, and one Elf who had long served his repentance through many lonely millennia in Middle-Earth and was at last granted passage back to his homeland: Maglor.

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year

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Teaser for in-development Zemo fic

Heike has feelings about her husband's second soulmark, and she won't let him feel differently.

A/N: SHAMELESS serotonin fishing as I tumble headlong towards the new year and work on updates for all the other fics. Please do leave thoughts and comments so I can wave them in my muse's face to convince her we aren't half as shitty as we think we are.

Soulmate AU

His second soulmark appeared when he and Heike were still newlyweds. He woke to find the stamp of destiny on his arm with a slow, sick horror that soured his stomach as his young, beautiful, strong wife rolled over and saw it, too. He stared with wide eyes, stuttering, assuring her he would never betray her, that it was some kind of mistake.

She shushed him, stroking the pattern that looked just a little too much like the Zemo family crest to bloom on some stranger’s skin, and drew her hand back across his bare chest.

“It might’ve concerned me,” she murmured, “if not for this.” Her palm covered the mark on the right side of his chest, the imprint of curling lines he believed mimicked their initials.

His wife wriggled a little closer, pulling herself to lay over him so the matching marks touched, and his broken little sigh came out as a whimper.

“I’m not afraid of losing you, Helmut,” she said. “There’s just more to you than either of us realize yet.”

Everything she said was perfect. Everything she did. His perfect, intelligent, loving bride with her head for diplomacy and heart full of mischief. She only gave him a few days to settle into the idea of his new mark before she began her assault. He still did a double-take when he caught his reflection early in the morning after a shower, and despite Heike’s ready acceptance, he felt like he’d been branded for infidelity.

In the middle of breakfast, his wife had a thought and started laughing too hard to speak. He waited for the joke, echoing her infectious amusement before he knew the punchline, and when she could, she said, “You are going to have a – what do they call it? – a sugar baby!” She howled as his grin melted into a bemused frown.

“A what?”

She pointed to his arm, where the covered soulmark lingered.

“Your soulmate has just been born, Helmut. You’ll be a sugar daddy.”

More offended than anything else, he shoved away the vision of a curvaceous blond in a clingy dress with a mouthful of bubblegum. He could not imagine any lifetime where he’d share himself as wholly with such a creature as he did his first soulmate, his true soulmate. He shuddered. Were there doctors for these things? Perhaps he could have it removed. He couldn’t be the first man to discover an unwelcome and inconvenient mark. History bled with such stories.

Armed with a new weapon with which to tease and pry, Heike fell in love with his mark long before he accepted it.

“I will never love anyone the way I love you,” he’d insisted. “I would die for you.”

“Of course not, but you will love our children.” She barely waited for him to nod before she pushed ahead in her crusade. “You love your father. Will you love them less than you love me? You’d die for any of us.”

“It is not the same.”

“I should hope you feel differently about your soulmates than you do your father or children, yes.”

“That is not what I meant.” But she had given him an idea. Though rare, not all soulmates had romantic relationships. And there was the age difference to consider. “Perhaps we will be platonic.”

Heike scoffed. If she were any less of a lady, she would’ve snorted. Running her eyes from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and back again, she left him with a lingering, meaningful look. “Impossible.”

He clung to his hopes of a platonic connection for nearly two decades. But when his soulmate failed to appear as a cherub-faced child he could take under his wing and raise as some kind of adopted Zemo, he had to acknowledge the facts. Despite Heike’s insistence, it wasn’t impossible, and he respected women enough to sustain a relationship without sex even if his soulmate was female, but that may not be what his second soulmate needed. Heike gleefully pointed out he had the appetite to satisfy more than one woman a few times a year, just to remind him she hadn’t forgotten, that she wanted this soulmate in their family. Their place was open and waiting. He only had to find them.

Heike’s favorite game became highlighting newspapers and sending him emails with links to articles about how Millennials – his soulmate’s generation – were destroying a new industry. At breakfast, she’d drop a newspaper over his plate and declare, “Your soulmate is wrecking the diamond industry.”

Another time, she came home, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and announced, “Your soulmate is killing golf,” shoving the proof in his hands as she went to set down her purse.

Once he’d accepted the truth, he joined in the fun. He suggested they buy a potted avocado tree to keep the unknown soulmate fed. Heike encouraged him to drink more coffee and wear scarves.

She marched towards the dream of a brighter future, dragging him along, just as she’d always done. Of course, it only made sense that she’d meet his soulmate before he did.

#zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #heike zemo #soulmate au #poly fic #zemo x ofc

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alpaca-clouds · 7 months

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One of the most annoying myths about history

There is one historical myths that manosphere guys, republican politicians and a certain subset of shippers love to call back on. "It was once totally normal for kids to marry!! And hence it is totally not creepy for adult men to leer after 14 year old girls and to romanticize the relationship between a 13yo and a 31yo character."

Now, obligatory disclaimer: Yeah, you totally can ship whatever you want. But stop attacking people who - at times due to their own fucking trauma - just talk about how one ship creeps them out. Jesus.

But let's get back to the myth. It basically goes like that: In historical times (historical time of one's choosing, really) it was the norm that children or at least girls were married off in their early or at least later teens.

And that is just... wrong.

Mind you, yes, it happened. It definitely was not the norm. Most of the time it happened with children of nobility who were married for political alliances - but often enough did not even see their partners until a long while later (basically only when they were old enough to create off-spring on their own).

This myth tends to be linked to two other myths or rather misunderstandings:

People did not get older than 40 back then (so they had to marry early and start reproducing).

Families just wanted to get rid of their female children because they were useless if they did not reproduce.

To the first, well... This is a very typical misunderstanding. See, the average lifespan was much shorter - but here is the thing: Average. One of the main reasons it was so short on average was, that infants died at a much, much higher rate than they do today. Which was also the reason why people had so many children. Because many of those children would not reach adulthood. And mind you, this stayed true until fairly recently. Even out of my grandparents... My one grandmother was a child among nine siblings. And out of those kids only three reached adulthood.

The second part is very much based on this idea that medieval times especially had this big difference between men and women when it came to work. Which... is just wrong. Now, after the middle ages, yes, we got a lot more differenciation between men and women. But you have to understand that non-noble people in the middle ages could not really affort to... not have everyone in their household work. Men and women both went working the fields. Same went for girls and boys. Which also means hat for the parents there was actually no big difference between girls and boys in terms of usefulness.

Now, for people working in other fields this was less true. Certain jobs were indeed done by mostly men - or in some cases mostly women. And if a family had their entire life set out around one of those jobs, yes, having a girl was... less useful.

Of course, one thing that is true is, that for the most part the idea of a love marriage was something unheard off for most of human history. In fact the idea of romantic love was not wide-spread in the middle ags. But people also knew that... there were practical reasons why girls too young should not be married and should not get pregnant. Because, well, they were more likely to die during birth. And contrary to popular believe... yeah, actually people cared about the mothers' survival. Because, well... infants died at a high rate. But you could fairly easy get new infants. Getting a new girl into a fertile age was much more of a time investment. And yeah, contrary to what Game of Thrones might have told you, there is actually quite a lot of historical evidence on husbands again and again choosing the life of their wives over the life of a child, when there were complications during childbirth.

Now, outside of the historical record in fact showing that we do know that psychologically... a teenager just cannot have a healthy relationship with an adult. Even if the adult has no ill-intent. For the simple reason that the brain of a teenager is not fully developed. Teenagers hate to hear this, but... well, technically speaking they are still children. While an adult has a fully developed brain. And of course there is just that there is a lot of power-difference between someone working a job and a highschool student.

So... yeah. No. There is no good excuse for it. And no, it is also not historical.

#shipping #feminism #manosphere #child marriage #historical #historical context #history #medieval europe #european history

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peyton-warren · 2 years

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Blinded by The Fog Part 3

Characters: Jolene, Captain Syverson and Reader. Mention of Jake Jensen, other Losers and OCs related to the Losers. Pairings: Jake Jensen x Reader Word count: 2579 Type: angst and fluff Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. Loss of spouse and found family. Pregnancy, discussion of infertility, drinking, swearing. Summary: In helping Jolene, Reader fights against her own feelings. Sy stops by to check on Reader. Author's Note: Much appreciation to @adulting-sucks who has held my hand and cheer me on as I struggled with this chapter. <3

Ask Box: Open Series Masterlist Masterlist

Chapter 2

“Are you going to want to know the gender today?” the doctor asked as she looked up from the screen of the ultrasound machine.

Jolene looked at you for reassurance, your hands tightly clasped together at her side on the exam table. You blinked back your own tears as you watched one slip down her cheek. Jolene missed her husband as much as you missed your own, only she had more constant reminders with each examination, each test, each inch her belly grew. She had confided in you a few weeks ago she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep the baby, much less find out the gender. Without Pooch, it was going to be hard for her to raise this child alone, even with promised help from you and Madre. Deep in her heart, she confessed, she thought it would be best for everyone if she gave the baby up for adoption.

You had done your best to console her, promise her you would help as much as you could, and not just with doctor appointments and birthing classes, but with raising the child. What you hadn’t told Jolene was that her predicament broke your heart twice over. Yes she faced raising a child without her husband, but she had a piece of her husband in her belly. You and Jake had tried for the past 5 years to have kids, but never had success. Doctors assured you it was normal to take some time after a woman goes off birth control, and the stress of trying did not help your odds.

It was the one thing you two wanted more than any other thing on the planet, and it broke your heart month after month. You were just starting to look into other ways to have kids when Jake was called away on that last horrid mission. He assured you as he packed you would find an answer together when he returned.

Now you had nothing.

“Aaran?” you asked as you opened your door a crack, squinting into the setting sun behind the man on the other side. “What- whatever are you doing here?” You struggled to keep your words in a neat and proper row, or at least you think that’s what you said. You aren't fully sure what came out of your mouth if you were honest. Or if even you had a mouth right now. No you had a mouth, how else would your teeth be so tingly. You tap a nail on your front teeth. Nope definitely no feeling there! Or on your lips as you tap the top one. Your eyes glaze further over as you continue to touch parts of your face, seeing if the sensations have ceased in all the various parts.

It's when you attempt to poke your own eye that Sy speaks up, standing on your porch. “Are you okay, Mrs. Jensen?" Your eyes attempt to focus on him looking at you with one eyebrow cresting high on his forehead. It seemed like Sy knocked on your door like an hour before you did a self assessment of your current state of being, happy to be distracted from your hamster wheel of thoughts that had spiraled out of your control after dropping Jolene off after her doctor appointment.

“Of course,” you lied, blinking your eyes, only they suddenly felt oh-so-heavy and like they wanted to stick closed. “Perfectly a-ok, Captain.” You giggle to yourself, eyes still closed.

You heard the rustle of grocery sacks being set on your porch, and felt a large arm sweep around your waist. “So I can see,” rumbled in your ear unexpectedly.

Suddenly you feel dizzy as you are spun in a circle. Or maybe he just kept you from falling on your face in the middle of your living room. You giggled again, and gripped his arm with your empty hand.

“I’ll take that," you hear him mutter, sweeping the revolver from your other hand as he moves you adeptly to the couch. You found yourself placed amongst the pillows and blankets as if you were a rag doll. When you did open your eyes, your vision swam a bit more than you would have liked.

As Sy stood, you looked almost amazed at the .357 as he emptied it. “How did you get my door gun?” you asked him, pressing your lips together in what you assumed was an intimidating look. “And why are you unloading it?" And why did it look so tiny in his hands?? That gun felt like a monster even all these years after Jake bought it for you.

“Door gun?” he asked in an almost amused voice as he put the six rounds in his pocket before tucking the weapon in the waistband of his pants. “What is a ‘door gun’?”

“It's a-” You watched him clear the almost empty bottle of whiskey from the coffee table, along with your favorite coffee mug. “Hey!" you called after him, as he retreated to the kitchen. “I was drinking that.”

The giant of a man snorted as you heard water run. “When was the last time you had some water, sweetheart?”

“I’m not dirty, I’m thirsty,” you insisted, as he returned to set a tall glass on the coffee table within arm’s reach.

He seemed to ignore you as he walked to the door, and retrieved the grocery sacks on the porch. "Are you hungry?" he asked as he closed and locked the door behind him. "Madre sent food over for you. She seems to think you aren’t taking care of yourself."

Stunned by the fact that someone saw through the façade you tried to keep up in front of others, you sat staring at Sy as he moved through your house. When your eyes met, you snapped out of your shock. “Of course I’m taking care of myself," you insisted.

“That is evident by the liquid dinner," Sy teased softly.

Your defenses went up immediately. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.” How dare he. Who the fuck was he? Had he ever lost the love of his life in a mother fucking copter crash? Did he lose his family in that same fucking crash? He doesn’t know what it's like to deal with that loss day in and day out. Not knowing what to do with yourself, unsure if you should just pack up the house and move to somewhere else, away from all the memories that haunted these walls, or stay right where you are and soak in those memories until you are pruny because it was all you had left of the life you had with Jake.

He nodded. “That’s true. But I’ve helped the wives and families of my own men I’ve lost," he cleared his throat, his voice sounding tight. “I know what it looks like, sweetheart,” his voice was soft, as if he was trying not to spook you.

The tears you had been trying to keep at bay all day with whisky and pure stubborn determination suddenly burst from their dam, flooding your cheeks. Why were you so upset about not having a child when you clearly couldn't take care of yourself, and even this man who has known you for all of 3 minutes can see that you are not capable.

“Oh, sugar,” Sy cooed softly as he sat next to you and carefully but determinedly pulled you against his chest. “I am so so sorry." He tucked you in close, your arms flush to his chest, your head under his chin. “I did not mean to make you cry." You barely heard the words as you loudly sobbed into the wall of chest and arms surrounding you. The arms held you a little tighter, hands rubbing your back where they landed.

All of your emotions from the past few days, the past few weeks, hell it had been a month already, tumbled out without signs of stopping. You had no concept of how much time passed before your tears dried up, your sobs and hiccups turning into soft sighs, while Sy’s comforting embrace and soothing tone never changed.

Embarrassed by your actions, you gently pushed away from him, your hands on his chest, but your eyes remained downcast.

“I’m sorry," you started, reaching for the glass of water. The little sip you intended on taking made you realize how dry your mouth was and how much your throat burned. Instead you finished the glass in a few seconds, as a large warm hand laid on your back, a calming presence as you continued to collect yourself.

When you tried to stand, glass in hand, to grab a refill, the hand on your back moved to your shoulder and encouraged you to stay seated as Sy stood. “Let me," he insisted, taking the glass from you, squeezing your shoulder before walking into the other room.

Propping your elbows on your knees, you ran your fingers through your hair with a soft sigh, your body filled with that after-cry-stuffy-but-clear feeling.

The glass appeared back on the table in front of you. “Can I get you anything else?" Sy asked softly.

Shaking your head, you reached for a tissue from the box on the end table as he settled back on the couch next to you, the reassuring hand returning to your back. You wiped your cheeks and blew your nose, certain your grandmother was rolling in her grave at your unladylike actions in front of a man you hardly knew.

Suck it, granny, you thought to yourself as you grabbed a second tissue. A widow was entitled to a few indelicate moments.

You and Sy sat in silence for a bit as you sipped the cool water, your buzz draining from your brain with each passing second. With a gentle pat, Sy shifted to sit next to you on the edge of the couch. “Could I borrow your powder room?" he asked, humor lightly coloring his words.

Nodding, you gave him instructions to find it. After he rose and left, you collected your trash and glass, heading to the kitchen. You pushed open the bags on your table, looking to see what Madre had sent you. Although 5 minutes ago you would have sworn you were not hungry, your belly erupted into gurgles at the smell and sight of her efforts.

Sy returned as you reached for a plate from the cupboard. "Will you join me?” you asked over your shoulder, fingering a second dish from the stack.

With a shake of his head, he declined. “Madre already fed me,” he said with humor tinting his words and an infectious smile on his face.

“Of course she did,” you conceded, surprised you didn’t think of that when you felt still warm plastic containers against your fingers.

“But I’ll take a drink and sit with you if you’d like."

You nodded. “I would like that more than I can explain,” you confessed softly. Meals alone when Jake was on a mission were far from your favorite thing ever, but you always got through it with the promise of shared time together when he returned. But now....

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You opened the door to the microwave and grabbed your plate. Sy laughed softly as you performed the “Ooo Ooo It’s Hot” dance over to the table with the plate carefully balanced on your finger tips.

“Shush, big boy,” you half chastised him as you grabbed a fork and napkin.

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded with a sip of his beer.

You settled back at the table in the chair opposite Sy. “Good. Now tell me how you know Cougar but not Jake,” you prompted, blowing lightly on a steaming forkful of rice.

“Alright.” Sy proceeded to tell you about how he and the team’s sniper met during basic training and happened to land in the same class for officers training, becoming good friends along the way.

“So then why have we not met until now if you two are so close?”

Sy shook his head and shrugged. “Our deployments are rarely at the same time, so we are hardly ever stateside at the same time would be my guess,” he offered. “Could also be why I only know your husband by his reputation alone. We’ve never been on an op together.”

You nodded and contemplated your plate as you blinked back unwanted tears. “I guess that makes sense,” you agreed, clearing your throat when your voice cracked.

"And Clay and I," Sy paused, seeming to search for the right words with a half a smirk. "He and I have history."

You looked up, interested and tears forgotten. "Oh?"

His eyes twinkled as he tipped back his beer, not offering any more information as you sat with your proverbial breath held. He kept eye contact as he tossed the empty in the trash and grabbed another from the fridge.

"You aren't going to tell me, are you?" You playfully groused, your eyes narrowed as he sat back down. In response, he opened the bottle and took a leisurely painfully-slow drink. "Jerkface," you mumbled to your next forkful of food, causing Sy to snort and begin to cough, spewing beer into his hand. Laughing and hacking he quickly made his way to the sink where he cleaned his hand and wiped at his beard with the wet hand.

"I usually know a woman a bit longer before she calls me derogatory terms, " he offered up.

“I’m not like other women,” you informed him as you finally put that next forkful in your mouth.

“So I am gathering.”

You smiled and pondered as you thoughtfully chewed, thinking of all the ways this man could have gotten on the bad side of the Colonel. Clay was a hard man but it took a lot to get on his bad side. You looked Sy over, giving him your own silent treatment. What did you know about him? Not much. So you hit the low hanging fruit first. “You sleep with his daughter?” you joked.

Sy’s eyes widened just a hair, and the tips of his ears may have reddened, but other than that he kept his poker face. “How is Aubrey?” he deadpanned.

It was your turn to look at him surprised. You had been joking, thinking about how this man was nothing like the other men the young woman had introduced you to over the years. But maybe there was more to the girl than you knew. I mean what better way to piss off her daddy than to sleep with a Special Forces Officer. “Holy shit-”

“No!” Sy roared with laughter. “God no. I have some morals,” he avowed.

“Uh-hu,” you teased as you cleared your plate to the sink.

“She’s a baby,” he further tried to sway you as you refilled your glass

“A legal baby,” you countered as you took a sip.

“A barely legal baby,” he sounded almost aghast you thought him possible of this.

You stood looking out the window over the sink, smirking softly at your reflection. Why were you having this conversation with a man you hardly knew, treating him the way you would any other member of the team? With a tiny crack in your heart, you thought maybe just maybe Cougar and possibly Jake were looking out for you and sent you someone like them to ease your pain just enough to get through this in one piece.

Part 4

General Tag List: @littleone65

Henry Cavill Tag List: @m07belzenbelzen @Used-to-be-bourbonwithice @hawklin

Blinded By The Fog Tag List: @Mis-lil-red

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svnshone · 1 year

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DAGMAR - seven months before the arrival to Switzerland

tws: death, depression, pregnancy, childbirth, grief

When he left it was with a kiss and the promise of a new fur for the baby’s cradle. He pulled his hand from the growing bump, leaving her with one more kiss, then crossed the courtyard to his awaiting horse. The sight of him mounting his horse was a familar one, she must have seen it thousands of times- but more often than not she had been doing the same next to him. She would again in two months time- even if two months seemed like forever after several months of being told not to.

Once the baby comes, she told herself. Then she will be able to join the hunts. She missed her bow- the physician had permitted her to shoot at standing targets for the first month or so, but now it seemed all any one thought she should do was rest.

Still, they hated the idea of doing nothing all day. They may not be racing horses through the woods or moving her feet upon the dance floor- but she had made sure her days her filled. Meetings with dignitaries, discussions with politicians, composing letters. All of it better to her than doing needlework or mindless chatter with the ladies of the court.

She was in her study, speaking with one of the counts who wished to propose a new bill to her husband, when a footman burst through the door. “Your majesty,” he stammered out, “You must come quick, it’s the king-”

“Back so soon?” It had been less than a day, the hunting party had left just that morning- and when Hagen was in one of these moods, so fired up, so focused, he would not return without his prize. There was one damp autumn they had spent two weeks in the woods, sharing a pallat in a tent during the night.

The smile on her face died at the footman’s expression. She pushed herself to her feet- a triumph, with her stomach at the size it was, it seemed her balance shifted every day. “Is he injured?”

“You better just come, ma’am.” She followed him through the halls, feet moving as fast as she could make them.

When they entered the front hall, she expected him to be standing there, tall and triumphant, standing over the elk he brought home. He had gifted her more furs than she could count over the years. Cloaks, mantles, linings for gowns, blankets for their bed. All things felled at his hand.

Instead there was an eerie silence, strange for a room with so many people. “Where is the physician?” she demanded, making her way to the pallet at the center of the room- there Hagen was, laying. He must have been unconcious- he would hate to be seen like this, surrounded by his courtiers, looking weak in anyway.

:There was no need, your majesty.”

She dropped next him and that’s when she realized. He was not moving. He was not unconcious. This was not sleep. This is what the footman had been to scared to say.

No no no no no no.

Dagmar did not know how long she clung to him. She did not remember leaving him, did not remember going to sleep- but she awoke the next day, sun streaming through the window into her room. She was in her bed- their bed. The one they had shared, nearly every night, for nearly a dcade.

How dare the sun shine?

When she left her bed, it was only to draw closed the shutters. Seeing the glances exchanged between the ladies-in-waiting standing in the corner of the room, she also pulled tight the drapes to the bed, crawling back beneath the covers.

“Confinement,” she murmured. “For the baby.” The baby.” Hagen’s baby. He had made her a promise, fur for the baby, and then he had left and not returned.

The midwives and physican came into her room every day, but she denied even her father a visit. She could not afford the upset- stress was bad for the baby. She had to protect it, this thing she grew, this child who was half Hagen.

She did not know how the time passed- sometimes she awoke and it was the middle of the night, other times she drifted to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. Servants brought meals to her room- she forced herself to eat, even when the numbness filling her left her with no appetite. She had to eat, to provide for the baby.

The midwife tried to encourage her to get up, to walk the gardens. Dagmar could not. She stayed in the four walls of her room, in the cucoon made by the drapes, warm, safe.

Days passed, weeks, she took little notice. There was little to define the days- or perhaps she just did not notice.

She did not expect the pains when they began. She had not paid attention to what the midwife or physician said during their daily visits. Was it time already?

Dagmar had known pain. She had fallen from her horse once, at twelve and had to have the bone in her arm reset. She was used to the familar ache the day after riding too long or too hard. This was different.

She paced back and forth while the midwife and physician argued. They each had their own routines for such things, they did not like working together. She did not care. The pacing helped some, in the beginning.

How had women been doing this for millennia? Multiple times?

It seemed to go on forever, but it had not even been a day. She registered the hands on her as they helped move her into position to deliver- sweat plastering her hair to her face, exhaustion growing in her bones, a sense of desperation in her soul.

When the baby was born, the physician took her in his arms, looing her over as her cries filled the room. Dagmar collapsed against the pillows, tired from her efforts, relieved that the appeared well.

“Has no one sent for the king?” she asked. “Tell Hagen-”

Then she noticed the faces of her attendants. Then she remembered. Hagen was not the king. Now that word meant his brother. They could not send for her husband. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment? In the cloud of childbirth, before she had even caught sight of the princess.

It was not until the babe was placed in her arms that the tears fell for the first time.

#musings. dagmar #self para. dagmar #death tw #childbirth tw #pregnancy tw #// rip dude

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macwalsh · 1 year

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FULL NAME: Mackenzie Leonardo Walsh NICKNAMES: Mac, Mackie, Ken (Ew), Kenzie DATE OF BIRTH: February 14th, 1965 ZODIAC SIGN: Aquarius JOB: Cashier at Blossom Records MAJOR: Music Production SEXUALITY: Bisexual BIRTH ORDER: Oldest PETS: Garfield the Cat CHARACTER INSPIRATION: AESTHETICS: Spending hours getting lost in a record store, laying on the floor listening to your favorite songs, waking up early just to watch the sunrise, messy morning hair, the smell of fresh coffee at three in the afternoon, the sound of someone tuning a guitar, smiling at someone as you pass each other, secrets whispered under a blanket of stars, fresh guitar picks, standing outside of someone’s window with a boombox over your head, chewing on the end of your pencil

TW: Cult activity, child abandonment, mentioned homophobia

Laura Walsh has been “searching for herself” for as long as anyone can remember. One week she was killing herself for a spot on the cheerleading squad and the next she was under the bleachers with the burnouts. It was enough to give anyone whiplash, especially her older brother. Leo Walsh had always been her best friend and protector, but as the older they grew the less he understood her. He’d found his niche early, figured out exactly who he was before the clock struck twelve on his tenth birthday- and poor little Laura had always trailed close behind trying and failing to make something stick. So when something finally did... he just wished he could have been happy for her.

It all started with a boy, the way things always did when it came to Laura. A shiny new boyfriend who was into all the sorts of things pastors warned about on the nightly news. Leo had rolled his eyes at his parents’ concerns at first, blown off the notion that their new interests could be anything darker than they were on the surface. Laura was happier than he’d seen her in years and this guy had stuck around longer than a month- it was a win in his book until it wasn’t.

At sixteen Laura and David disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving only a half-finished note and a phone number on a torn piece of newspaper behind for Leo. He called and called and searched and searched to no avail, not until two years later when the couple showed up on Laura and Leo’s parents’ doorstep eight months pregnant. By then, the Walsh family had become social outcasts in the eyes of Cherry’s residents- a lack of savings, dwindling business at Mackenzie Sr.’s pharmacy and a hope that their daughter would return to them the only thing keeping them in town. The family’s presence was met with whispers wherever they went, of their daughter and the cult she’d ran off with and their son and who he chose to go to bed with at night.

They’d slammed the door in her face, the way they’d done to Leo a year before when they’d discovered his sexuality. So of course she’d found her way to her brother’s new apartment, and of course he’d welcomed Laura and David in with open arms and excitement for the new baby.

David didn’t hang around long enough to witness the birth of his son, and Laura followed behind just three days after returning from the hospital. Baby Mackenzie was left in Leo’s spare bedroom and Laura was gone without a trace, without even a note this time.

Giving Mackenzie up had never even crossed twenty-two year old Leo’s mind, and from then on the boy was raised as his own. Laura stopped in every now and then, when the guilt ate her up at night or she needed to borrow a couple bucks or a roof over her head. There were always presents for birthdays that had passed months before and promises that she couldn’t keep. And then she settled down, a few towns over with a banker husband and two beautiful children- finally finding her niche in playing the part of a shiny housewife. It was then that the visits dwindled and stopped, her first born fading into the background of the picture.

Laura and David have given nothing to Mackenzie but his looks and a deep fear of abandonment, one that keeps him clinging to people like Lux Lewis far longer than he should. It’s what sent his little feet flying towards Leo’s bedroom in the middle of the night growing up, what shocks him awake now with his hands reaching out- “are you still there?

Mackenzie wouldn’t trade his upbringing for the world. He grew up smothered in love by aspiring rockstars, who would prop him up on their shoulders at concerts and taught him how to play instruments and gel his hair.

And still, he can’t help but flinch at the looks thrown his way by locals who remember his mother, whispered rumors that his real father was a cult leader or that his conception was the work of the devil. There were rejected playdates when parents found out who he was and crying over an uneaten birthday cake for a party no one showed up to and the insistence that something deep inside of him was somehow wrong from the day he was born.

Maybe that’s the reason he stuck himself so close to the gang when Lux invited him in, and why he still feels like he owes them everything.

EXTRAS:

Mac is a HUGE Star Wars nerd

Guitar is his main instrument, but he knows how to play piano, drums, and bass as well

Mac moved out of Leo’s house and into an apartment with Alice shortly after Libby moved in

#cusaintro

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neil-gaiman · 3 years

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How Did you come up with the first eve in the story about adams wives? I haven’t been able to find anything about her after I read it and I want to know if she’s an actual biblical character or just someone you made

She's from the Midrash. I learned about her as a 12 year old, from my barmitzvah teacher. There was a point in there, long after I'd put her into Sandman, where I was starting to think I'd imagined her, when I ran across her in Robert Graves's Hebrew Myths....

Excerpt from: The Hebrew Myths by Robert Graves and Raphael Patai (New York: Doubleday, 1964), pp 65-69

Chapter 10: Adam's Helpmeets

(a) Having decided to give Adam a helpmeet lest he should be alone of his kind, God put him into a deep sleep, removed one of his ribs, formed it into a woman, and closed up the wound, Adam awoke and said: 'This being shall be named "Woman", because she has been taken out of man. A man and a woman shall be one flesh.' The title he gave her was Eve, 'the Mother of All Living''. [1]

(b) Some say that God created man and woman in His own image on the Sixth Day, giving them charge over the world; [2] but that Eve did not yet exist. Now, God had set Adam to name every beast, bird and other living thing. When they passed before him in pairs, male and female, Adam-being already like a twenty-year-old man-felt jealous of their loves, and though he tried coupling with each female in turn, found no satisfaction in the act. He therefore cried: 'Every creature but I has a proper mate', and prayed God would remedy this injustice. [3]

(c) God then formed Lilith, the first woman, just as He had formed Adam, except that He used filth and sediment instead of pure dust. From Adam's union with this demoness, and with another like her named Naamah, Tubal Cain's sister, sprang Asmodeus and innumerable demons that still plague mankind. Many generations later, Lilith and Naamah came to Solomon's judgement seat, disguised as harlots of Jerusalem'. [4]

(d) Adam and Lilith never found peace together; for when he wished to lie with her, she took offence at the recumbent posture he demanded. 'Why must I lie beneath you?' she asked. 'I also was made from dust, and am therefore your equal.' Because Adam tried to compel her obedience by force, Lilith, in a rage, uttered the magic name of God, rose into the air and left him.

Adam complained to God: 'I have been deserted by my helpmeet' God at once sent the angels Senoy, Sansenoy and Semangelof to fetch Lilith back. They found her beside the Red Sea, a region abounding in lascivious demons, to whom she bore lilim at the rate of more than one hundred a day. 'Return to Adam without delay,' the angels said, `or we will drown you!' Lilith asked: `How can I return to Adam and live like an honest housewife, after my stay beside the Red Sea?? 'It will be death to refuse!' they answered. `How can I die,' Lilith asked again, `when God has ordered me to take charge of all newborn children: boys up to the eighth day of life, that of circumcision; girls up to the twentieth day. None the less, if ever I see your three names or likenesses displayed in an amulet above a newborn child, I promise to spare it.' To this they agreed; but God punished Lilith by making one hundred of her demon children perish daily; [5] and if she could not destroy a human infant, because of the angelic amulet, she would spitefully turn against her own. [6]

(e) Some say that Lilith ruled as queen in Zmargad, and again in Sheba; and was the demoness who destroyed job's sons. [7] Yet she escaped the curse of death which overtook Adam, since they had parted long before the Fall. Lilith and Naamah not only strangle infants but also seduce dreaming men, any one of whom, sleeping alone, may become their victim. [8]

(f) Undismayed by His failure to give Adam a suitable helpmeet, God tried again, and let him watch while he built up a woman's anatomy: using bones, tissues, muscles, blood and glandular secretions, then covering the whole with skin and adding tufts of hair in places. The sight caused Adam such disgust that even when this woman, the First Eve, stood there in her full beauty, he felt an invincible repugnance. God knew that He had failed once more, and took the First Eve away. Where she went, nobody knows for certain. [9]

(g) God tried a third time, and acted more circumspectly. Having taken a rib from Adam's side in his sleep, He formed it into a woman; then plaited her hair and adorned her, like a bride, with twenty-four pieces of jewellery, before waking him. Adam was entranced. [10]

(h) Some say that God created Eve not from Adam's rib, but from a tail ending in a sting which had been part of his body. God cut this off, and the stump-now a useless coccyx-is still carried by Adam's descendants. [11]

(i) Others say that God's original thought had been to create two human beings, male and female; but instead He designed a single one with a male face looking forward, and a female face looking back. Again He changed His mind, removed Adam's backward-looking face, and built a woman's body for it. [12]

(j) Still others hold that Adam was originally created as an androgyne of male and female bodies joined back to back. Since this posture made locomotion difficult, and conversation awkward, God divided the androgyne and gave each half a new rear. These separate beings He placed in Eden, forbidding them to couple. [13]

Notes on sources:

1. Genesis II. 18-25; III. 20.

2. Genesis I. 26-28.

3. Gen. Rab. 17.4; B. Yebamot 632.

4. Yalqut Reubeni ad. Gen. II. 21; IV. 8.

5. Alpha Beta diBen Sira, 47; Gaster, MGWJ, 29 (1880), 553 ff.

6. Num. Rab. 16.25.

7. Targum ad job 1. 15.

8. B. Shabbat 151b; Ginzberg, LJ, V. 147-48.

9. Gen. Rab. 158, 163-64; Mid. Abkir 133, 135; Abot diR. Nathan 24; B. Sanhedrin 39a.

10. Gen. II. 21-22; Gen. Rab. 161.

11. Gen. Rab. 134; B. Erubin 18a.

12. B. Erubin 18a.

13. Gen. Rab. 55; Lev. Rab. 14.1: Abot diR. Nathan 1.8; B. Berakhot 61a; B. Erubin 18a; Tanhuma Tazri'a 1; Yalchut Gen. 20; Tanh. Buber iii.33; Mid. Tehillim 139, 529.

Authors’ Comments on the Myth:

1. The tradition that man's first sexual intercourse was with animals, not women, may be due to the widely spread practice of bestiality among herdsmen of the Middle East, which is still condoned by custom, although figuring three times in the Pentateuch as a capital crime. In the Akkadian Gilgamesh Epic, Enkidu is said to have lived with gazelles and jostled other wild beasts at the watering place, until civilized by Aruru's priestess. Having enjoyed her embraces for six days and seven nights, he wished to rejoin the wild beasts but, to his surprise, they fled from him. Enkidu then knew that he had gained understanding, and the priestess said: 'Thou art wise, Enkidu, like unto a godl'

2. Primeval man was held by the Babylonians to have been androgynous. Thus the Gilgamesh Epic gives Enkidu androgynous features: `the hair of his head like a woman's, with locks that sprout like those of Nisaba, the Grain-goddess.' The Hebrew tradition evidently derives from Greek sources, because both terms used in a Tannaitic midrash to describe the bisexual Adam are Greek: androgynos, 'man-woman', and diprosopon, 'twofaced'. Philo of Alexandria, the Hellenistic philosopher and commentator on the Bible, contemporary with Jesus, held that man was at first bisexual; so did the Gnostics. This belief is clearly borrowed from Plato. Yet the myth of two bodies placed back to back may well have been founded on observation of Siamese twins, which are sometimes joined in this awkward manner. The two-faced Adam appears to be a fancy derived from coins or statues of Janus, the Roman New Year god.

3. Divergences between the Creation myths of Genesis r and n, which allow Lilith to be presumed as Adam's first mate, result from a careless weaving together of an early Judaean and a late priestly tradition. The older version contains the rib incident. Lilith typifies the Anath-worshipping Canaanite women, who were permitted pre-nuptial promiscuity. Time after time the prophets denounced Israelite women for following Canaanite practices; at first, apparently, with the priests' approval-since their habit of dedicating to God the fees thus earned is expressly forbidden in Deuteronomy xxIII. I8. Lilith's flight to the Red Sea recalls the ancient Hebrew view that water attracts demons. 'Tortured and rebellious demons' also found safe harbourage in Egypt. Thus Asmodeus, who had strangled Sarah's first six husbands, fled 'to the uttermost parts of Egypt' (Tobit viii. 3), when Tobias burned the heart and liver of a fish on their wedding night.

4. Lilith's bargain with the angels has its ritual counterpart in an apotropaic rite once performed in many Jewish communities. To protect the newborn child against Lilith-and especially a male, until he could be permanently safeguarded by circumcision-a ring was drawn with natron, or charcoal, on the wall of the birthroom, and inside it were written the words: 'Adam and Eve. Out, Lilith!' Also the names Senoy, Sansenoy and Semangelof (meanings uncertain) were inscribed on the door. If Lilith nevertheless succeeded in approaching the child and fondling him, he would laugh in his sleep. To avert danger, it was held wise to strike the sleeping child's lips with one finger-whereupon Lilith would vanish.

5. 'Lilith' is usually derived from the Babylonian-Assyrian word lilitu, ,a female demon, or wind-spirit'-one of a triad mentioned in Babylonian spells. But she appears earlier as 'Lillake' on a 2000 B.G. Sumerian tablet from Ur containing the tale of Gilgamesh and the Willow Tree. There she is a demoness dwelling in the trunk of a willow-tree tended by the Goddess Inanna (Anath) on the banks of the Euphrates. Popular Hebrew etymology seems to have derived 'Lilith' from layil, 'night'; and she therefore often appears as a hairy night-monster, as she also does in Arabian folklore. Solomon suspected the Queen of Sheba of being Lilith, because she had hairy legs. His judgement on the two harlots is recorded in I Kings III. 16 ff. According to Isaiah xxxiv. I4-I5, Lilith dwells among the desolate ruins in the Edomite Desert where satyrs (se'ir), reems, pelicans, owls, jackals, ostriches, arrow-snakes and kites keep her company.

6. Lilith's children are called lilim. In the Targum Yerushalmi, the priestly blessing of Numbers vi. 26 becomes: 'The Lord bless thee in all thy doings, and preserve thee from the Lilim!' The fourth-century A.D. commentator Hieronymus identified Lilith with the Greek Lamia, a Libyan queen deserted by Zeus, whom his wife Hera robbed of her children. She took revenge by robbing other women of theirs.

7. The Lamiae, who seduced sleeping men, sucked their blood and ate their flesh, as Lilith and her fellow-demonesses did, were also known as Empusae, 'forcers-in'; or Mormolyceia, 'frightening wolves'; and described as 'Children of Hecate'. A Hellenistic relief shows a naked Lamia straddling a traveller asleep on his back. It is characteristic of civilizations where women are treated as chattels that they must adopt the recumbent posture during intercourse, which Lilith refused. That Greek witches who worshipped Hecate favoured the superior posture, we know from Apuleius; and it occurs in early Sumerian representations of the sexual act, though not in the Hittite. Malinowski writes that Melanesian girls ridicule what they call `the missionary position', which demands that they should lie passive and recumbent.

8. Naamah, 'pleasant', is explained as meaning that 'the demoness sang pleasant songs to idols'. Zmargad suggest smaragdos, the semi-precious aquamarine; and may therefore be her submarine dwelling. A demon named Smaragos occurs in the Homeric Epigrams.

9. Eve's creation by God from Adam's rib-a myth establishing male supremacy and disguising Eve's divinity-lacks parallels in Mediterranean or early Middle-Eastern myth. The story perhaps derives iconotropically from an ancient relief, or painting, which showed the naked Goddess Anath poised in the air, watching her lover Mot murder his twin Aliyan; Mot (mistaken by the mythographer for Yahweh) was driving a curved dagger under Aliyan's fifth rib, not removing a sixth one. The familiar story is helped by a hidden pun on tsela, the Hebrew for 'rib': Eve, though designed to be Adam's helpmeet, proved to be a tsela, a 'stumbling', or 'misfortune'. Eve's formation from Adam's tail is an even more damaging myth; perhaps suggested by the birth of a child with a vestigial tail instead of a coccyx-a not infrequent occurrence.

10. The story of Lilith's escape to the East and of Adam's subsequent marriage to Eve may, however, record an early historical incident: nomad herdsmen, admitted into Lilith's Canaanite queendom as guests (see 16. 1), suddenly seize power and, when the royal household thereupon flees, occupy a second queendom which owes allegiance to the Hittite Goddess Heba.

The meaning of 'Eve' is disputed. Hawwah is explained in Genesis III. 20 as 'mother of all living'; but this may well be a Hebraicized form of the divine name Heba, Hebat, Khebat or Khiba. This goddess, wife of the Hittite Storm-god, is shown riding a lion in a rock-sculpture at Hattusaswhich equates her with Anath-and appears as a form of Ishtar in Hurrian texts. She was worshipped at Jerusalem (see 27. 6). Her Greek name was Hebe, Heracles's goddess-wife.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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I'm pretty sure this is prompt four. Jiang Cheng/Qin Su - Jin Rusong as heir to Lotus Pier

ao3

Jiang Cheng heard the news in pieces, scraps of wild rumor and gossip repeated a hundred times over, but he still refused to believe it until he actually saw the official announcement.

Jin Guangyao had divorced his wife and sent her back to her father’s house, along with their son.

“Is he insane?” Jiang Cheng asked his second in command, who only shrugged helplessly. “Putting aside the fact that I’m certain that he loves her madly, putting everything else aside, Sect Leader Qin is influential and powerful, and a strong supporter of his father – no matter what happened between them, surely someone as pleasant and compromising as Jin Guangyao could find a way to work it out?”

Jiang Cheng had only met Qin Su a few times, always at Jin Guangyao’s side. He’d heard about how she’d fallen for the dashing young man that turned out to be Jin Guangyao and sworn to marry him, no matter the obstacles; he’d heard how they’d managed to overcome every storm, fight the wind and rain, and eventually made it to their marriage bed.

They’d even had a son together, little Jin Rusong; he was Jin Ling’s best playmate.

And Jin Guangyao was kicking him out? Kicking her out?

Absurd!

Who did he think he was?

And yet, contrary to Jiang Cheng’s expectations, Sect Leader Qin did not immediately explode, or, rather, within a few days, he did, but not in the way anyone had expected. Everyone had joked that he would find Jin Guangyao and strangle him, and he really did physically attack someone – but not Jin Guangyao.

He attacked Jin Guangshan instead.

It was as if he’d gone mad, red-eyed like Nie Mingjue in the throes of his qi deviation; he’d charged at Jin Guangshan, his old friend of thirty years or more, right in the middle of Jinlin Tower, and swiped at him viciously with his sword, cutting a gash in his chest as the surprised Jin sect leader darted back too slowly to wholly dodge.

What could be done? The Lanling Jin sect guards could not stand silently by with such provocation – they counter-attacked at once, and Sect Leader Qin did not survive. A little later, and it was discovered that he had never intended on it: his sword was laced with poison.

Sect Leader Qin died, but he took Jin Guangshan down with him the underworld.

The rumor mill exploded.

Everyone was talking about Sect Leader Qin’s motivations – the suspicious timing of the divorce – Jin Guangyao’s now inevitable ascension to the seat of Sect Leader Jin –

Only Jiang Cheng thought about Qin Su, who should have been ascending right beside him. It had been her father that had died, after all.

Laoling Qin was far enough away from Lanling Jin that they were still mostly independent, and they were close enough to the Qinghe Nie that Jiang Cheng could pretend that he’d only made a short detour on a visit directed towards Nie Huaisang, that notorious purveyor of gossip; luckily enough, Nie Huaisang remembered their old friendship and was more than happy to help cover his tracks.

When Jiang Cheng arrived, the house was already decked out in mourning. Qin Su greeted him, eyes red and swollen from tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng said awkwardly, then flinched when he realized he probably should have said something in greeting first – they really didn’t know each other well enough to skip over all that.

Nevertheless, Qin Su nodded, forgiving him the slip-up before he could even retract it. She was gracious and gentle, kind and quiet, economical and thoughtful – a consummate hostess. The wife of Jin Guangyao could not afford to be anything less.

Former wife.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze danced around the room, searching for something to say, and then abruptly he noticed – “There are two deaths in your household?”

“My mother took her own life,” Qin Su said, her voice dull. She tried to suppress it, but tears gathered in her eyes again. “Shortly before…”

Whatever it was that Jin Guangshan had done that had driven Sect Leader Qin mad, it had involved his wife, Jiang Cheng thought, and then abruptly he turned pale as he put two and two together. He’d never doubted that Jin Guangyao had adored Qin Su, so why would he divorce her?

Unless…

Jin Guangshan had a reputation.

Qin Su laughed a little, a bitter sound. “Everyone will know, soon enough,” she said wisely, seeing that Jiang Cheng had figured it out. “I don’t blame my former husband at all; he acted as he ought to in every respect. It’s only my poor A-Song…I can’t imagine what his life will be like from now on.”

Jiang Cheng looked helplessly at her. To lose not only your parents, one right after the other, but your husband, your reputation, and next even your son…

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, and Qin Su stared at him. “If Sect Leader Jin’s assault were recent rather than ancient, it would have provoked the same result. The only reason anyone might suspect the truth is because of the timing of your divorce – if there’s a reason given for that, people won’t think twice about it.”

His words had come out all in a rush, smashing together like stones tossed around by a waterfall; he hadn’t thought of the idea until right this moment.

“Are you suggesting I admit to adultery?” she asked. Her eyes were as round as the full moon.

Jiang Cheng shrugged, a little helpless. “Your reputation is gone,” he pointed out, wishing he knew how to be kind or tactful. “Adultery or incest – it’s the same either way for you. But for A-Song…”

To be the son of an adulterous woman was disgraceful, but such things happened and people generally looked the other way, as long as the real father was powerful enough.

It was better than being a child of incest.

“But what of your reputation?” she asked. “Sect Leader Jiang, you can’t. I won’t let you injure yourself for my sake.”

“Not for you,” he said, though maybe it was, just a little bit. The loss of your parents, the loss of your whole life, everything you’d ever believed – who could understand that better than him? “For A-Song. He’s Jin Ling’s best friend.”

Qin Su had always been kind to Jin Ling, he thought. She didn’t need to be, could just tolerate him the way most people in Jinlin Tower did, but she really seemed to like him…

It occurred to him suddenly that Qin Su met all of his requirements for a bride: a beauty from a good family, obedient, economical, with a mild personality who wasn’t too loud and wasn’t too talkative, who was good to Jin Ling…

“How’s your cultivation?” he asked abruptly. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Mediocre,” she said, blinking at him. “And I’m better at baking, I think. I like making sweets.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng said, relieved. “That’s – good. I’m glad. Will you marry me?”

Qin Su bit her lip. “Let me think about it?”

Thoughtful, he added to the list. Cautious, not reckless.

“Take all the time you need,” he said.

She came back to him two shichen later. “What happens to A-Song?” she asked.

“I’ll adopt him as my own,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or he can keep the surname Jin, if you prefer. And if Lianfeng-zun agrees, which I think he will – it’s his birthright, after all.” Too many times over. “Jin Ling lives with me sometimes; they can grow up as cousins, the way they should.”

Qin Su nodded, lips trembling a little. “You won’t regret this?”

“I might,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “But I’m probably not going to marry anyone else, and I’m willing. Are you?”

“I am,” she said, and smiled at him. Her eyes were still red, and the smile shaky, but it was something. “Thank you. I…no, never mind.”

“If we’re going to be married, you’re going to need to learn to ask things of me,” he reminded her.

Qin Su wiped her eyes. “Yes, but there’s asking reasonable things, and then there’s asking to alert my former husband before we announce our engagement.”

“Oh, no, that’s a great idea,” Jiang Cheng said, immediately relieved. “If there’s one thing Lianfeng-zun knows, it’s how to manage an announcement of that sort of magnitude. We should definitely tell him.”

Qin Su’s smile this time was stronger.

Nie Huaisang pulled a few strings and got Jin Guangyao to come over to the Unclean Realm, and when he walked in and saw Qin Su, he flinched. Jiang Cheng could see on his face that he still loved her, and he felt bad for him – not enough to stop, but still.

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said, hearing the plan. His expression was surprisingly neutral – thoughtful, but not as upset as Jiang Cheng would have expected. “It’s not a bad idea. And you don’t even need to admit to adultery, either.”

“We don’t?” Jiang Cheng asked, surprised.

“We can say that my marriage with A-Su broke down after my father’s actions - painting them as recent, rather than ancient,” Jin Guangyao explained. “I didn’t feel I could oppose him, she had no choice but to do so – it was an irrevocable breach. You came to comfort her, having met her during your visits with Jin Ling, and her sect is in need of support…you can say it developed naturally from there. It might not work to quell the rumors, of course, but it would at least provide a way to save face in public…Leave it to me.”

“Thank you, A-Yao,” Qin Su said quietly, and he smiled at her, pained.

“Just be happy,” he said to her, then looked at Jiang Cheng. “Treat her well.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng promised, and took her by the hand. “I swear.”

It was a few years later. Nie Huaisang sat beside Jiang Cheng.

“I think he killed my brother,” he said, playing with his fan. “I’m going to destroy him.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the newest memorial tablet in the Lotus Pier, his hands clenched into fists with knuckles turned white.

“Good,” he said, voice savage. “I’ll help.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #qin su #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #I'm sorry

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

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groovyzombiellama · 3 years

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Generation Swine

Title: Generation Swine

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You marry Nikki Sixx in 1990, have your daughter in 1992 and the two of you go on tour with the band in 1997.

Word count: 1471

---***---

1990---

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.“ It felt as if just yesterday that Nikki proposed to you, and here you were, at the altar, beginning your lives as husband and wife. You never saw Nikki as only a famous musician, he was first and foremost an amazing person you loved. This was the man who supported you through anything and who always looked after you no matter what, and the fact that he was famous was just a bonus to you. So you never looked at the hate comments of people who were claiming that you were marrying Nikki just for his money and fame, because you knew that it wasn’t true, but more importantly for you, Nikki knew that, and that was all you needed to brush away everyone who tried spreading false rumors about your life and love. You often wondered what would have happened if you had looked at every comment and believed them, and in the beginning you did, you read everything that people said about you, no matter how much it made you wish the earth would just eat you up. And a few times at the start of your relationship with Nikki, you wondered weather you should just quit.

Weather he would be happier if you weren’t in his life. Your head spinning as “what if’s“ and “buts“ filled your head to the point you swore it was going to explode. But then Nikki came in to the rescue and made you realise once again that you chose the right person for you. He could tell that those comments were bothering you, often times seeing your finger hover over the delete button, as you debated weather you should just delete all social media and throw your phone in the trash. And many times he wanted to talk to you, but he knew you. He knew you would not say anything unless you were ready to talk, and no matter how much he bugged you, you would continue claiming that you’re fine, so he waited for you to come to him. But after about two and a half weeks, he couldn’t take it anymore, as you were still pretending you were fine, so he snatched your phone from your hand one day as you two were sitting on the couch, your legs in his lap, a movie you were not even paying attention to playing on the tv, as the comments under your newest post were all you could focus on, and it annoyed Nikki because you two were supposed to have a cozy movie night before they had to leave for a few weeks to do some shows.

He grabbed your hands in his once he set your phone down on the table and finally got you to open up to him, and as only once you were done talking did you notice tears streaming down your face. Nikki raised his hand and wiped your tears, pulling you in his arms, reassuring you that none of those comments matter to him, because he knows you, and he knows you love him for who he is. “Do you really think of me as someone who can’t see when he’s being lied to, or manipulated? Give me some credit babe, come on!“ He said in the middle of affirming to you that you are the woman that he loves making you giggle, and his own lips curved into a smile at the sound. From then on you stopped reading comments and instead, focused on your life and the people who are important to you. And it gave you an interesting feeling, a sense of power to have those who claimed you two wouldn’t last, see that you’re now a married couple, and it made you want to prove it to them even more that you’re here to stay. The amount of love in Nikki’s eyes as he looked at you on the day of your wedding will forever stay burned in your mind.

1992---

“Mr and Mrs Feranna, congratulations, you’re now the parents of a very beautiful baby girl.“ Both you and Nikki couldn’t believe your eyes as you looked at your tiny human. She felt so small in your arms and you had to pinch yourself to be sure you were not dreaming. Her small fingers curling around her fathers much bigger one warmed your heart. Your little bundle of joy had no idea how loved she was and how cared for. Nikki pressed a gentle kiss on your head, thanking you for giving him this huge joy in the shape of your tiny bean. A few people told you how love fades between a couple with the birth of their child, and that you were both gonna love her more than each other, and you couldn’t understand that, as your love for your husband and his for you grew so much. You adored your little family and even though your daughter was the light in your life, your husband had a good grip on your heart too. And for Nikki, his two girls have made home in his heart, not planning to leave any time soon and that was completely okay with him.

It was pure magic to see your daughter grow. Her first step, her first word, (it was “dada“, but even when Nikki teased you about it, you couldn’t find it in your heart to be mad, since he was the best father any child could ever hope for) all of her firsts were, on one hand constant reminders that she’s growing way too fast for your liking, but on the other, beautiful moments that made you proud of being her mother. Tommy, Vince and Mick absolutely adored her too, and spoiled her rotten. They made sure she has everything she ever wanted and so many times they went overboard on sweets and toys. You loved hearing her tiny giggles as she ran around trying to catch one of them, or trying to run away. Shaking your head slightly, you laughed as Nikki pretended to fall while he was chasing her around, but your smile soon was replaced with a pout, as you melted at your daughter waddling over to her father with a worried face, hoping he wasn’t really injured. Nikki told her he was fine and held her in his arms for a while until she was assured he was okay, and soon enough it was back to playtime.

1997---

“Are you sure you two have enough pillows?“ Your husband asked, for what had to be the tenth time, as you were tucking your daughter, who was now five years old, into bed for the night. You smiled softly, cupping his cheek with your hand, telling him not to worry and that the two of you will be fine. The root of Nikki’s worry was in the fact that it was your daughter’s first time sleeping in a tourbus so he worried the curves and bumps in the road would disturb her sleep. But when he noticed that she was out like a light despite not being used to sleeping in a moving vehicle, he calmed down and was able to enjoy the ride with his bandmates. They were on tour to promote their album Generation Swine, but Nikki didn’t want to leave his girls for too long, so he asked if you wanted to come with him. Your daughter was extatic to be traveling with her father and uncles, since she always missed them when they were gone for a long time with tours and shows, so you couldn’t say no.

When they were not busy with shows and promotions, and had a little window of free time, they spent it with her, showing her around the venue before a concert, or taking her for ice cream at a local ice cream shop. You were both having the time of your life, and it meant the world to Nikki that his wife and daughter were there to support him. Even later on in your lives, he loved to recall that tour as near and dear to his heart, because it was the first time he had the two of you close to him throughout the whole tour. It made it even more fun to see your daughters tiny dance moves as her father and his bandmates performed on stage or at soundcheck, and it made the boys laugh so much at her cuteness. Even when some people looked your way, shocked that you had brought a child to a concert of a heavy metal band, it didn’t bother you, as you had your little family, consisting of your husband, your daughter, and her three uncles and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

---***---

here you go anon, sorry it took so long, I hope you like it :)

From now on, I will try to mostly post only on Fridays, and once I have less studying to do, I’ll post on some other days too :)

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x reader #motley crue #Vince Neil #vince neil imagine #vince neil x reader #Tommy Lee #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee x reader #Mick Mars #mick mars imagine #mick mars x reader #montley crue imagine #the dirt #the dirt movie #the dirt imagine

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eternalnight8806-3 · 2 years

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A Midnight Gift

So I’m a horrible person and this is SUPER late, but I hope you can forgive me for that @clearwillow

Surprise! I’m your Secret Santa! I wanted this to be so much better for you than it turned out, but I hope you still enjoy it, love!

@inusecretsanta

“Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” Kagome sang the old tune joyously as she moved about the apartment, decorating every square inch with garland, lights, tinsel and what ever else she could fit into the small space. Unbeknownst to her, her husband leaned against the doorway between the hall and the living room, his arms crossed over his chest and a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. InuYasha truly enjoyed watching his wife get into the holidays like she always did, though admittedly this year she was going a little more overboard than normal since this would be their daughter's first Christmas.

Moroha was 10 months old but despite the young age, Kagome had purchased no less than 75 presents for their little girl. She had proclaimed with each one that this would be the last, though InuYasha knew better. He didn't mind, though. He wanted Kagome to be happy and if showering their baby with endless gifts on Christmas morning would do that, then by God he wouldn't let anything stand in her way, least of all himself. He continued to watch her move about the room, completely oblivious to his presence, all the way up until she was struggling to reach the spot above the faux mantle that she always placed the sprig of mistletoe.

Her toes were stretched as far as they would go and she still couldn't quite make it. Pushing himself away from the wall, InuYasha came up directly behind his wife, reached up to pluck the plant from her hand and placed it in it's designated place. Without turning around, Kagome asked, “And just how long were you standing there watching me?”

Wrapping his arms around his mate, InuYasha replied, “Oh, just long enough to know that you can't live without me.” Kagome giggled and turned to face her husband. Her caramel colored eyes met his amber and just like the force of two magnets coming together, their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss full of all the love the couple shared. The spell was soon broken by the sound of Moroha waking from her nap with her typical loud wail, demanding that she be paid attention.

Pulling away just slightly, InuYasha whispered against his wife's lips “I'll get her, you finish up in here,” before planting a soft kiss on her forehead and turning to tend to the newly awakened child.

Kagome watched her husband go, admiring the view of his backside in the form fitting jeans that hugged him in all the right places. Shaking herself free from the hold that her hanyou always seemed to have over her, Kagome returned to her decorating, humming various holiday tunes as she worked.

After about an hour more of continuous work, Kagome was finally able to stand back and admire her handiwork. The tree was in the corner by the window surrounded by beautifully wrapped gifts of all shapes and sizes, garland hung from the walls, lights twinkled, and she couldn't help but smile to herself that she had created this beautiful setup as a backdrop for tonight's little gathering. Their best friend's, Sango and Miroku, were coming with their three young children to spend Christmas Eve with them and Kagome couldn't be more excited for this tradition to start with their baby girl. Speaking of which, Kagome realized it was entirely too quiet in their apartment, especially since InuYasha had been with Moroha for over an hour and she hadn't heard a peep from them in almost that entire time.

Making her way down the hallway to their daughter's bedroom, Kagome stopped at the barely cracked door and peeked inside. The sight that met her eyes made her put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from bursting out laughing. In the middle of the room Moroha was sitting watching her father, absolutely captivated by what he was doing. InuYasha had tied one of Moroha's blankets around his forehead, his shirt lay forgotten on the floor and he was using the baby's toy broom as a sword, pretending to fight off hoards of demons. He held the broom in both hands, facing the closet with a very intense look on his face. “Come face me, demons!” he said with false anger. “No one is going to hurt my precious little girl!” Swinging the 'sword' wildly, he moved into the closet and attacked the hoards of demons pretending to be baby clothes. Moroha squealed in delight and clapped her hands together.

No longer able to hold her laughter, Kagome snickered loudly, causing her husband to step out of the closet. He turned and looked at her, his eyes holding a gleam of mischief as he pulled one of Moroha's onesies off of his head. Kagome just laughed even harder, leaning against the wall to support herself as the hilarity of what she had witnessed tore through her. Moroha turned to face her mother, giggling when she saw how red her face had gotten. Slowly, Kagome brought her laughter down to just a light snicker every few seconds and InuYasha used this opportunity to confront his wife.

Using his demon speed, he was in front of her in the blink of an eye, a move that never seemed to fail to steal Kagome's breath away. His eyes narrowed down at her in mock anger as his fists found their way onto his hips. Biting her bottom lip to stop herself from beginning another laughing fit, Kagome looked up at InuYasha's face and feigned innocence. Instead of keeping up the game, InuYasha fell into his own laughing fit after seeing that look.

Kagome never budged as she waited for the hanyou to compose himself, which he did almost as slowly as she had. “Are all the closet demons slain?” She asked him in faux seriousness. Smirking down at her he replied, “Yessum, all closet demons have been properly disposed of and Princess Yashahime is free to move about.”

Moving to lift her child into her arms, Kagome turned and said, “Good, because this Princess is supposed to help mommy make Christmas cookies in the kitchen.” She lightly poked her little girl's nose and Moroha giggled. She stopped to give her husband a quick peck on the cheek as she passed by him on the way to the kitchen.

An hour later, Kagome was lifting Moroha up out of her high chair and informing InuYasha that he would be bathing her and getting her dressed for the party set to begin in just over an hour. Staring down at his flour, sugar, and lord knew what else covered baby, InuYasha simply smiled, tucked his daughter against his side, gave his wife a peck on the cheek and turned to do as she had asked. He had seen the state of the kitchen after her experiment with making Christmas cookies with a 10 month old. He knew when to just shut his mouth when it came to his fiery tempered wife.

Surprisingly, InuYasha managed to get his daughter and himself bathed, dried, dressed and presentable just in time for Kagome to burst through the bedroom door, one hand holding the towel around her body and the other attempting to keep the towel on her head in place. He silently took Moroha to the living room and placed her in her playpen. Kagome had never been good at time management, but he knew she would somehow still manage to make herself ready by the time their friends arrived in roughly 15 minutes.

Sure enough, 15 minutes later she stepped out and InuYasha couldn't help but stare at the woman before him. She stood in the doorway to the living room putting her pearl earrings on. The tea-length emerald green dress flared out from her waist forming a delicate A-line figure, the straps hung off her shoulders, framing her neck for the simple rose pink jewel on a silver chain she always wore. Her long, ebony locks hung beautifully in loose waves around her shoulders. He knew she was wearing makeup, but it wouldn't be anything more than mascara, blush and lipstick. Kagome liked to keep things simple but she still knew how to make his heart stop in his chest.

Smiling at him, she took in his own appearance, having not noticed on her rampage to finish getting ready. He wore dark jeans, something she knew she could never have talked him out of, but they were his nicest pair. The long pure white hair she had always found to be among the most beautiful things in the world was tied high on his head in a fashion he only wore on special occasions. His shirt was a long sleeved button up in a color of burgundy she had always liked on him, though he had already rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing enough of his chest to ruin the effect of his 'nice clothes' appearance. But Kagome didn't care. She honestly kind of wouldn't have minded if he just slipped that shirt right off so she could run her hands all over his chest while he held her in his arms and pressed his lips firmly down on hers.

The sound of Sango knocking and calling through the door to them broke Kagome from her daydream. She shook her head once and giving InuYasha a knowing look, made her way to the door to let her best friends inside. Sango greeted her by wrapping her arms around her and holding her tightly for a moment. Kagome had always adored that her best friend always seemed to want to show affection, so she accepted the hug as Miroku made his way in behind his wife with his 18 month old son slung over his shoulder and his twin 3 year old daughters each holding one of his hands.

InuYasha shook his head at Miroku as he snatched Hisui from his shoulder and greeted the boy with a high five before placing him in the playpen with Moroha. Before he could turn around, he felt his legs become trapped by a pair of arms wrapped around each one. He looked down and saw Kin'u and Gyokuto staring up at him.

“Uncle Yasha, daddy says you and Auntie 'Gome got us presents and we can open them up!” Kin'u asked excitedly. Bending down and grabbing a girl in each of his arms, he replied, “Oh he did, did he?” The girls nodded in unison. Chuckling, InuYasha whispered to the girls, “Well, your daddy is right, but you have to wait just a little longer to open them up. Can you girls be good and wait so your Auntie 'Gome and mommy can talk a little?” The girls faces fell slightly. “Tell you what,” he whispered to them, “if you two can wait a little while and let your mommy and auntie have some time together, I'll give you each a Christmas cookie before dinner. Deal?” The girls both smiled and nodded emphatically.

He carried the girls into the kitchen and set them both on the counter next to the sink. Reaching up onto the breakfast bar where Kagome had placed the plate of cookies, he snatched up three of the biggest cookies on the plate and gave one to each girl while taking a sizable bite of his own. The girls giggled at him as they enjoyed their treat. Their attention was drawn by their father walking into the kitchen and grabbing a cookie of his own.

Miroku leaned against the counter across from InuYasha and looked at his friend before speaking, “I see my two troublemakers have already conned you into an extra cookie,” he said, smirking at his daughters knowingly.

Waving his hand dismissively, InuYasha just said, “Bah, it's Christmas Eve. They can be spoiled a little, can'tcha girls?” he asked the pair as he winked at them. They only giggled in response. Miroku snatched them off of the counter and set them both on the floor.

“How about you two go play with your toys we brought in the living room until dinner?” he told them. “Ok daddy,” they said in unison and trotted off to do as they were asked. Miroku shook his head at the sight and stood to face his best friend. He clapped the half-demon on the shoulder and spoke quietly, “Those two are simultaneously the cutest little angels and pure demon spawn, I swear it.” Letting out a deep laugh, InuYasha joked, “Well, they are yours, so that explains the demon spawn!” Miroku glared at his friend, but only for a moment before he gave a light chuckle. “I suppose I could've been a bit of a hellion in my younger days,” he admitted.

“I think your mother would definitely agree with that assessment, considering she had to deal with your endless string of horrible phases in high school and your obsession with every girl you crossed paths with until Sango knocked some sense into that head of yours.”

“Some sense is right,” was the surprise response from the doorway. The men turned their heads towards Sango as she continued, “Some days I look at him and wonder what the hell I was thinking, but then I remember that I love the idiot so I just shrug and keep beating a little more sense into that thick skull every now and then.” She smiled up at Miroku as she stepped in and planted a kiss on his lips. “You two go do something useful and set the table while Kagome and I finish up in here.” She said as she shooed them out of the kitchen with the tableware in their hands.

Before long, both families were seated around the dining room table, joyously sharing their holiday meal with eachother, sharing stories from their past, and reveling in the miracle that was their children. Kagome felt like she was the most blessed woman on the planet to have such beautiful people to share her life with. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she watched her family laugh and smile. She truly could not have asked for a better way to spend the holidays.

As the evening progressed, the children each got to open one gift, as was tradition in their families. The twins each got a new doll, Hisui got a toy truck, while baby Moroha received a white stuffed cat with twin tails and red eyes. She immediately latched onto the toy and refused to let it go, all the way up until she fell asleep next to Hisui in her playpen, holding it in her tiny arms.

The adults spent a few hours talking and enjoying the quiet after the twins also fell asleep in the reclining chair in the corner of the room. But before long, it was after 11 and they began to say their goodbyes to eachother. Sango hugged Kagome and InuYasha and wished them both a wonderful Christmas before she lifted her son into her arms and carried him out to the car. Miroku hugged Kagome and InuYasha as well before he grabbed a daughter in each arm and started out to the car with them. InuYasha opened the door for his friend and watched as he walked down the hallway. He closed the door behind him and silently began helping Kagome clean up. The pair worked in companionable silence for several minutes until the apartment was back in order. By the time they were finished, it was nearing midnight.

Kagome stood in front of Moroha's playpen holding a small glass of wine, just watching her daughter sleep. InuYasha came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Everything was so perfect, InuYasha,” Kagome said quietly as she leaned back into her husband's embrace.

“Oh?” he whispered. “Well, then I guess I shouldn't give you this then,” he said as he held a small navy blue velvet box in front of her. Kagome gasped and turned to face him, holding the box in her hands.

“What is this?” she asked him.

InuYasha kissed the tip of her nose and simply said, “Open it.” Kagome opened the lid and stared down at the object inside. It was a simple silver banded ring with a rose pink jewel in the center that matched her necklace perfectly, on either side was a jewel, one emerald and one ruby, which she knew represented InuYasha and herself. On the inside of the band was engraved My red string. Tears brimmed Kagome's eyes as she looked back up into the face of the man that she had loved for more years than she hadn't.

Taking her face into both of his hands, InuYasha wiped the tears and spoke softly, “Kagome, you and Moroha are my everything. I would marry you everyday if you'd let me, but I'll settle for you saying yes to renewing our vows. Marry me again, Kagome. Marry me forever.”

Smiling through her tears, Kagome responded, “Oh, InuYasha, of course I will!” as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with every ounce of love she had for him. Without breaking the kiss, InuYasha lifted her up in his arms and carried her to their bedroom, preparing to show her just how much he loved her well into Christmas morning.

#inusecretsanta #iyfss 2021 #iyfss #secret santa 2021 #a midnight gift #one shot #fluff #modern au #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Note

Hi!❣️ Your writing is pretty cool, and I love the way you portray Sev, especially!

If it isn't a bother, of course... Could I make a request? Where Snape and the Reader are expecting, and go through all the nine months (like, through things like cravings, mood swings Snaddy has to endure, buying the child's stuff and decorating the room, all of that), till delivery? Only if you'd like the 'prompt', of course.

Wish you a nice day☺️

I LOVE THISSSSSS. YES DAD SEV >>>

Paternal Figure

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language, Emetephobia, Sexual implications.

Word Count: 5,161

“We’re going to be one happy family.”

“How much longer?” Severus questioned, eyeing the pregnancy test that was lying face down on the bathroom counter.

You looked at your wrist watch that was secured on your trembling hand. You saw that it had been more than enough time for the pregnancy test to do its job. A quivering sigh flowed from your chest as you reached for the test with trembling fingers.

“It should be ready.” You replied.

Severus sat up straighter from where he sat on the bathroom floor, his blood pumping with eagerness and nervousness. You held the test to your chest for a second with your eyes closed and head lulled towards the ceiling.

You and Severus wanted a baby badly. After being married for a few years, the baby fever was becoming harder to resist between the two of you combined. It started out as a casual thing. Severus first briefly mentioned how there was still an empty room in the house that needed to be occupied. You assumed that he meant as an office space or maybe even a large walk in closet.

But when Severus suggested that the two of you turn that space into a nursery, you knew what he was implying. You had always wanted to have kids with Sev. In the beginning, Severus wasn’t totally sure how he felt about having a baby. He wasn’t great with younger people, and he was always afraid he wouldn’t be a good dad.

However, the longer the two of you were together and the more life you shared together, the more he wanted nothing more than to put a baby in you. He wanted to raise a child and teach it all the wonders of the wizarding world. He wanted your baby to be perfect.

The two of you sat and chatted for a long time about it, not wanting to rush into things. It was a huge deal after all; bringing a human into the world was a life changing ordeal. You talked it over, and you both happily agreed that you would start trying for a baby.

You admittedly became a little obsessed with getting pregnant in the first few months. You tracked your menstrual and ovulation cycles much more than usual, eventually memorizing everything down to the minute. You tried any wizard (and even a few Muggle) tricks in the book to increase your chances of conceiving, including basically pouncing on Severus any chance he was around.

If you had a free minute to spare, you were shoving him into bed and having sex with him. At first, Severus found it rather endearing that you were so excited to have a kid, but he became concerned as time went on. Getting pregnant isn’t always a quick process. Some women can so much as look at their husband and get results while some spend a better half of their life trying to even get a positive pregnancy test.

You were proving to be one of the harder cases.

With each negative pregnancy test, the more frantic you became. You felt like your fertility window was closing in on you rapidly, and if you didn’t get pregnant soon, it’d be too late. The first few negatives didn’t phase you much, but by the fifth or sixth, you were feeling discouraged. Severus was much more patient than you during all of this, holding you flush to him when you burst into tears of frustration.

It had become a monotonous and vicious cycle. You’d try to get pregnant, buy a pregnancy test, get a negative result, and fall into a weeping heap onto the bathroom floor. After one particularly hard let down, Severus stepped in. He was rocking your sobbing frame in his arms, hushing you and comforting you as best he could.

He suggested that the two of you take a break for a while, and that maybe you were trying too hard. The stress couldn’t have been good for you as a whole, and maybe taking a more casual approach would be best.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, my love. You and I take this step by step. We continue life as normal,” He said softly; “If you get pregnant then that’s good, and if you don’t, then we remain calm and try again. If much longer goes by, then we can go see your doctor.”

You nodded into his chest with heartbreaking sobs, agreeing that this had taken a huge toll on your body. You apologized for your crazy behavior, but Severus only gave a light laugh and kissed your head.

“No, no, my dear. Don’t be sorry. I want this just as much as you do.” He consoled, sweeping you off of the floor.

You were a bit apprehensive about Severus’ approach to this, but you were willing to try anything. Fast forward a few weeks later, and this was the first test you had taken since taking Severus’ advice.

“Sev...” You croaked out; “What if it’s negative?”

You were sitting against the door in your tiny bathroom, Severus sitting on the wall across from you. Your knees were almost touching one another’s as he replied.

“Then we accept it, take a few days, and try again. It’ll be alright, [Y/N].” He reassured, resting a hand on your knee in a loving way.

You exhaled deeply, already half expecting to be disappointed. You nodded, and quickly flipped the test so you could read it. Your heart hit your feet and bounced back into your ribcage at the sight. You were stoically silent as you stared in silence at the test.

Severus was watching with a clenched jaw, prepared to comfort you in case it wasn’t what you wanted to see. You kept looking at it for a few more seconds to make sure you weren’t dreaming. The double pink lines were as clear as day.

You were pregnant.

Tears filled your eyes, but they were tears of happiness. You turned the test so he could see it.

“It’s positive,” You said, smiling through the tears streaming your face; “We’re going to have a baby.”

Severus’ jaw fell open and stars of delight shot over his eyes. He himself gazed down at the test as if it would explode right in his hands.

“You’re pregnant...” He breathed out.

You nodded, wiping away at the tears with a genuine laugh. A blinding smile appeared on Severus’ face as he moved to pull you into a tight embrace. A few tears leaked from his eyes as well, the two of you mumbling “I love yous” to each other as you cried out the adrenaline and undeniably glee that you were feeling. It had almost been a year since you started trying, and now it seemed that it had paid off.

You were going to be parents.

The first trimester of your pregnancy was less than pleasant. While you were eternally grateful to be carrying your first child, you weren’t too thrilled about the symptoms that came with it. You were violently sick for the first few weeks, basically bringing back up anything you tried to hold down. Even something as mild as pumpkin juice was enough to make you sick just from the smell.

As disgusting as it was, Severus was by your side any time you fell ill.

“It’s okay, darling. Let it all out.” He soothed, rubbing circles onto your back as you let out another hurl.

You seemingly puked up everything you had eaten in the last ten years into the toilet bowl, a new groan escaping your chest every time you had a chance to take a breath. Severus kept your hair out of your face as best as he could, trying not to visibly grimace every time you threw up.

You closed the lid of the toilet for a minute, draping your arm over the top of it and resting your forehead on the heated skin of your forearm.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t want you to see me like this.” You grumbled miserably.

He gave a chuckle, and even though you couldn’t see it, he raised his left hand to reveal his silver wedding ring.

“In sickness and in health.” He said, wrapping his long legs around your from behind, resting his head on your back.

“I think this is an exception to that vow.” You joked, hoping that the relief you were feeling was to signal the end of today’s sickness.

Severus hummed.

“I think that this is exactly what it was referring to,” He corrected, his heart fluttering when you lifted your head with a weak smile; “Just as beautiful as ever.”

You snorted at that, but you were heartwarmed.

“How did I ever deserve you?” You asked, falling into his open arms.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

When you were actually able to have an appetite, you wanted any and every food imaginable. The pregnancy cravings were insanely hard to ignore, and it was even harder to ignore the weird things you craved.

“What...is that?” Severus questioned cautiously as he entered the kitchen, catching you in the middle of biting something he couldn’t even discern.

You looked at him with wide eyes and stopped mid-chomp. You didn’t respond, not even sure how to explain this to him. His gaze averted to the open pantry, and saw that mostly everything had been raided and placed on the kitchen counter. He had noticed that satisfying your cravings had proven to be the most difficult thus far. He inspected the food item in your hand and his stomach lurched when he realized what it was.

“Is that a treacle tart with...” He trailed off, barely able to finish the thought.

You finished his sentence, rather ashamed.

“...pickles.” You confessed.

Severus was sure that his face had turned a nasty shade of green at the thought of your concoction. He shuddered and made you put it down. You had always been creative and experimental in the kitchen, but this was too far.

“Okay, I’ve been supportive of every strange food combination you’ve come up with, but I draw the line at treacle pickle tarts.” He said with a voice full of amusement.

You whined.

“I know it’s weird, but I can’t help it. Everything we have sounds good.”

He scratched the back of his head. He never liked to tell you how to live your life, but there was no way that this was good for you or the baby.

“I don’t think Little One is going to appreciate pickles and desserts.” He noted, placing a hand on your very small baby bump.

“Little One” was the nickname that he had coined for your developing child. You and Severus had decided early on that you wanted to keep the baby’s gender a surprise up until delivery. Severus hated to keep referring to the baby as...well, “the baby”. So he had instinctively come up with all kinds of nicknames along the way.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that Little One is the only reason I want pickles.” You snapped back.

“It’s not the pickles. It’s the pickles with the tart that I can’t stomach.” Severus explained.

You sneered at him, but Severus continued before you could snark back at him.

“I’ll tell you what, princess. How about we whip up a bunch of your favorite foods, and we’ll have a nice dinner together?” He offered.

Your belly grumbled at the sound of that. You nodded in agreement, and you and Severus prepared a heavenly meal.

On top of the all day morning sickness and the nauseating cravings, your hormones were going absolutely nuts. You had never experienced such frequent mood changes like this, and poor Severus was the victim of all your emotional outbursts. It seemed as if you were blowing up at the smallest of details.

“Damn it, Sev. How many times have I told you not to leave your socks on the floor?” You hissed, angrily picking up his dirty socks.

Severus poked his head out of the bathroom that was adjoined to your bedroom, a guilty look on his face.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I left them there.” He said truthfully.

“Just like how you didn’t realize that you left the sink faucet dripping or how you forgot to put the pillows back on the bed when you got up at 10 in the morning?” You mocked, throwing his socks into his laundry basket.

He caught how aggravated you were, and exited the bathroom to talk things over. Severus didn’t want you to be upset with him, but he knew you were just going through a lot of changes and couldn’t really control your emotions well.

“I assure you that I didn’t do those things on purpose,” He said, not even an ounce of irritation in his voice; “I’ll pick up after myself.”

His light and friendly tone made you realize that you had overreacted once again. Severus had not once lost his temper with you, no matter how bad you had nagged him. Your shoulders slumped and you looked at your feet that were close to being covered by your steadily growing bump.

You felt bad for being on his ass about something 24/7. He was trying his best to help you and make your pregnancy as comfortable as possible. You yelling at him all the time wasn’t fair to him.

“I’m sorry, Sev. It’s not you.” You uttered for the hundredth time in the last three months.

He only smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Not to worry, my dear,” He mewled; “I can handle being screamed at for as long as it takes.”

The second trimester was actually easier than the first as far as symptoms goes. Your morning sickness had subsided, you had adapted to your ever changing hormones, and you weren’t tempted to eat everything in sight. While the symptoms were still there, they didn’t completely dictate your life.

You and Severus were well into the finer intricacies of planning for the arrival of your baby boy or girl. You were in the process of converting your extra bedroom into a nursery, which was a challenge for Severus. He was a shitty interior decorator, which wouldn’t be an issue if he hadn’t insisted that he decorate the baby’s room.

Severus wanted to be as involved as possible, never wanting you to think that he wasn’t there for you. You were ecstatic with the idea of him taking charge of the nursery, but you soon realized that wasn’t a good idea.

“We are not painting the baby’s room BLACK, Severus.” You protested, eyeing the cans of black paint on the floor.

Severus had gone out and bought all kinds of paint supplies. Paintbrushes, paint rollers, stencils, tape, etc. He was adamant about doing it all by hand (as opposed to using magic; a suggestion that he was horribly offended at), and had taken it upon himself to buy everything.

You had forgotten that there wasn’t much color interest in the world of Severus Snape.

“And why not? There’s black in other parts of the house.” He argued.

You put your hands on your hips, your back beginning to arch from the weight of your five month swelling belly.

“Yes, but this is a baby’s room. I don’t think he or she is going to like it,” You retorted back; “It’ll be too dark and...scary. I want Little One to be comfortable in here.”

Severus looked around. Perhaps, black was too extreme for such a small human. He looked a tad defeated and disappointed in himself. He was trying his hardest. You caught his dejected look.

“Oh, honey. I know you want it to be perfect,” You said, taking his face into your hands; “We can do it together. Maybe we can sneak a bit of black in here somewhere.”

He nodded.

“So, what color should we paint the room?” He asked.

You looked around this time, biting your lower lip in thought. You wanted to have gender neutral colors, and something that would be cozy for the baby.

“How about we paint the walls white? That way we can add pops of color wherever we see fit.” You said after a moment of thought.

Severus agreed, but was holding to your promise to have at least some black in the room. The nursery was an ongoing project, lasting about a week and a half. The crib was the last item placed in the room, and it was complete. You and Severus stood in the middle, basking in the finished nursery.

“It looks great, S.” You said, looking at the black painted changing table and the mobile above the crib.

“It does. I’m glad you helped me.” He admitted, eyeing the moving pictures on the walls.

You wrapped your arms around your husband’s waist, his lips falling to your head in response.

“We’re going to be one happy family.” You announced.

Severus laughed into your hair, his heart beating with hope.

“We already are.”

You had officially made it past the halfway mark, and your due date was quickly approaching. There was still so much to do, and not a lot of time to do it. Your bump was already huge, and you still had another trimester to go. You were getting to the point where swollen feet and an aching lower back was crippling your ability to go out and do much.

You were laid out on the sofa with Severus rubbing your tired feet. You were fighting the aching pain in your back and legs from the unevenly distributed weight from your midsection.

“I really need to go out today.” You winced as another round of soreness flooded your body.

Severus’ careful hands continued to massage the aching muscles of your feet.

“Why, love? You can surely go on a day where you’re feeling in higher spirits.” He said.

While he wasn’t totally wrong, you were at the point where every day was the same as the last. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t have a “higher spirits” day for a while.

“I suppose I could. But I need to get baby clothes, pacifiers, bottles.” You grunted, exhaling heavily.

You really needed to do this, but you just weren’t feeling up to it. Then you had an idea. Since Severus didn’t get to put all his effort into the nursery, you thought you could give him a second chance.

“Severus, could you possibly go out and buy baby stuff today?” You suddenly asked.

You were honestly expecting him to say no, considering he knew nothing about baby fashion. Instead, his face brightened and he leapt up from the couch.

“Of course! Why didn’t you just ask?” He queried, giddy with joy.

You laughed at his anticipation, giving him a few instructions.

“Alright, Sev. Don’t buy anything ridiculous or anything that’s made of uncomfortable material,” You said; “And do NOT get anything Slytherin related. As much as you would like it, we have no clue what Little One is going to be sorted into when he or she is old enough.”

Severus groaned.

“Not even a-”

“No Slytherin stuff.”

“Well, what about a-”

“No, Severus.”

He groaned again, but accepted your request. As badly as he wanted his daughter or son to be a Slytherin, there was always the chance that they wouldn’t be. He’d love them regardless of what House they were in, but it would tickle him to death if they were a Slytherin.

So Severus went out into Diagon Alley with extra pep in his step, jittery as he went from store to store getting stuff for his little girl or boy. Severus had never paid much attention to baby clothes, and now that he was looking, his heart was swelling with excitement.

There were so many cute sweaters, onesies, socks, and pajama sets that absolutely made Severus burst with joy. He would pick out about a dozen outfits to start out with, knowing that you’d have to go buy more once the baby was older. But each time he thought he had enough, he’d spot two or three more outfits that he just had to buy.

He could not WAIT to see his baby in all of this stuff. It had obviously been a while since he was a child, and he was amazed at all of the new things that had been invented to make parenting easier and childhood more fun.

He bought a pacifier for every day of the week, and enough toys that would last your kid through kindergarten. He bought blankets and stuffed animals and anything else that a baby MIGHT want. Your baby was going to be spoiled to the max.

Truth be told, Severus went a little overboard with his purchases. He came back with no less than ten bags full of baby materials. You not-so-gracefully lifted yourself from the couch when he entered, several bags hooked onto each of his arms. He had a proud smile plastered on his face.

“Oh Merlin, Severus! What all did you buy??” You questioned, eyes bugging out at all the goodies in front of you.

“Clothes, pacifiers, bottles. Everything you asked for.” Severus stated innocently, you rifled through the bags at all the baby wonders.

“And toys, blankets, and stuffed animals.” You finished his list.

You looked at Severus with an entertained smile, his cheeks glowing red.

“I just want Little One to be happy.” He shrugged meekly.

You let out a soft “awh” and captured his soft lips in a sweet kiss. He already loved this baby so much that it melted your heart.

“With you as their dad, they absolutely will be.”

You had never been happier to enter your third and final trimester. You were in the home stretch, and you were so excited to meet your baby. You were about to pop like a balloon and, quite frankly, you had enough of it. Don’t make any mistake about it, you had cherished every moment of being pregnant, but you were ready to get some somewhat decent sleep without being kicked in the ribs every 5 minutes.

Although, with a newborn around, you weren’t sure how much sleep you would get.

Over the course of your pregnancy, Severus had become more and more protective the more your baby grew. Now that your due date was only a few days out, he jumped at any sudden movement or noise. He had eyes and ears like a hawk. He came barreling into the living room, completely naked and dripping with water from where he had just stepped into the shower.

“Darling, what was that? Are you alright?” He asked frantically as if he had just heard an airstrike.

You looked up from your book, readjusting the pillow that was underneath your massive belly to support the weight.

“Severus. I sneezed.” You declared.

Relief washed over him, and he ran a hand through his damp hair.

“Oh. Do you need anything?” He asked you for the millionth time that evening.

You laughed shortly, nodding your head.

“Yes. I’m fine,” You said; “Please try to enjoy your shower.”

Severus had been on your tail nonstop for the last three weeks. Even though most pregnancies go the full 40 weeks, your doctor said that labor could be expected once you hit 36. Sev didn’t want you out of his sights in case you went into labor early. He didn’t want to miss anything.

You had begged him to break away just for a minute, for his sake and yours. He padded back to the shower, ignoring the way his heart was thumping in his chest. You went back to your book, grinning to yourself at your anxious husband.

Once Severus was showered and somewhat calmer, you had grown tired and were ready to get in bed. Growing and carrying a baby had really tanked your energy levels, but Severus didn’t mind going to bed early. As long as he knew you and the baby were safe, he was content.

He laughed out loud when you slid into bed wearing only a pair of panties and a t-shirt that you had used a spell to stretch out. It was the only sleepwear that fit you due to your risen belly.

Getting comfortable was next to impossible, but you had gotten used to it over the last few months. You didn’t mind, because you knew it’d be back to normal soon. Severus was eyeing your tummy, looking to you with expectation once you were settled.

“Go ahead, Sev.” You giggled, knowing what he wanted.

Every single night since you had been pregnant, Severus would rub your belly and tell the human growing inside of you goodnight. Severus shimmied down to where his face was in front of your bump. He lifted the shirt up to reveal your bare belly. He left a kiss on the stretched skin, carefully placing both of his hands on you.

“Hello in there,” Severus said, smiling proudly when he felt the baby move at the sound of his voice; “Are you still kicking your mother?”

You even nodded at that, thinking about all the times that the baby had soccer kicked your ribcage or hit your bladder just right. You placed one hand over one of Severus’, and put your other in his hair as he spoke.

“I’m so ready to meet you. I love you so much already. Other than Mum, I never thought I could ever love someone this much,” Severus spoke gently; “You two are my whole world.”

You rubbed his hair as you listened. Severus had been nothing short of amazing during this process. He was more than you could ever ask for. This baby was going to be loved endlessly.

“I don’t know how great of a father I’ll be. I didn’t exactly have ideal parents. I admit that I don’t have a model to go off of. But I will love you no matter what,” He spoke; “I hope you sleep well, Little One. I can’t wait to see you.”

He pressed another kiss to the side of your belly, before returning to your side. You were misty eyed at his words, turning so you were facing him.

“Oh, Severus. You’re going to be a wonderful dad. I’ve seen the way you love this child,” You assured; “Little One is going to love you. And there’s no one else I’d rather bring a baby into this world with.”

Severus still had a modest amount of nerves, but it was drowned out with joy. He was so ready for this baby.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you, Sev.” You whispered back.

You leaned to kiss him, but just as your lips touched, you felt a contraction and a massive gush of fluid flushed out between your legs, soaking both of your lower halves. A startled gasp fell from your mouth, and Severus eyes grew about three times their normal size. You both knew what that meant.

Little One was about to make his/her entrance into the world.

Getting to the hospital from the time that labor began was a blind rush. Severus was positively panicked, which didn’t help your attempts to remain relaxed. He had spent 9 months preparing for this moment, and he was still caught off guard.

The hospital was busy, but you had a team of nurses and doctors ready to go. You were wheeled into a delivery room, your doctor checking to see how dilated you were. He let you know that you had one of the fastest dilations he had ever seen, because you were already at 10 centimeters. There was no time for an epidural or a spell.

It was time to push.

The nurses got your legs into delivery position, Severus taking your hand as the doctor and nurses guided you through it. You gave a hard push, screaming bloody murder and squeezing the circulation out of Severus’ hand.

“You’re doing great, my love. Keep pushing.” He praised you.

Your head fell back onto the pillow with gruff, heavy breaths. You were filled with a pain you couldn’t describe. You needed this baby out. The doctor gave you a second to rest, before instructing you to push again. You took a deep breath, every muscle in your body tensing up as you pushed. Severus scrunched his nose at how badly you were hurting his hand, but he didn’t dare say anything.

The baby’s head and shoulders were out, ear splitting cries echoing through the room. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Severus peeked between your legs, and you saw the way his face filled with pure love as he saw your baby for the first time.

“Oh, [Y/N]. Little One is gorgeous...” He breathed, wanting you to push again so you could be able to see; “Push again, darling. You’re almost there.”

The nurses and Severus were encouraging you as you pushed hard a few more times, your baby finally entering into the world. Severus was a little too squeamish to cut the cord, but he watched every single movement as the doctors and nurses cut the umbilical cord and got them cleaned up. You were breathing heavily, your entire body shaking from the strenuous action. You whimpered out to Severus, who had a better viewpoint than you did.

“Is the baby okay? Please tell me the baby’s okay...” You whined out, desperate to see him/her.

Severus was close to crying, but it was the happiest he had been in his entire life.

“The baby is perfect. You did so well, my love.” He said, kissing your sweaty forehead.

The chaos in the room died down, and one of the nurses had swaddled the crying baby. She gave a huge, kind smile and set the baby in your arms.

“Say hello to your baby girl.” She cooed.

Tears fell from your eyes as she was placed into your arms. Her cries dwindled out at the feeling and sound of your and Severus’ voices. She was the most stunning baby you had ever seen. Severus felt something awaken in him. A side of him that had been itching to come out.

“A girl...oh, a girl.” You cried happily.

Severus sniffed, holding back tears.

“She’s beautiful. She’s perfect.” Sev croaked.

He placed a kiss on her forehead, her small baby whimpers making his heart explode. The two of you sat in silence, raking over your baby’s perfection. After a minute, you looked up at Severus with a smile.

“I just thought of something we have to do.” You said.

Panic flashed over his face again. You had done everything he thought. What could there possible be to do?

“What is that, darling?” He acquired.

You giggled, kissing Severus’ cheek.

“We’ve got to pick a name for her.”

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus #severus snape x y/n #alan rickman #Harry Potter #harry potter snape #severus snape imagine #severus snape blurb #seriouslysnape

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nanshe-of-nina · 2 years

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Mayfair Witches; other Mayfairs

Peter Mayfair All his life Antoine Fontenay III deferred to Jeanne Louise and to her twin brother, Peter, who was never called by the French version of that name, Pierre. There is little doubt that these were the children of Petyr van Abel. Both Jeanne Louise and Peter were fair of complexion, with light brown hair and pale eyes. ... Jeanne Louise went only by the name of Mayfair on all official documents, and though she married young to a dissolute and drunken husband, her lifelong companion was her brother, Peter, who never married. He died only hours before Jeanne Louise, in 1771.

Lestan Mayfair Of Angélique’s six children, two girls died early, and two boys emigrated to France, the other, Lestan, going to Louisiana with his sister Marie Claudette. ... Several days before the Haitian revolution (the only successful slave uprising in history), Marie Claudette was warned by her slaves that she and her family might be massacred. She and her children, her brother Lestan and his wife and children, and her uncle Maurice and his two sons and their wives and children escaped with apparent ease and an amazing amount of personal possessions, a veritable caravan of wagons leaving Maye Faire for the nearby port.

Claire Marie Mayfair There was much gossip about Marie Claudette’s family life. It was said that her oldest daughter, Claire Marie, was feeble-minded, and there are numerous stories about this young woman wandering about in her nightgown, and saying strange though often delightful things to people. She saw ghosts and talked to them all the time, sometimes right in the middle of supper before amazed guests.

She also “knew” things about people and would blurt out these secrets at odd moments. She was kept at home, and though more than one man fell in love with her, Marie Claudette never allowed Claire Marie to marry. In her old age, after the death of her husband, Henri Marie Landry, Marie Claudette slept with Claire Marie, to watch her and keep her from roaming about and getting lost. She was often seen on the galleries in her nightgown.

Pierre Marie Claudette’s only son, Pierre, was never allowed to marry either. He “fell in love” twice, but both times gave in to his mother when she refused to grant permission for the wedding. His second “secret fiancée” tried to take her own life when she was rejected by Pierre. After that he seldom went out, but was often seen in the company of his mother. Pierre was a doctor of sorts to the slaves, curing them with various potions and remedies. He even studied medicine for a while with an old drunken doctor in New Orleans. But nothing much came of this. He also enjoyed botany and spent much time working in the garden, and drawing pictures of flowers. Botanical sketches done by Pierre are in existence today in the famous Mayfair house on First Street.

Suzette Mayfair This devotion did not prevent him from getting married, in 1875, to a Mayfair cousin, a descendant of Maurice and a celebrated beauty. Her name was Suzette Mayfair, and Julien so loved her that he commissioned no less than ten portraits of her during the first years of their marriage. They lived together in the First Street house apparently in complete harmony with Rémy and his family, perhaps because in every respect Rémy deferred to Julien. Suzette seems to have loved little Mary Beth, though she had four children of her own in the next five years, including three boys and a girl, named Jeannette.

Belle Mayfair And it was no secret that little Belle—the child of the mysterious Scottish Lord Mayfair—was not right in the head. Though very sweet and amiable, Belle was obviously unable to learn even simple things, and reacted emotionally to life forever as though she were about four years old, or so the cousins later described it. People hesitated to use the word feeble-minded. Everyone knew of course that Belle was not an appropriate designee for the legacy as she might never marry. And the cousins discussed this fairly openly at the time.

Carlotta Mayfair “I chose,” she said softly, almost sadly. “I went to church after Julien touched me, after he sang me his songs and told me his lies. I honestly think he believed his charms would win me over. I went to the shrine of Our Lady of Perpetual Help and I knelt and prayed, and the strongest truth came through to me. Didn’t matter if God in his heaven was a Catholic or a Protestant God, or the God of the Hindus.

“What mattered was something deeper and older and more powerful than any such image—it was a concept of goodness based upon the affirmation of life, the turning away from destruction, from the perverse, from man using and abusing man. It was the affirmation of the human and the natural.” She looked up at Rowan. “I said, ‘God, stand by me. Holy Mother, stand by me. Let me use my power to fight them, to beat them, to win against them.’ ”

Cortland Mayfair “Oh, yes, I do,” Mr. Lonigan said. Then he pointed out the other names going way back. “Miss Mary Beth, now that was the mother of Stella, and of Miss Carl, and now, Miss Millie is actually Rémy Mayfair’s daughter. He was Miss Carl’s uncle, and he died at First Street, but that was before my time. I remember Julien Mayfair, however. He was what you call unforgettable, Julien was. Till the day he died, he was a fine-looking man. And so was Cortland, his son.

You see, Cortland died that year that Deirdre had that little baby. Now I didn’t bury Cortland. Cortland’s family lived in Metairie. They say it was all that ruckus over the baby that killed Cortland. But that don’t matter. You can see that Cortland was eighty years old besides. Old Miss Belle was Miss Carl’s older sister. But Miss Nancy, well, she is Antha’s sister. It will be Miss Millie next, you mark my words.”

Ellie Mayfair Ellie Mayfair, adoptive mother of Rowan Mayfair, the present designee of the legacy, is a descendant of Julien Mayfair, being a granddaughter of Julien’s son Cortland, the only child of Cortland’s son Sheffield Mayfair and his wife, a French-speaking cousin named Eugénie Mayfair, who died when Ellie was seven years old. Sheffield died before Cortland, of a severe heart attack in the family law offices on Camp Street in 1952, at which time he was forty-five.

His daughter Ellie was a student at Stanford in Palo Alto, California, at the time, where she was already engaged to Graham Franklin, whom she later married. She never lived in New Orleans after that, though she returned for frequent visits and came back to adopt Rowan Mayfair in 1959.

#bookedit #horroredit #mayfair witches #anne rice #the witching hour #southern gothic #horror #nanshe's graphics #mw series

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

A Stark Contrast | Bucky Barnes

Summary; living in the shadow of Tony, your brother, always was the way, and you accepted it. That was until he expected you to sign the accords, that was one thing that you couldn’t do.

Warnings; Angst, mentions of death, mentions of being controlled, funeral, mourning, anger

The form, bound in a weighty book laid on the table, making the room fill with utmost tension. Tony was hellbent on signing the thing, and handing away any freedom that all of you had.

No matter how long you had supported him, this was not one subject that you could agree with him on. Whilst you understood his perspective, it would only end up with you in a hamster wheel, running around and following the orders of executives.

They wanted less destruction. To put boundaries around their country’s heroes, and limit them to the lengths they could go to in order to save lives.

That was also wrong, the entire ordeal had you bent backwards with a conflict of interests. On one hand, it would be ordinary to sign for such a cause, whether you trusted their backgrounds or not, simply because your elder sibling had.

There was nobody that you trusted more than Tony, he had half raised you after your parents were killed, you felt indebted to him. But being an avenger, on a team where your personal opinion had been valued, it opened your eyes to a whole range of possibilities.

Whilst you were loyal to Tony, you had also became in tune with your own gut. It grumbled at the prospect of giving in to a contract, which decided what you were permitted to do. It was like a child’s parent permission slip, but on a much grander scale.

“People died!” He reminded the lot of you again, which inclined you to look down. There was blood on all of your hands, and he was making it as red as it could possibly be seen. “At least y/n agrees with me.” He reprimanded Steve, whom was still far on the fence regarding the entire ordeal.

Once he said that, all eyes had shifted towards you. Nat had already basically given in to your brother’s convictions, and Steve suspected that you would do the same. You were always one step behind Tony, you were far too loyal to your sibling for your own good.

“I have yet to make up my mind.” You spoke, standing, no longer wishing to be in the room where there was far too much tension. How you wished Banner and Thor were here, they would make an equal divide. The God of Thunder would not scribble his signature upon the paper, you thought to yourself, if he knew their reasons and affects.

However, your words were taken as an assumption that you would join your sibling in providing a peaceful surrender. It is what he and the public would assume of you, and to be truthful, you were tired of sticking to the stereotypes that were made of you.

“I’m surprised that you came.” Steve spoke, as you opened the boot of your car, and revealed the shield that he was so often adorned with, as well as Sam’s wings. He, like most others, had suspected that you would join your brother in his guilt ridden cause, however, thinking for yourself gave you a sense of freedom.

“Don’t be so quick to prevail into what everyone else thinks of me.” You smirked at the captain, your eyes drifting over to the other super soldier, whom had temporarily been imprisoned by the government.

But he had escaped, and if luck was not often a Stark trait, Tony would have died. You had watched from the cameras, but you could boil no bad blood in between the pair of you, Barnes was not in his right mind. He was controlled, and put into a incomprehensible mode of himself. That was, unless, he had managed to kill Tony.

Then you would have changed your own deciding mind, and stuck to what the eldest Stark believed in. “I won’t, ever again.” Sam smiled, picking up redwing from the composed pile, and kissing the machine.

“Bucky.” You reiterated his name, the one that he had chosen to correct the unknown and deceiving man on. The nod you earnt was brief, but it gave you a sense of hope that whirled in your middle.

It was clear that he was an attractive man, and alike his righteous friend, he was frozen through time to be in this current moment. As Sam and Steve began to get their things together, you walked over to the historical stranger, a smile upon your face. “I’m y/n Stark, I don’t believe we have had the fortune of meeting before.”

“You sure do speak like a Stark.” He softly spoke, a matching smile on his brawn face. “And you seem to have other things in common, like that necklace.” At his words, you looked down at it, a hint of anguish within your gaze.

“It belonged to my mother.” It was nice to reminisce about her for a moment, you knew that she would have made her own decisions too. In some retrospect, you were following in her footsteps.

A feeling grew in the back of Bucky’s throat, but he said nothing. If he were to spill, or reveal his dark secret, it would mean nothing more than the loss of a powerful asset, they could not afford that right now.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you got to return home?” It had been a stressful day, fighting your friends, and your last living family member. Bucky turned at your words, you had saved him from being killed, he felt indebted.

“Probably do what every other soldier did; find a woman to marry and have kids. But that’s far out of the picture in this modern age.” Steve was flying the aircraft as you and Bucky spoke in the back. It gave the two of you a moment alone, and you were truly knowing as though you knew the soldier.

He was a good man, misinterpreted by the deeds that he was controlled to do. No one chose to have pity on Barnes, they instead viewed him as a country danger, and wanted to lock him up in a cage, which was how he had come so far in the first place.

“I wouldn’t say that.” For a moment, you looked into his deep blue eyes, feeling as though he were freezing you with them. He didn’t want to look away, but you were inclined to, for you could feel the contrasts of hot and cold heat working its way up your neck, and onto your face. “There’s definitely a woman that would want all that and more with you.”

If things were simpler, you would be convinced that you could share such an intimate bond with him, but alas, everything had to be complicated. And if things could work out, they surely couldn’t last.

“We’re here.” Steve informed the both of you, as he slid out of his front seat, and you prepared to finish this for once and for all.

“How could you?!” You couldn’t defend him as Tony blasted him away, Bucky had played you, and done so well. He and Steve knew of the blood on his hands, and yet they hadn’t thought once to inform you of the one true treachery regrading you.

Bucky had killed your mother, from the intake of information alone, you felt sick. Physically sick. But you choked it down, and as Steve unsurely came towards you, you ran at him, angered by his lies.

From the start, the patriot of America, someone you had considered a friend had deceived you. You had helped him, stood with him, fought your friends for him, and not to mention Tony, and he had known all along.

“Y/n-”

“Save your apologies Rogers.” You stared him down, as he had Bucky held up by one arm, seeing as Barnes had lost one of his own again. “And you, you’re right, there’s no perfect picture, you’re nothing but a monster.”

“Listen.” Steve commanded, but you couldn’t. He was no longer considered your captain, he was a sick liar who had helped to break you. This was the last time that you made your own decisions. Tony was always right.

“You don’t deserve that shield, my father made that. It’s government property-” swiftly he dropped said item, an exhausted and tiresome expression upon Steve’s helmet wearing face.

As soon as they trudged by, you instantly went to Tony, checking his wounds. “You were right brother, I should have listened to you.”

“Your dad loved cheeseburgers too.” You laughed lightly to Morgan, blinking back the tears. It was Tony’s funeral, there were so many people here, even Fury, but there was someone else, who was walking towards you. “Why don’t you go and ask Happy, I have some business that I have to tend to quickly.”

“Okay auntie y/n.” She ran off. She was so innocent, she didn’t deserve to be going to her father’s funeral at five years old, it was truly cruel. But that was just the way the world worked, and Tony was a hero.

“Hi.” Bucky spoke, adorned in all black, same as you. It had been a long time since you had seen him, not since he was being carried away by Steve. You hadn’t fought in Wakanda, instead you had ended up on Titan with your brother, and you would have surely died without him.

“Hey Barnes.” You greeted him with a forced smile, but nevertheless allowed him to step closer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, the guilt still burning behind his eyes. It seemed that his time in Wakanda had changed him, for the better.

“Which one?” You quipped back, instantaneously.

“All of them.” He gulped, he was going to give you one truth before you found out after. It was his attempt at redemption, and a sorrowful one at that. “Steve’s returning the stones later.”

“I know.” You responded, the captain had already informed you about that part of his plan.

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Anthony Howard and Steven Nathan Barnes, the two of you better get back here this instant!” Your voice hollered through the house, as well as the duo’s endless giggles.

The front door opened, no other than Bucky walking through. He was quick to recognise the flash of motherly anger upon your face, and quickly dropped his serene smile.

“What have they done?” Bucky asked, watching as you crossed your arms in an unimpressed manner.

“Why don’t you ask your sons?” Your husband sighed, but despite that, he was a happy man. He had returned from a war, and found a lovely wife, of which he had two troublesome boys with. For the first time in a long time, y/n Stark and Bucky Barnes were happy.

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