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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

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Birthday girl

I can't believe I did that, but here we are. This fits the "Multiple partners/gangbang" square from the Summer Bingo. With our favorite boys; Mike, Rafael, Sonny & Mike.

Words count: 3,9k

Warnings: Gangbang, p in v, creampie, spanking (slightly)

Sorry if there's any typos...

@thatesqcrush

You had a lot of hopes for your 30th birthday. Not just for the celebration itself but also in general. You thought that by now, you would be in a serious relationship, maybe with a kid or two, or at least planning on having one. You had many things you wanted to do before you were 30, but now that you think about it, you didn’t do much of those things. You’re actually far from it.

It just hurts to see people around you having their life together. Your best friend is married to a lovely man, she has a two year old boy and is pregnant with a second and she owns her business. Your sister - older than you - is traveling all around the world with her husband and their dog. And everytime you meet with your mother, it’s like she has to put pressure where it hurts. Every single time.

The only thing you can’t complain about is your job, and the people you work with. Being a detective at SVU is hard, it’s challenging, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. And you have the most amazing squad with you. Also, the most handsome men you ever met. Seriously. Mike, Sonny, Rafael, Nick. How could you not like your job when you see those faces 24/7?

You had expectations for your celebration party. You invited the squad to a beach house that you rented. They became your family, they are the ones you want to celebrate with. But little by little, it was falling apart. First, Amanda had to cancel since her sister is in town, and everyone knows Kim is a handful. Then, it was Liv turn. The day before, Noah got sick, so she decided to stay at home with him. That’s fair, Noah’s health first. And last but not least, your best friend and her husband canceled too. “No one to take care of the kid,” apparently. Is that what it is to have kids? Not having fun anymore? Cause if that’s it, maybe you don’t want one.

So, in the end, it’s just you and the boys. Not that you mind that thought at all.

You left early in the morning with Sonny. He offered to help you prepare the house, and go grocery shopping. “How’s the birthday girl?” he asked, gently as always.

“Kinda upset that everyone canceled. But I won’t let this ruin my day!”

“You’ll have fun anyway. We planned a few things with the guys,” he teased.

You spent the entire day annoying Sonny so he would talk. But he didn’t say a damn thing. Whatever they have prepared, you have no clue. It does stress you out a little but one thing is sure; you can trust them with your life.

Everything was ready when Mike, Nick and Rafael arrived. When Sonny opened the door to them, their arms were full. You saw booze, food, and gifts. Way too many gifts for one person. “What the hell is all of that?” you exclaimed when they dropped everything on the floor, in the living area.

“Everything we need to celebrate your 30th birthday. You will remember this weekend,” Mike said with a huge grin on his face. He walked up to you and hugged you softly. “Happy birthday Y/N,” he kissed your forehead.

Nick and Rafael did the same as Mike. Then, they quickly put their stuff in the bedrooms, before joining you and Sonny on the terrace, facing the ocean. The weather wasn’t the best, but you couldn’t care less.

“One rule for this weekend; not shop talk,” Nick warned and everyone agreed with it.

The evening started pretty smoothly. You were having drinks, eating the apéritif you and Sonny prepared earlier and chatting about nothing and everything. At some point, Rafael came back with a bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass. “To our amazing Y/N,” he said, holding his glass in the air. “You probably have no idea what you mean to all of us and that’s actually what makes you even more lovable. We care about you more than you know. Happy birthday, querida,” he smiled and toast with you.

You looked at Rafael with puppy eyes. He and the three others know you’re not used to being praised like this, even though you deserve any less.

“This is nice! Mike, your turn,”

The sergeant obliged. He stood up and cleared his throat, “Everyone knows that me joining SVU was my dad’s idea, but honestly, I can’t thank him enough for making me. Cause now you’re in my life and girl, you won’t get rid of me. I can’t imagine my life without you, Y/N,” he paused, “and without those idiots either, but that’s not their birthdays,”

“You said it anyway,” Nick teased Mike.

“Shut up, Nick! Let him finish,” you elbowed Nick.

“Well, I was done actually. Happy birthday, honey,” he bent over to kiss your cheek and then toasted with you.

“I love you,” you mouthed to him. “Nick, now you can talk,” you were excited about this. The past weeks before your birthday hadn’t been easy, you overthink a lot about your life. You actually cried yourself to sleep the night before, but none of them know. Their words make you feel much better. You’re lucky to have them.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said before standing up, “We didn’t start on the right foot, you and me, probably because you never chewed your words with me and I hated it. But you were right on most of the things you ever told me. You’re - without a shadow of a doubt - the best friend I ever had. I can’t wait for us to fight like cats and dogs at the nursery home. Feliz cumpleaños, cariño,” he smiled at you and extended his glass so you could toast together, “Also, you’re hot as hell,”

It was an understatement to be honest, but Nick added this comment because he saw the tears forming in your eyes and he refused to see you cry on your birthday, because of something he said. Fortunately, it worked and you laughed instead of crying. “He’s right,” Rafael added with a wink. Of course, none of them missed how your cheeks turned bright red, even if you tried to play it cool.

“I guess it’s my turn now,” Sonny spoke and stood up. But he stayed silent for a moment, “What they said,” he simply said before sitting again.

Mike, Nick and Rafael immediately started to playfully boo him, “You suck man!” Nick exclaimed.

“You usually can’t shut up and now, that’s all you have to say?” Rafael teased him.

“Y/N should have the right to punish you,” Mike added.

“Oh yes, please! Can I punish you?” you eagerly asked.

“Oh honey,” Rafael grabbed your attention, “you don’t ask someone if you can punish them. You just do it,”

“I know, Rafi. But he’s a good catholic boy, remember? We can’t have him running out of the house, praying for our souls,”

“Y/N. You know Sonny is worse then all of us reunited,” Rafael said this so casually, he didn’t realize how it sounded.

“Dominick Carisi, you’re such a liar!” Mike shouted, “you told me you and Raf didn’t hook up!”

“Yeah well, about that? I lied,”

Sonny and Rafael exchanged sweet looks, while you were silently drinking your glass of champagne.. “Are you two dating or something?” Nick asked.

Rafael was about to say something, but Mike stood up in one quick motion and shouted even louder, “Oh my god!” The four of you looked at him, “I think what you should be asking, Nick, is if the three of them are a thing!”

One thing you hate about Mike is how he can read you like an open book. It was hard to hide from him, the night you had with Sonny and Rafael a few months ago. Now, there was no point to lie.

“I can’t believe you three hook up and didn’t say a damn thing,” Nick said.

“To be honest, I’m more offended about not being invited,” Mike added.

That’s how the night took a very different turn.

*****

“I think all the attention should be on the birthday girl,” Rafael said as he was unbuttoning his shirt. You and Sonny were kissing on one side of the couch while Mike and Nick were making out on the other side.

“Raf is right. To be fair, we have an entire weekend in this house,” Mike added.

In a matter of seconds, you were standing in the middle of the master bedroom, with the four men around you. “Mike and Nick need to know the safe word.” Rafael commented, and Sonny took his tongue out of your month to let you speak.

“Armadillo,” you said.

You can’t even begin to describe how you feel about all of this. Those four men just for you? All of their attention on you? That thought only could make cum on the spot. You had to remember the ground rules you had with Sonny and Rafael a few months ago, and the first one is not to overthink. You all know you can trust one another. You’re more safe with those four guys than with one single random guy.

Once the safe word was known to everyone, Sonny remained kissing you. You immediately granted access to his tongue, it was sloppy but passionate. Meanwhile, you felt a pair of hands taking off your top and another one taking care of your pants. “Matching underwear,” Mike commented, as he was the one staring, “You hoped for this, didn’t you?” You smiled against Sonny. You didn’t hope for a gangbang, but yes, you did hope to get lucky. But this was better than anything you hoped for.

“Of course, she did,” you heard Nick’s voice coming from behind you. He gently unhook your bra, freeing your tits and he didn’t waste a second before playing with them. Your nipples were already hard, craving for attention. “She knew she could have any of us,”

“Oh Nick, that’s worse than that. She knew she could have the four of us,” Rafael added, as one of his hands slided in your panties, feeling how hot and wet you were. “Guys, she is dripping,” he let the others know, and he gently started to tease your clit with his thumb.

As Sonny kept kissing you, Nick kept playing with your tits, and Rafael kept teasing your drenched entrance, Mike got undressed. You saw him from the corner of your eyes, and your attention quickly fell on his rock hard erection. He smiled when he noticed where you were looking and started to stroke himself. You locked eyes with him while tentatively trying to touch one of the guy's cock. Your hand landed on Sonny’s crotch and he groaned at the sensation, even through the fabric of his jeans. But Rafael used his free hand to grab your wrist. “Such a needy cock slut,” he said, right next to your ear.

“Maybe Sonny should replace his tongue with his cock,” Nick offered and he felt you nodding. So Sonny stopped kissing you, he briefly took a look at your swollen lips, and your naked body being taken care of by Rafael and Nick.

“Well, Mike, get closer,” Sonny said as he undressed himself, “She loves having two cocks in her mouth. Am I right, Y/N?”

Everything that was happening was too much, you struggled to find your words, so you nodded. But it wasn’t enough for them. “You want to hear you say it,” Mike said after he finally got closer to you.

“I--I want your cocks--” you moaned as Rafael finally entered your core with one finger, “in my month,” you moaned even more when Nick pinched both of your nipples, just enough to make it hurt, “All of them,” you finally added.

To make sure Rafael and Nick could still work on your body, Mike and Sonny stood up on the edge of the bed. Your face was right at their crotch. You took one cock in each hand, gently stroking them, “I think Mike should be first. I already know how your mouth feels,” you agreed and focused on Mike’s cock, but with your other hand still stroking Sonny’s. You softly licked the head, tasting the precum coming out, before taking him in your mouth. Mike let out a huge groan at the feeling, “Man, when was the last time you had a blowjob?” Nick joked.

“Way too long,” he managed to say.

You have to admit, it’s hard to give a good blowjob to a man, while two others are worshipping your body. But Rafael decided to withdraw his hand from your panties and quickly after, you felt a cold breeze as Nick’s hands and body drift away from you. “Don’t forget about Sonny, babygirl,” you heard from the other side of the room.

Your jaw is going to be sore as fuck in the morning as you opened your mouth as much as you could, to take both Sonny’s and Mike’s cocks in. Obviously, they can’t both fit in but it is mostly about playing with the heads and your tongue.

You jolted when you felt a very warm body against your back. You recognized Rafael’s smell. He was fully naked. He held your hips strongly, sliding his hard cock in your panties and stroking it against your ass. You felt his hot breath in your neck before he planted a few wet kisses there.

Your face was a mess. It was a mix of saliva and precum from both men. Your pussy was a mess too. You were so wet, you could feel it on your thighs. You kept sucking Sonny and Mike for a short moment before they made you stop. Mike got down from the bed and kissed you deeply, enjoying the mixture that was there.

Someone finally took your panties off, you don’t know who and you couldn’t care less. You were desperate to be fucked.

*****

The first to get inside you was Nick. You were lying on the bed, a complete mess already, and Nick got on top of you. He gently kissed you, teased your entrance for a short moment before sinking inside your pussy in a slow motion. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned as he bottomed out. He started to thrust you, slow and deep at first.

The sounds you were making were such a turn on to the four men. As Nick was fucking you good, you had no idea where Mike, Sonny and Rafael were, until you felt someone climbing on the bed. When you opened your eyes, you saw Rafael’s face above you and his cock was a few inches from your mouth. “Open that pretty mouth for me,” he said and you obliged. As Nick was fucking your pussy, Rafael was facefucking you. And this was a lot to handle. It didn’t take long for you to feel your orgasm coming up. Your cries were muffled by Rafael’s thick cock as you came, and it brought him an overwhelming sensation that made him groan hard. “Such a good girl, creaming my cock like this,” Nick said. He wasn’t far from coming either. He buried his face in your neck, and he felt your nails crashing on his skull. It took a few more thrusts before he loaded his hot cum inside you, crying out your name.

He stayed on top of you for a moment before pulling out, at the same time Rafael stopped facefucking you and you cried at the emptiness.

“Someone doesn’t like to feel empty?” It was Sonny who talked. He was sitting next to you and he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, taking Nick’s cum back where it belonged. Your body arched at the feeling and you moaned deeply. “So worked up already. But we’re not done with you,”

“You better not,” you laughed.

“Oh, she’s teasing!” Mike exclaimed. “Babygirl, when we're done with you, you won’t be able to sit for weeks. Everyone at the precinct will wonder what happened during the weekend,” he kissed you while Sonny added a third finger inside your core. You felt a second orgams building inside your belly.

“You better not come on Sonny’s fingers,” Rafael warned you, “You’re only allowed to come on our cocks,” you found him in the room and locked eyes with him.

You knew from his expression what he was waiting for, “Yes, sir,” you agreed.

“That’s our good girl,”

Then it was Sonny’s. The man has a soft spot for a good doggy style, so he ordered you to get on all fours and you obeyed. He stroked his cock between your ass cheeks for a moment before sliding inside you so easily. “God, you take us so well, baby,” he said as he started to thrust. He was faster than Nick, and you know from experience that Sonny has incredible stamina. He can rock inside you hard and fast for a long moment.

“You feel so good inside me,” you moaned, “Fuck, Sonny! Yes!”

“That’s right, take that cock, doll,” he said, slamming harder.

As you grabbed the sheets into your fists, you felt someone crawling under you. It was Nick. He laid down and brought your mouth to his in an eager kiss. Sonny kept fucking you, his hands were strongly holding your hips, so you understood it was someone else that spank you. Mike or Rafael, you didn’t know - although, you had an idea; Rafael does love to spank you - and you cried inside Nick’s mouth. Then you felt someone grabbing your arms to lock them in your back. Nick held you close against him, stroking your hair as your second orgasm hit you hard.

Feeling your pussy clenching around his cock, and hearing you cursing non sense, sent Sonny over the edge. He almost collapsed on you as he came deep inside you.

You felt the emptiness when Sonny took his cock out of you but it was quickly filled by someone’s fingers. You were just a pile of lambs on Nick, but you jolted when one of them curled two fingers inside your pussy. “You love that, don’t you? Nick’s and Sonny’s cum mixing inside you,” You don’t know if that’s Rafael that is fingering you but he’s the one talking. You were still catching your breath when the fingers were replaced by a cock teasing your entrance.

“Do you want to keep going, babygirl? We can st--”

“I didn’t say the word, did I, Mike?” you shot.

“Right. Then it’s my turn to fill that pussy,” he didn’t give you the time to answer, he shoved his cock inside your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Mike, yes!”” you cried.

Nick stayed under you as Mike fucked you hard. Mike’s short nails scratched your back as he went in and out of you. He withdrew completely before sinking back and bottoming down. He did that a few times, enjoying your noises every time he hit your sweet spot. “Damn, that pussy is so perfect,” he growled.

“It was made for us,” Sonny said.

On your left, you saw Rafael standing there, stroking his cock as he watched Mike fucking you. You extended your hand to replace his and he let you. “You can’t get enough,” he teased you.

“Never,” you grinned.

Mike grabbed your hair in his fist, bringing your back to his chest. That new angle almost sent you over the edge again. “Holy shit, this feels amazing,” you breathed out. You didn’t notice the look Rafael and Sonny exchanged. You sloppily kept stroking Rafael, while Sonny’s hand found its way to your clit. Mike had to hold you close to him as a third orgasm arrived.

Nick was still laying on the bed, an arm under his head. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like my very own porn movie,”

“Get ready to take a new part in it,” Sonny winked at him.

“Working on it,” he said, stroking his semi hard cock.

Sonny chuckled before burying his face in your chest. He sucked on your nipples, and kept playing with your clit. “Jesus, fuck! I--I’m--coming,” you managed to say as your third orgasm hit. You held onto Sonny’s shoulder for dear life, Mike was slamming so hard and fast inside you, chasing his own orgasm. He bit your shoulder as he emptied himself deep inside you, adding his semence to Sonny’s and Nick’s.

You collapsed in Sonny’s arms and he gently laid you on the bed, next to Nick. Mike was catching his breath on the edge of the bed. “Water,” you managed to say.

Not that it mattered, but Nick seems to be the best for the aftercare. He gently stroked your hair, and planted sweet kisses all over your face. Sonny came back with water for everyone. All of this is more than amazing, this can’t be compared to anything you ever experienced before but you gladly enjoyed the water break.

As you were sitting on the bed, Rafael grabbed your face to kiss you. It was soft, almost loving. Your hands traveled his hairy chest as you granted access to his tongue. You fell on your back, taking him with you. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Never better. Fuck me, Raf,”

On the other side of the bed, Nick chuckled. “Three cocks, three orgasms and she is still asking for it. You’re such a pretty slut, Y/N, aren't you?”

“I’m your slut. To the four of you,” you smiled at him.

Rafael teased your entrance with his cock as he was kissing and nipping your neck. Your pussy was a wet and sticky mess. The other men fucked you open, Rafael slided inside you so easily. To be honest, he wasn’t far from coming already after everything he witnessed and you wrapped him so perfectly, it was overwhelming.

You moaned loudly in his ear, your nails digging in his skull. As he thrusted into you, he couldn’t help but to slap your thigh, since he can’t reach your ass for a proper spank. But you could reach his, so you returned the favor. It took him by surprise, so did the growl he let out. “Someone likes to be spank,” Sonny commented, before duplicating your action on Rafael’s ass.

Another spank, but this time from Mike. And one from Nick. You loved having all the attention from the guys, but you have to admit that this brings something else to you. Hopefully this will be repeated before you go back to New York, but this time, this will be an orgy, instead of a gangbang.

You bit Rafael’s bottom lip, as he thrusted fast and hard inside you. “Give it to me, Raf. I need you to cum inside me, just like them,” he crashed his lips on yours, as a hand traveled between the two of you to play with your clit. You were oversensitive, and exhausted, you weren’t sure you could have a fourth orgasm before it hit you. You wrapped your arms around Rafael’s neck, “That’s right, babygirl, let it go. Cum on my cock,” he said in your ear, huskily.

That was exactly what you needed to cum one more time. Rafael’s thrusts became sloppy as he chased his relief. Finally, he added his liquid to the mixture and collapsed on you.

*****

“I have to admit, I’m so glad everyone else canceled,” you confessed, laying like a sea star on the bed. Obviously, the four men agreed with you.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” they all said at the same time.

Best fucking birthday ever.

#thatesqcrushsummerbingo #rafael barba x reader #sonny carisi x reader #nick amaro x reader #mike dodds x reader

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angellesword · 3 years

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EUPHORIA | JJK

It’s Sunday. Jeongguk was supposed to be at the gym, serving looks. You were supposed to be at the church, serving the Lord. But you two were at the mall, looking for baby toys. You guessed this was your punishment for letting him stick his dick inside of you instead of just using an adult toy.

Alternatively:

“We share the same painful views. Won’t you please stay in my dreams.”

word count: 2.6k (one-shot) PART OF INTRO SERIES

pairing: husband!Jungkook x wife!reader

genre and content warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, married au, (forced marriage) mention of premarital sex, pregnancy, abortion, Catholic guilt, death, and mental illness.

Sunday was church day.

This was what your whole family made you believe ever since you were young. They were firm believers of God. In fact, your first word wasn't like what most babies said.

Jesus. This was your first word and your mom wasn't even complaining. She loved to brag about it to other lectors and commentators. Your father, a lay minister, also took pride sharing the same story over and over again.

Frankly speaking, you were getting tired of it.

Don't get it twisted. You loved Jesus and you believed that he was your savior. You even sang worship songs at the church every Sunday. You were the head of the choir; every church goer knew you—well, not only church goers.

Literally everyone around you knew you.

You were also popular at school. People referred to you as the good girl who had it all.

You were pretty, smart, and your boyfriend was none other than Jeon Jeongguk.

The man you were dating was a jock. He made it clear that he didn't like studying, but he still wanted to go to a university and apply for scholarship. You had no doubt that he would get what he wanted.

Jeongguk was a star football player after all.

"Babe, what do you think of this?" You showed Jeongguk a stuffed animal. It was a rabbit.

"Cute," he grinned at you. Jeongguk wasn't sure what he found cute. Was it you or was it the stuffed toy?

You and Jeongguk were currently at the mall, buying toys for Haneul, your son who was turning one this month.

"We'll buy this next time.”

The smile Jeongguk was sporting turned into a scowl when you put the toy back to the shelf.

"Next time?" He furrowed his brow, reaching for the rabbit. "Why can't we buy it now?"

"Guk," you let out a sigh. He was feigning innocence but you knew better.

You knew you couldn't afford this kind of toy. Why did you even ask him to go here? It was obvious that you didn't belong here.

Years ago, you and Jeongguk had plans. He wanted to be a famous football player while you decided to major in Marketing; however, your dreams had been shattered when you found out that you were pregnant with his baby.

You didn't know what to do that time. You just graduated high school. Actually, you were supposed to take the college entrance exam at Seoul University.

The test didn't happen because you felt sick that day. You had been vomiting non-stop and everything smelt awful.

You still took a test, though. It wasn't the kind of test you were expecting. You woke up that day to chase you dream, but instead you ended up chasing your breath as you cried and cried and cried.

You took a pregnancy test and the numbing slap of your mother was enough for you to know that you were a disgrace.

A disgrace, a disappointment, an animal, a disrespectful child, and a....

sinner.

You accepted it all. You didn't mind that your whole family was insulting you inside and out.

You didn't blame them—couldn't blame them.

How could you do that when you saw yourself the same way they saw you?

Your mind was poisoning you. You were blaming yourself. You were blaming Jeongguk. He did this to you.

He did this to you because you let him.

So basically, this was your fault.

You ruined your future and the only way to restore everything back to normal was to have an abortion.

Of course you considered abortion. You were young and so, so scared. How could you take care of a child when you couldn't even take care of yourself?

And what about Jeongguk? He didn't deserve this shit. He was young too. He deserved the world, not a punishment.

You considered your child as a punishment. Why didn't you just stick to dildo? Or a fucking vibrator?

There were so many options. Why did you have to trust that stupid condom? You knew it didn't work all the time.

Nothing worked according to your plan.

"You are going to marry Jeon Jeongguk." Your father's words screamed authority.

Everyone in your family was aware that once your father demanded something, it should be followed without any questions. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it was absolute.

"But—" despite knowing the end of this discussion, you still tried to reason out.

You were only able to utter one word before you felt another deafening slap from your mother.

Or was it your father?

You had no idea.

All you knew was that everyone was either physically hurting you or emotionally manipulating you.

"No buts! My decision is final! You are going to marry that Jeon boy!"

Ah, that Jeon boy.

Poor Jeon Jeongguk. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. God. He didn't even know that you were carrying his child.

"We won't allow you to live like a slut anymore," your auntie crossed her arms.

This was the thing about your family. Everyone had a say, even your relative could discipline you. According to them, elders should always be respected. You had to follow what they said because apparently, they knew better than you.

Maybe they did. But still, you didn't want to force Jeongguk to marry you.

Sure, you two had been dating for three years now, but that wasn't enough. What if the love he felt for you wasn't the kind of love that you and your kid needed?

Perhaps you should have thought of that before giving into lust. The tiny voice inside your head sneered at you.

You could only sob.

It seemed like crying was all you could do.

You cried when you found out that you were pregnant, you cried when your parents found out that you were pregnant, and you cried when Jeongguk found out that you were pregnant.

All of this was happening because you were pregnant.

Except one thing:

Jeongguk wanted to marry you not because you were pregnant but because he loved you.

"You don't have to force me.” Jeongguk gritted his teeth when your whole family barged in his house.

Of course the Jeons were surprised. They weren't close to your family even though you lived two houses away from one another.

Your family didn’t want to associate themselves with the Jeons. The latter didn't really believe in the Lord, or even if they did, they were still far from religious.

They raised Jeongguk to be a sinner.

Your family firmly believed that you only got pregnant because Jeongguk forced you.

It wasn't true. You both wanted it to happen. You were consenting adults. Besides, your boyfriend asked you thousands of times if you truly wanted to do it.

He didn't force you. He respected you.

"I will marry her." Jeongguk said with confidence. He was looking at your father as if he was ready to knock him down.

"Jeongguk," his mother called softly. She was crying. She was broken. She was ashamed. She was sorry.

"It's alright, mom." The look Jeongguk gave his mother was the opposite of the glare he threw at your father.

Jeongguk was a sweet boy. He loved his parents so much.

"Shall we talk about the wedding, then?" Your father raised a brow.

Everything happened fast after that. Your family and Jeongguk's parents arranged the matrimony that was about to happen.

The Jeons offered to pay for the wedding expenses. Your family agreed. They didn't really care about the details. They only demanded a church wedding. They also wanted to marry you off as soon as possible.

They said it would be a shame if your baby bump appeared before the white event.

Since the preparation was short, you didn't have a choice but to wear a simple dress. Your mother insisted that you add veil as an accessory.

It was a hypocritical move, really. Veils symbolized innocence and purity.

You were neither.

You were a sinner and guilt was consuming your whole being.

Guilt for disappointing your family.

Guilt for breaking your promise to the Lord.

And guilt for taking something away from Jeongguk.

You took his freedom away.

The small apartment where you two now lived was not enough to showcase what he got. This abode was small, suffocating and confining his talents.

It was also too small to cater your unending tears.

You felt like you were drowning.

"Babe..." Your husband whispered, yet his voice still startled you.

You didn't answer—didn't have the energy to do so. You were drowning, remember? It didn't help that you feel suffocated too. The stupid dress you were wearing was too tight.

"You okay?" Jeongguk enquired, sighing.

He was worried about you. The two of you got married today. It was supposed to be one of the happiest days for brides, but why weren't you happy?

Why did you look...dejected?

"Yeah," you tried to offer him a smile. "I just feel hot."

You weren't lying. You didn't like the ambiance of your house. It felt like a vacation place, like you were a stranger, like you didn't belong.

It was because your mother and sisters were the ones who decorated this place.

"You think you can join me outside?" Your husband rubbed circled on your palm. "Let's have some fresh air?"

You nodded in a heartbeat.

You were tired, but you didn't want to be stuck in this room. You wanted...out.

"Okay.” Jeongguk helped you get on your feet. He was acting as though you were an expensive figurine ever since he learned that you were pregnant.

Your husband led you to the small garden of your home. You didn't know that your family decided to buy a place like this.

You were grateful though. The inside of your home was suffocating, but the garden appeared...magical.

"Jeongguk," your eyes widened in shock. "W-What's all this?"

Your hand was shaking as your eyes scanned the garden. There were fairy lights wrapped around the trees. The place was also decorated with different ornaments and pretty flowers.

Your favorite flowers.

"Do you like it?" Your husband was grinning at you. His eyes were shining brighter than the lights.

"Of course," you cupped his cheeks. "This is sweet, Kookie. Thank you.”

"Anything for you," he brought your hands closer to his mouth, kissing it.

"You deserve everything, baby." And with that, Jeongguk dropped on one knee.

"W-What are you doing!?" You panicked, eyes dilating once again.

"I know everything happened so fast." He started, licking his bottom lip. "We didn't have time to process everything. Our family decided what they think is good for us and trust me, I appreciate it."

You knew he was implying that he wanted this to happen.

"But I want to do something that I want.” He fished a small box out of the pocket of his slacks.

You gasped.

"They told me to marry you." He opened the velvet box.

There was a ring.

"But they didn't give me the chance to do this," he raised the ring in the air.

"Baby," Jeongguk called, looking at your face with so much fondness. "You deserve a better proposal."

You were sobbing.

"You deserve a man dropping down on one knee. A man who will show you that he is serious about this marriage.”

He took your left hand.

"And I want to be that man. I want to be the man you deserved and not the boy your father coerced,"

You laughed, heart hammering through your chest. Jeongguk was so beautiful.

"I love you..." He confessed as he called your name. "Will you marry me?"

The yes that came out of your mouth was instant. You didn't hesitate. You didn't feel guilty. You just felt....happy.

Jeongguk put the ring on your finger. He kissed your stomach before standing up to crash his lips against yours.

Jeongguk no longer tasted like regret.

He tasted like forever.

Forever...

You swore you would stay with him forever. You felt silly for doubting him.

Jeongguk was a good man.

Your house no longer felt suffocating. It was loaded with love and laughter and it made your heart swell with joy.

Your family didn't bother your life anymore. You were on your own. They stopped supporting you. They said you made a choice—a choice to be a mother.

A mother was a provider, a natural giver.

You provided for your new family. You worked harder. You had two jobs: a waitress and elementary tutor.

Jeongguk continued studying. He was a student in the morning and a delivery boy at night.

You two worked in the same restaurant. Jeongguk tried to cover your shift as much as possible. He was basically doing your job.

He was scared. What if you overworked yourself? He didn't want you to work but you said you had to.

Raising a baby was expensive.

But you did it.

Haneul was turning one year old this month. He was a bright kid and he looked exactly like his father. They had the same brown eyes, so innocent and wide.

You knew you would do anything for your baby—well—except for one.

You wouldn't buy this stuffed toy for him. It's not like you didn't want to. It was more like you couldn't.

You couldn't afford it.

You couldn't, but Jeongguk could.

"Let's buy it...” He repeated. "I have money. I worked overtime last night.”

Your husband was still a delivery boy. You, on the other hand, quit your job so that you could look after your baby.

"Are you sure? This is expensive, Kook." You bit your lower lip.

Jeongguk smiled at you.

"But Haneul will like it.”

His reason was enough for you to just give in.

Of course.

Anything for your little Jeon. You would die for your son.

"Haneul, we're home!" You cooed loudly.

You were excited to see your baby. Jeongguk told you to give Haneul the stuffed toy while he go and express his gratitude to your neighbor for looking after baby Haneul.

Little did you know, Jeongguk was lying.

There was no neighbor to talk to.

It was only an excuse so that he could stare at you through the window as you rocked the empty crib in your room.

You were singing.

"You are the sunlight that rose again in my life..." Your voice was sweet that Jeongguk couldn't help but cry a little.

For you, Haneul was light. He shed light when you felt like giving up.

"You are the cause of my euphoria," your child was also the cause of your happiness.

Without him, you would be lost.

Jeongguk knew it.

Haneul.

This was the name you chose for your kid. It meant heaven.

For you, Haneul was God sent.

But Jeongguk was wondering.

If Haneul was God sent, then why did the Lord take him immediately?

Why did your Lord take him away from you and Jeongguk?

"Close the door now..." You continued to sing.

Jeongguk's heart clenched.

He watched you every day, so he already knew the next line of the song.

He sang with you.

"When I'm with you I'm in utopia..."

Utopia was a special place. A fantasy world. A world where everything was possible.

In Utopia, Haneul was still alive.

Jeongguk wasn't crazy.

He knew you needed help.

You were in denial. Too caught up in fantasy that you refused to believe that your son was already dead the moment he was born.

Haneul died in your womb.

He tried telling you, but you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You became hysterical when the words dead and Haneul were mentioned in the same sentence.

Jeongguk avoided using those words. It had been months now, almost a year actually.

He wondered if he could still continue pretending.

Looking at you hurt.

He guessed it was time to let go.

Not now, but soon.

For today, he just wanted to believe that utopia was real.

It should be fine, right?

more JJK FICS: Your Eyes Tell or check Masterlist

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #husband jungkook #boyfriend jungkook

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it-was-summer · 3 years

Text

Video Killed The Radio Star- Chapter 4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Happy new year! Please remember that most of these chapters are very sensitive to some readers and to be safe with this new year upon us! Another reminder that if you ever feel helpless, you are not alone and you are loved. Love you all- Em <3

Warnings: Sex talk, infidelity, blood, disturbing material, loss of a child, and suicide.

Plot: We take a small look into Heather’s past and the events leading up to her obsession. The team seems to be missing a piece of the puzzle. Adeline comes back to the station.

Word Count: 2.9K

Four years prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had thinned out since she dropped out of college, to achieve so she had fallen victim to eating disorders. They were horrible, but they did tremendous work. She didn’t necessarily like herself per se, but she did like how she looked, even if sometimes she would look into the mirror and think “Is that me?”

Heather deleted the old version of herself and became more social. She had friends, she went to parties, she even went to bars. The bars were what bothered her the most, maybe it was the Catholic guilt building up, it could also be the fact that she was using a fake i.d. She always hated lying, it made her stomach twist into nervous knots. Tonight, she decided, would be fun. She wouldn’t throw up after eating, she wouldn’t feel guilty for having fun, instead, she would simply have a good time with her friends.

Yes, a good time is what she needed. It was around the start of the new year when Heather, privately, declared that she didn’t have to be so miserable. She deserved to do something fun, at least for tonight. In her attempt at happiness, she dressed in a casual black dress that hugged her body in a way that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable.

Heather could play the social butterfly, but in reality, she was a wallflower. Her friends had yet to arrive so she stayed up against one of the walls of the bar, silently begging that they wouldn’t arrive too late. That’s when David approached her. David was beautiful, to say the least, with dark skin, a defined body, the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen, and to top it all off he was a man in uniform. Even Heather, in all of her innocence, found him irresistible.

Like a shot, Heather and David got married. Heather kept her last name and thanks to their marriage, David got some time off, he could be there to help pick out their new house. It all felt so fast, Heather was happy, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Heather got a good two months with her husband before he off to England.

A year later when David came home, he was more distant, he didn’t want to be there. At first, Heather tried to keep him home with sex. They had sex almost everywhere, like animals. Then he started to go out, with some of their mutual friends. He would go out every night and stay out till six in the morning. Heather felt desperately lost, love slipping through her fingers, and she was hopelessly devoted to a man who was slowly falling out of love with her.

David would still have sex with her, but once he was done he would get up and leave. He always said he had somewhere to be, had work to do, but she knew that he was done with her. Well, done with her until she announced that she was pregnant. Then suddenly he was there again. He stayed in their bed at night and he cared about her.

Six months was coming around when Heather shot up in bed one night, her body in unbearable pain. The couple drove to the hospital as fast as they could, but by the time they got there it was too late, and that’s when the rest started to fall apart. David didn’t start to pull away till a couple of months later, six to be exact, and then he was on his way to Japan.

That’s when it all started, she would read anything romantic she could find. Her library consisted only of romance, sappy as it seemed. She was able to escape into a world where a man could simply love a woman, most adherently. What made her break was when David called a month before their fourth anniversary saying that when he came home he wanted a divorce and that he had met someone else.

That’s when she started seeing Y/N.

***

Present-day- March 9, 20XX

You woke up with the taste of blood in your mouth, not needing a mirror to know that the cut on your lip had broken open more in your sleep. Your tongue slid out of your mouth, licking away the blood in one swift motion. For almost two days now, morphine and blood was your diet. The only thing filtering through your veins.

You didn’t mind at this point, you were close enough to the edge of the bed that you could grab the morphine drip, you turned the nobs to make your intake high enough to feel numb. The drug was currently letting you forget, letting you forget how many times Heather kissed you, letting you forget all the assault that had been inflicted on you in the past few days.

Your head was pounding as your eyes looked around the pink room, the light making you slightly nauseous. You frowned as a tiny thought came into your brain, would this ruin all romantic endeavors for you? Would you ever be able to feel comfortable with someone seeing you naked? Would it be alright if they saw the word ‘Slut’ on your chest? You were about to bite your lip, in a lame attempt to keep yourself from crying before you remembered the cut, and you were reduced to crying silent tears as you stared up at the ceiling, trying your best to let the feeling of numbness wash over you.

Heather was downstairs, in her forest green kitchen, washing the blood off the paring knife. Rational thoughts were finally coming to her as she began to think about the seriousness of her situation. She needed a safe out. If she ran away or killed you it would mean she would have to spend an even longer time in prison. A life spent behind bars, knowing that no one would be missing her. What a painfully sad existence she lived, she thought before she started to sob over the running sink.

She remembered what she said yesterday, about how she would kill herself and you if they ever found the two of you, but that outcome was becoming more of a reality to her now. Did she have to kill Catherine? All she wanted was for you to love her, for the two of you to love each other. She tried to follow the path of normal people, the path of falling in love with someone naturally instead of kidnapping them. She had already done the marriage thing and look where that got her, she was a childless, psychopathic, soon-to-be divorcee.

No, she couldn’t spend the rest of her miserable life in prison, it had to be the latter. Heather dropped the knife into the sink, walking away towards one of the kitchen drawers to pull out a handgun, her husband was in the military, of course, he taught her how to use a gun. She put the gun on the kitchen counter, walking out to the living room to turn on the news. After all, she didn’t have to end it all if they weren’t onto her yet.

***

The profile was on pause, and they had yet to share it. Hotch was staring at photos of Y/N, Adeline Smith, and Heather Alexander, all three went to the same college, lived in the same building, and on the same floor. They all knew each other, all three of them seemed to be friends. Garcia had managed to contact some other girls that lived on that same floor. They knew you and Adeline but didn’t have much to say about Heather.

Spencer took a tiny sip of his coffee, trying to ignore how bad it tasted, as he stared at the photos with Hotch. Y/N was an English major, Adeline was psychology, and Heather was a theater major before she dropped out. He found that strange being as she was a florist now.

Derek let out a sigh, feeling especially restless on this case. He kept saying that he wanted to find you as soon as possible, Garcia jokingly told him that you probably weren’t going to tell him he had nice arms in real life, but the real reason he wanted to find you was because of your last video. It stuck with him, it stuck with all of them, your desperate plea to be found. The one it was effecting the most was Spencer.

During their car rides together, Spencer had shared that he felt they were all being deceived. He said he felt like the person was right under their noses, and yet they were just focusing too much on one thing instead of the other. After that, he combed through the evidence once again, searching for something else. Something that he could have missed, which seemed impossible, but nothing was impossible.

“So, a woman in her mid-twenties that knew Y/N since college and works in the city. Oh, and she’s a beautiful brunette.” Prentiss said with a small cold laugh.

“Let’s not forget that she has a passion for romance novels, especially the classics,” Rossi added as he came to stand with the other members of his team.

A small knock at the door made all of them turn their heads towards the door, looking strangely familiar to a pack of animals. The sheriff stood in the frame of the door as she pointed behind her “There’s an Adeline Smith here, talking about Y/N L/N.” she said simply as Spencer and Emily slipped past her and headed towards Adeline.

“Agent Prentiss,” Adeline said softly with a nervous smile “I was thinking about earlier today when you were interrogating me and I thought about something strange.”

“Strange,” Spencer repeated “How so?”

Spencer and Emily were already leading her back to the conference room they were set up in, offering her a seat before she answered Spencer’s question “Well, I just remembered somethings that Heather did.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat softly, eyes looking around at the team slowly surround her “, She always acted differently around Y/N, she would never say it out loud but she hated it when I was there, you could see it in her eyes.”

Derek set a cup of coffee down for Adeline, she grabbed it as soon as it hit the table, taking a sip to calm her nerves. “She wanted Y/N all to herself, I get that with like a best friend but I was closer to Y/N than she was, so it was just strange.” Hotch frowned as they all shared one single thought, just because Heather Alexander had an unhealthy attachment to Y/N L/N didn’t mean that she was their unsub. Adeline gently gasped and straightened in her chair “I just remembered something!”

“It was around Halloween and the three of us got invited to this party and Y/N, being Y/N, decided she wanted to go as Catherine Earnshaw from Wuthering Heights or something and I told her it was stupid and that no one would get it, but she was pretty determined. Then one night, Heather heard that and she was all excited to be Heathcliff, said that Y/N would be her Catherine Earnshaw, said that she made a perfect Catherine Earnshaw. That never really sat right with me, that’s when I started to think that Heather was a little in love with Y/N, but then she dropped out.”

It clicked then, that their Unsub was Heather Alexander. It made sense, the copies of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, Heather thought of Y/N as her lover, Heather was Heathcliff, she was Mr. Rochester, she believed that Y/N’s purpose was to love her. Spencer was already walking out with Derek before Emily could thank Adeline for coming in. The rest of the team following quickly behind.

***

Heather had her back towards the television, leaning against the back of her living room couch staring out the window. Nothing was coming onto the news and nothing was happening out of the street. Heather could feel guilt eating away at her consciousness, she had snapped earlier when you refused to let her show you her love. You had yet to do that, you were so good, she loved her Catherine. She felt tiny tears rise to the surface, letting them fall as she moved away from the couch, grabbing the gun from the counter, and heading upstairs.

You were frozen on the bed, feeling like you were suffocating as Heather came back into the room. Sometimes she looked so normal, sometimes she looked like she was hurting, suffering from something. Your eyes were locked onto her as she shuffled awkwardly into the room, reminding you of how she used to act in college. Her eyes weren’t staying on you, they seemed to look around the room in a nervous haze. “Catherine,” she said in a tearful voice “I’m sorry.” she apologized, and as soon as she did her eyes locked onto yours.

You felt such pity for her in an instantaneous second, but that emotion was fleeting as you stared up at her. You could never forgive her for what she had done to you, as much as you would like to try to. You would love to be righteous, but you could only feel anger at the moment. She looked down at you, waiting for an answer, waiting for forgiveness. You silently decided that she would have to wait forever, she would have to wait until she held a gun to your head, only then would you forgive her, simply because you didn’t want to die.

You broke eye contact with her, looking around the room as she started to cry over the side of the bed, suddenly noticing that the door was slightly open. You peeled your eyes away from it quickly, afraid that if she followed your gaze she would notice and shut the door.

You were currently trying to move your arm, the morphine making it more difficult than it should have been. When you were finally able to lift your arm, you weakly grabbed Heather’s arm, your hand slipping slowly down her arm. Heather’s tears slowed as she watched your struggling attempt to touch her. She smiled when you did, taking it as a sign of forgiveness. Heather suddenly felt lighter, she slumped over the side of the bed with a heavy sigh. She was about to speak when pounding at the front door interrupted her train of thought.

Her head turned quickly to look over her shoulder, letting out a tiny curse as she ran over to shut the door, locking it from the outside, as the front door was broken down. Heather returned to the bed, grabbing the morphine drip, and yanked the wire out of your vein. You couldn’t feel it yet, but you were sure that soon you would.

Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you realized what was happening. The police were here, the FBI was here, your videos had worked. You didn’t think that they would work, that they would be helpful, you couldn’t believe that the police had called the BAU here, just because you said you wanted them to work your case.

The adrenaline was working quickly, you sat up cautiously, swaying slightly. Heather was hyperventilating now, hand on her chest as she tried to calm down and think. She looked back at Catherine sitting up on the bed, eyes wide. Were you scared? Heather let out a shaky sigh, reaching behind her to pull out the gun she had been hiding under her shirt. Your eyes looked at the gun in her hand before shifting to look into her eyes quickly “Heather,” you started, scooting away from her on the bed. “Heather, you know you don’t have to do this. The police, if you kill me, the police will-”

“You don’t think I know what the police will do? I have to kill you and then I have to kill myself.” her hands were shaking as she held the gun towards you. There was pounding on the door. You felt tears fill your eyes, cheeks becoming red as you began to beg for your life.

“Please don’t do this, we can get out of this together. You don’t have to do this, Heather!” She flinched when you said her name, another pound at the door.

Her eyes were wide as she stole a look over at the door, it was rattling and the two of you could hear voices on the other side. She turned back to look at you, biting her lip as she cried, hands dropping. You didn’t say anything, shaking with anxiety as she lifted the gun up to her chin, smiling sweetly at you. “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

“Heather, please, listen to me! Please, you don’t have to do this!”

“Goodbye, Catherine.” she finished as she pulled the trigger, gun-shot ringing throughout the house. Your ears were ringing as you let out a blood-curdling scream, watching Heather’s head explode in front of you, then the door came down.

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

Conversation

RP meme from the movie “Dogma”

“I’m as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll.”

“May I continue uninterrupted?”

“Mention something from a Charlton Heston movie and suddenly everyone’s a theology scholar!”

“Read that book again sometime. Women are painted as bigger antagonists than the Egyptians and Romans combined. It stinks.”

“So you were an artist? Big deal.”

“That’s why he’s the King, and you’re a schmuck.”

“ I repeat; this is not a drill. This is the Apocalypse. ”

“ We call this piece "The Fecalator.” One look at it and your target shits him or herself.“

” I just love to fuck with the clergy, man, I just love it.“

"Let’s kill people.”

“Ah, Sweet Jesus! Did you have to use the whole can?!”

“Or you’ll do what exactly? Hit me with that…fish?”

“Honestly, you bottom feeders and your arrogance, you think everybody’s just trying to get in your knickers.”

“Do you go around drenching everybody that comes into your room with flame-retardant chemicals?”

“I am to charge you with a holy crusade.”

“What’s the fine print?”

“I hate when people need it spelled out for them!”

“We’re here to pick up chicks.”

“Well, it’s a lot more compact than the flaming sword, but it’s not nearly as impressive.”

“How am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked with this thing? ”

“What work did you do? You lit a few fires.”

“Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, outside of soccer.”

“You’re a man of principle.”

“We figure an abortion clinic’s a good place to meet loose women.”

“You’ll offer us sex as a reward?”

“Fucking Breakfast Club; all these stupid kids actually show up for detention.”

“Movies are fucking bullshit.”

“This is gonna sound really bad. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this, but…”

"Someone told me I’d meet you and you’d take me some place I was suppose to go.”

“I feel like Han Solo, you’re Chewie, and she’s Ben Kenobi and we’re in that fucked up bar!”

“She’s the slut. Booong!”

“All right, well lets say we’re caught in a situation where we have like five minutes left to live. I don’t know, a bomb or something’s gonna go off; would you fuck us then?”

“Tell me something nobody knows.”

“When you do it, you’re thinking about guys.”

“Wars, bigotry, televangelism.”

“You’re saying having beliefs is a bad thing?”

“My eyes are open. For the first time, I get it.”

“Ours was designed to be a life of servitude and worship, and bowing and scraping and adoration.”

“You know, all I’m saying is that maybe one of us needs a little nap…”

“I think we may have to dispatch our would-be dispatchers.”

“See, don’t let your sympathies get the best of you. They did me, once. ”

“I’ve heard a rant like this before.”

“I have seen what happens to the proud when they take on the throne. ”

“Would you - could you - have believed me? You had to come to it gradually. Only now, after all you’ve seen, could you accept the truth.”

“I don’t want this. It’s too big.”

“It’s unfair! It’s unfair to ask a child to shoulder that responsibility, and it’s unfair to ask you to do the same.”

“I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t. This is who you are.”

“Everything I am is a lie.”

“No one can take that away from you, not even God. ”

“I guess this means no more cheating on my taxes.”

“Come on, demon, I wanna see you try that shit on someone who’s already dead!”

“And the pawns are moving into place as we speak…”

“But then your kind came along, and made it so much worse.”

“But true to his irresponsible nature, man won’t own up to being its engineer, so he blames his dark deeds on my ilk!”

“I’d rather not exist than go back to that…and if everyone has to go down with me, so be it.”

“The whole fucking world’s against us, dude, I swear to God. ”

“If I had a dick, I’d go get laid.”

“I think that God is dead.”

“I can’t wait to die.”

“Do you know what makes a human being decent? Fear.”

“I’m responsible for nineteen of the twenty top-grossing films of all time.”

“The humans have besmirched everything bestowed on them.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we went home?”

“No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.”

“What the fuck is this shit? Who the fuck are you, lady? Why the fuck did you hug my head? ”

“What the fuck is this, The Piano? Why ain’t this broad talking?”

“You of anyone should know that tits don’t make a woman.”

“But I’m a fuckin’ demon.”

“Guys like us just don’t fall out of the fucking sky, you know.”

“Beautiful, naked, big-titted women just don’t fall out of the sky, you know.”

“You’re Catholic, can’t you talk to them?”

“Consequences schmonsequences.”

“Snootch to the motherfuckin’ nootch!”

“Let it never be said that your anal-retentive attention to detail never yielded positive results.”

“You can’t be anal-retentive if you don’t have an anus. ”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been judged guilty of sinning against our almighty God, and I promise you, you shall pay for your trespasses, in blood!”

“I’m feeling a little exposed here…”

“Wings, now!”

“I know they were just kids, but we kicked their fucken pube-less asses!”

“Anyone who isn’t dead or from another plane of existence would do well to cover their ears right about now.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“I’m telling you, man, this ceremony is a big mistake.”

“Go back to your paper routes, you Mighty Duck fucks.”

“Very basic strategy. If your enemies know where you are, then don’t be there.”

“Your continued existence is a mockery of morality.”

“You’re his father, you sick fuck.”

“You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life.”

“You have more skeletons in your closet than the rest of this assembled party. I cannot even mention them aloud.”

“You’re awfully nude.”

“You know, maybe you’re wrong about this slaughter thing.”

“The major sins never change.”

“What, are you insinuating that I don’t have what it takes anymore?”

“Get me a… Holy Bartender.”

“Not born. SHIT into existence.”

“I can take anyone I meet and give a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can’t keep any for myself.”

“I have issues with anyone who treats God as a burden instead of a blessing.”

“You people don’t celebrate your faith; you mourn it.”

“Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains got to wake up.”

“You were martyred?”

“I can’t believe we forgot about the magazine.”

“Smoke that motherfucker like it ain’t no thang!”

“NOBODY IS FUCKING ME! YOU GOT THAT!?”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m going to yank your sack off like a paper towel.”

“Your hard-on for smiting has prevented us from negotiating what should be the relatively simple matter of catching or staying on a bus.”

“Well, I say we get drunk, because I’m all out of ideas.”

“Oh no, I’ve seen way too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal all the details of your plan, no matter how close you may think you are to winning.”

“You’re looking at eons of repression getting purged.”

“If only they’d let us jerk off.”

“Quit killing people, that’s high profile.”

“So do you do anal? Is it true that chicks fart if you blast ‘em in the ass?”

“The man was right about you. And I am going to go home and tell him so.”

“Quit leering at me. People are gonna think I just broke up with you.”

“You know, I hear pregnant women can have sex until their third trimester.”

“You’re a pure soul… but you didn’t say "God bless you” when I sneezed.“

"Holy shit, it’s the Pope!”

“Ever the fucking apple polisher!”

“Hey Big Bird! Wanna play the Counting Game? Count the shells, Sucker Duck!”

“Snoogans.”

“So this is all about revenge.”

“After the first couple million years, escape from hell became my all consuming reason.”

“You mean, I’m pregnant?”

“You think someone threw him out of a plane with a message written on him like in Con Air? You ever see that flick?”

“It’s the living dead! Kill it! Kill it!”

“Wait a second! Between guys with wings, guys falling out of the sky, and guys trying like hell to fuck me, I think I’ve been pretty patient so far, and I’m not taking another step until you tell me where the hell you came from!”

“I came from Heaven.”

“Is this why I had to come down here this morning, man? Is this why I had to miss my fucking cartoons?”

“Let me give you a little inside information about God.”

“People die for it, people kill for it.”

“His piece will be rubbing inside of your armor!”

“You know ,death is a worry of the living. The dead like myself only worry about decay and necrophiliacs.”

“I told them I was coming up on a routine possession.”

“'Makin’ with the love.’ It’s a nice way of saying boning.”

“Do I come off as gay?”

“I got half a stock when she kissed me.”

“I hope you’re the skeeball type.”

“Bow down, stupid!”

“It never ends!”

“What the fuck happened to that guy’s head?!”

“She’s a clever girl, that one.”

“You ready to make some of those changes I’ve been talking about?”

“One of the drawbacks to being a martyr is that you have to die.”

“All is being taken care of.”

“Why are we here?”

*touches nose and makes funny noise*

“I told you she was a woman.”

“She’s not really a woman. She’s not really anything.”

“She’s something alright.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“Crisis of faith over?”

“Why don’t you name the kid after me?”

“We’re in Mexico?”

“I couldn’t help it, the bitch was hot!”

“You know, you can’t talk to me like that anymore, I’m gonna be somebody’s mother.”

“Yo, we should go to Quick Stop.”

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #dogma

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phykios · 3 years

Text

the marble king, part 8 [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Percy wakes to the feeling of a blonde curl in his mouth, and though the taste is unpleasant, he still smiles.

Spitting it out of his mouth, he turns on his side to better face his wife, and grasps at her, but not before pausing to rub at her glowing belly. "Good morning, my love," he says, voice still rough with sleep.

Softly, serenely, she flutters her eyes open, revealing the stunning stormcloud which he so adores. "Good morning, my husband," Annabeth replies, her returning smile, while small, still bright enough to light up the entire North on its own, the Bifrost distilled in her joy.

Though he has just woken up, he feels a bit restless, but the threat of the freezing air outside of the warm blankets stops him from rising from his bed. Additionally, Annabeth has slung her arm around his side and pulled him close, and he cannot bear to be parted from her. Oh, how he loves the feeling of his wife laying next to him.

The blankets securely wrapped around him, he turns further into her, leaning over and kissing her, long and hard and deep as possible.

"Darling," she murmurs against his lips, "you know I am already with child, yes? You cannot make me pregnant again at the moment."

"Oh, I am aware," he says, caressing the swell of her stomach. "I can imagine a hundred reasons to kiss you," he kisses her lips, "to touch you," he traces the bones of her clavicle, enjoying as she shivers in response, "to make love to you, that have nothing to do with making children."

She giggles, a sweet, chiming bell, a sound which puts him in mind of the carefree girl she was never able to be, but one that he dreamed they have created together.

Out of the warmth, he reaches up his hand, brushing her hair out of her face. Normally covered, as is appropriate of a woman wed, her hair lies wild against her pillow. He strokes the soft locks and imagines their child, their little girl, all blonde curls and brilliance.

"What is on your mind, phykios ?" Anja asks.

"You," he says. "Our child. Our life. How happy I am, and how much I love you, how much I love this."

"Even in the frozen wasteland of Svealand?" she teases, her lips curling.

"Even here," he promises. "Anywhere you are, that is where I wish to be."

However, rather than reward him with another kiss, as is her wont, she frowns. "Do you smell that?"

"It is merely the fire," he comments, though when he casts a glance towards the hearth, he sees that it is cold and empty. How strange; typically one of the servants will come in and make it up each morning before they awake.

He strains his ears, attempting to catch the subtle sounds of the house as it wakes up around them. The floor creaks, the walls shift, and everything feels foggy, as though their bed has somehow sailed out into the morning sea. It all seems so close, closer than it should be, closed off in his own world with Anja.

And what is that blasted scratching?

He awoke with a start, sitting up just in time to see the blaze of the fire going up.

The maid, a woman a few years younger than him with bright, bright hair, jumped as he moved, startled.

She murmured something that he did not quite understand, but recognized as an apology. "It is alright," he said as best he could manage, the syllables of Swedish not fitting so well inside of his mouth. Alejandra had laughed at his accent the other day, but at least she was kind enough to attempt to teach him some of this strange northern tongue so he could not be so abominably rude. Annabeth--Ana Zab--Anja Elisab--whoever--had either been unable or unwilling to spare the time to assist him, and nor had her father. Alejandra was then the only other person in the manor with whom he shared a language.

He had thought it to be a trio of Latin speakers; himself, Lord Magnus' wife Doña Alejandra, and her brother, the similarly named Don Alejandro, who had both studied Latin as youths, and if their Latin failed them, Spanish itself was not so different from Italian that the two could not understand each other when spoken slowly. Percy had been terribly embarrassed that it had taken him near on six weeks in the household to put together the fact that Alejandra and Alejandro were, in fact, the same person, a Norse demigod with shapeshifting powers that could rival even Franko's. As she had explained it to him, at times she lived as a woman, and at others he lived as a man, but still remained the same person within, and Magnus not only knew, but considered it no significant difficulty. For Percy, who had seen a cow with the tail of a fish, this was not so strange.

The maid scurried away, leaving the fire to try its best to warm the frigid room.

It was freezing. It was always freezing here.

Percy, a man of the warm middle sea, was decidedly not pleased by this constant chill.

His room was well appointed, the best guest room in the manor--a Swedish monarch, Kristoffer av Bayern , himself had once slept here, as Fredrik had told him. A servant came in to tend the fire, another came in to clean. It was, short of a god's palace, perhaps the most luxurious place he had ever rested his head. Fredrik and Magnus graciously provided him with warm clothing, finer than anything he'd left behind in Constantinople. Despite the winter, food was plentiful, and he joined the noble family for every meal.

One would argue that, as an honored guest in a noble household, his every comfort seen to, surely that would have made for a happier time than trekking through the Labyrinth, or facing a Cyclops, or holding the sky, no? And yet, he was not sure if he'd ever been more miserable in his life.

He was cold and lonely and cold. He dressed as warmly as he could, in several more layers than anyone else, and still he shivered. Fredrik spoke Greek, but he had much to attend to around the manor, and spent the bulk of his free time reacquainting his daughter with the goings-on and politics of the North.

At least Annabeth was settling in well. It was hard to deny how well she fit the bitter climate. She looked beautiful against the snow and the dark wood, wrapped in fine furs. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, her blonde curls sneaking out below caps and shawls, her pale skin glowing in the warm firelight, all lovely.

She no longer resembled the legendary Theotokos, but she seemed happier than she had been in months.

Dressed in lovely garments, rich fabrics of green and red and blue, she walked through the halls of her family with her head held high, as though it were her very own palace. She was a noble lady, come home after a long, torturous absence. A princess.

It suited her.

Annabeth would have made a wonderful lady of the house--shoring up the family and all that. The marital politics of aristocrats somewhat escaped him, but it seemed the sort of thing that they would do, marrying your beautiful, intelligent cousin in order to keep your lands and titles more firmly within the family.

He knew that Magnus loved his wife, and that marrying a foreign woman had caused some local controversy, even without the general knowledge of Alejandra's alternate days as Alejandro. She had told him herself, too, that just as Percy and Annabeth had gone on a great many adventures together, so had Magnus and his partner, along that rainbow bridge that Percy could only barely see. But when he saw the cousins together, so alike in their appearance, so clearly happy to be reunited, Percy could not help but wonder if Magnus regretted his marriage at all.

Percy almost felt guilty to think of it, and not only because Alejandra was his only true friend he had here. He would never dream of disrupting their marriage. But he did not know how anyone, presented with the missed opportunity of Annabeth, could not regret his choices.

Lukas had died for that regret.

He wondered what his own regret would be, once he left this place, once he left Annabeth.

Shivering as he left his very comfortable bed, he decided to take one of the rugs with him, keeping it wrapped around him as he got dressed for the day as he did each day, feeling foolish with every layer he added. His daily routines were sparse, spending his days puttering round the manor, alternately avoiding and being avoided by the denizens of the house. He could not even go down to the lake and sit by the water, as it was simply far too cold. At the very least, none of the family had made a move to have him removed; on the contrary, he'd been informed that, in the winter, such a trip could prove to be fatal. But one day Spring would return, and he would not stay in the best guest bedroom of Annabeth's cousin's house forever.

He shuddered again as he stepped into the hall. Malaka , but he hated it here. But Annabeth was here, and he found he did not wish to be anywhere else.

It had been well over two months by now, and Percy at least knew his way to the dining hall, where the mid-day meal was served each day. As he set off, he tried to time his shivers to only when he was alone, when no other member of the household, born and bred in this bitter, bitter cold, could judge the strange foreign man who had, perhaps, outstayed his welcome.

Annabeth and Magnus were already seated at the table when he arrived, and she cast him a smile as he entered and sat down beside her. He nodded, smiling in return, feeling warm from the inside out.

Then the cousins resumed their conversation, which was quite beyond his comprehension.

Frowning, Percy took some salted fish onto his plate, and ate in silence, as he had no other option.

Alejandro arrived a few minutes after Percy, a man today, judging by his clothing and his own statement. At the very least, he had the good manners to speak to Percy over his bread.

"You are of the Eastern rites, yes?" he was saying. "Soon you shall experience a proper Catholic Christmas."

"It is much too early for Christmas, is it not?" Percy asked, frowning. Had he missed the turning of the year already? He had not thought he was so unaware of the passage of time that he had missed December entirely.

Annabeth and Magnus both frowned at them as though they spoke in secret code, as Annabeth's Latin was less than passable, and Magnus' nonexistent. Given that everyone around Percy was constantly speaking a tongue he could not understand, he did not find himself with much sympathy to spare.

"St. Lucy's feast is but three days away," Alejandra said, "and then the Christmas month shall begin."

At Percy's confused expression, he laughed; it was not exactly kind, but Percy had come to learn that the relentless teasing was how Alejandro demonstrated friendship.

He turned to Magnus, perhaps translating for his husband, and Annabeth responded in Swedish, her face contemplative. Then Alejandro said something presumably quite amusing, for they all burst into peals of laughter. Annabeth's laugh was musical, as always, bright and sparkling as a bell.

He wished he knew what the joke had been.

Shoving a slice of bread in his mouth, he prayed that it would hide the disappointment on his face from being cut out again.

"Anja," Alejandro explained, "had mentioned that the last time she had been present for St. Lucy's day, she had dressed up as the saint herself--I then volunteered to assume the role of a small, blonde girl, if no other one could be located in time."

Percy smiled, partly in thanks, but it was not the same. He had no idea what St. Lucy's day was supposed to involve, nor why Annabeth had costumed herself so, nor how it was somehow already time for Christmas--and he was not about to ask his present company.

After the meal, he and Alejandro went down to the manor's stables, as they often did. "You know," he said, as they walked across the frozen ground, "I have a half-brother who is a horse."

"I as well," Percy replied. "Two, actually, I believe."

Small talk for demigods was always something of a unique experience, and this cross-pantheon relation-building was particularly interesting. Loki could also cause earthquakes, as Percy discovered. He was glad he had found a kindred spirit, even all the way up here.

The horses were quite nice, but Percy was distracted somewhat by a group of young stablehands who simultaneously politely ignored them, while hanging on their every word and gesture from around the corners.

"What game do you think they are playing?" asked Percy absently, though whether to the horses or to Alejandro, he was not sure.

"They are watching you, my friend," Alejandro said. "They are all desperate for a glimpse, for a juicy slice of gossip to share with their friends."

Percy made a face. "Whatever for? I am not that interesting."

Laughing, Alejandro clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, you've arrived from far away, and that is plenty interesting on its own. When I arrived with Magnus, I was stared at and gawked over for months, and no one believed I was the heir to a fallen empire."

It took Percy several moments to fully understand the extent of Alejandro's implication.

"Do people truly believe that I have some claim to the throne of Constantinople?" Such a fantasy was--laughable, at very best. "Everyone thinks so?"

"No, not everyone," Alejandro grinned. "I know perfectly well that, son of a god or not, the heir apparent of an empire could not have escaped half as well as you did." Then he paused, looking Percy up and down in a manner that felt not entirely unlike an appraisal. "But merely a minor prince, well..." Alejandro trailed off, raising an eyebrow in question.

Ruthlessly he quashed the bubbling, hysterical laughter that threatened its way up from his stomach. Someone as cunning and well-traveled as Alejandro, someone who'd spent so much time with him, thought him to be a porphyrogenitus? "That's ridiculous," he said, for it was one of the silliest things he had ever heard.

Alejandro's face fell. "No, do not say such things," he complained. "I so wanted to be right. Magnus had insisted you were merely a boring old nobleman, and I would hate to lose the bet."

Percy swallowed, suddenly overcome with anxiety over what Annabeth may have told her family about him. They knew he was a demigod of the Hellenes, of course, but perhaps she had obscured certain facts about his mortal life.

No, not perhaps. Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter, whose family had played host to the king of Sweden in their ancient manor, she could not imply that her traveling companion was only a fisherman turned foot soldier in a failed army. What might that say about her, or her reputation?

"Well, I would hate to cause marital strife by proving anyone correct," he said with a painful smile, holding his tongue. Surely, if Annabeth had chosen not to share such information, she had had a reason, and he would not make her out to be a liar, not to her own family.

Eventually, he was able to get a straight answer regarding the Christmas season. The western Christians celebrated the birth of their god much, much earlier than those in the East, and in the cold, dark winters of Svealand, they had an additional holiday, that of the festival of light, held on December 13th, the Feast of St. Lucy that had been discussed earlier.

Alejandra stood next to her husband, smiling wistfully at the stream of little girls who walked past, garlands and candles on their heads. Percy could imagine, in his mind's eye, a little Annabeth leading the procession, blonde curls and steel eyes, so smart, so determined to seek the life that she wanted for herself. One day, perhaps sooner rather than later, her own daughter might join in the parade--another little blonde girl. A perfect child.

And Percy wanted...

No. No, he would not think on that. Already he was a shameful secret of his hostess. What would she think of him, if she knew that he dreamt of fathering her children? He could not risk her ire; should she order him to leave, he had nowhere else to go.

The lights streamed on past him, and Percy wished desperately for spring.

Christmas proved to be unremarkable, though the illicit Yule, celebrated in highest secrecy by Annabeth's family, was far more intimate. This holiday honored Odin, a godly king of the same rank and power and a little of the same personality as Zeus, but who apparently got on considerably better with Magnus and Alejandra than the lord of Olympus had with any of his mortal nieces and nephews.

He spent very little time with Annabeth these days, save for a few hours on the solstice, where they had sat together in an alcove, out of the way of the rest of the house, and did not discuss the winter council of the gods.

Neither did Percy have much taste for a Saturnalia, after the war.

Then the Epiphany was upon them, and the year had turned anew.

Percy began to spend some serious thought to what he might do when the spring came, as it inevitably would, when he could leave this place without fear of freezing from too long spent out of doors. He hoped by then, he would have learned how to cope with the knowledge that, once he departed, he would never again see Annabeth.

He had never broached the subject of payment for his services to her--he did not wish for a reward, as every moment by her side a gift. Keeping her safe had been an honor, not a chore. Yet he would need at least a little money to book passage on a ship, or to purchase a horse and some supplies. Perhaps he could speed up his departure by performing some manual labor for a local townsperson.

Percy had just begun to muster the courage to bring it up to Alejandra, hoping that she would be able to provide him some direction, when he received a summons, not from Lord Magnus, but from his uncle.

Sir Fredrik had called him to his study to discuss something that evening, and Percy prayed that he did not look too nervous. Perhaps the rumors of his birth had reached the lord of the household, and they wished to discuss the business of transferring a power which Percy did not possess. Or perhaps the truth of the circumstances of his station had finally come out, and Lord Magnus had chosen to send him away from their home. He was not certain which he would have preferred.

“Ah, Percy, come in!” said Fredrik, ushering him into the room. “Do sit down. Something to drink?”

“Oh,” he said, sliding into the chair which had been positioned in front of Fredrik’s desk. “No, thank you.” But the man had already sent along orders with a servant. What bizarre concoction would it be this time, Percy wondered. The soup made from rose flowers? The thin, foul-smelling ale which tasted of rotten bread?

While Percy waited at Fredrik’s leisure, the man in question continued to putter about his office, shuffling papers and muttering to himself in Swedish. He waited for so long, he began to wonder if Fredrik had forgotten him entirely, until a manservant reentered with two steaming mugs of… something. Percy attempted to thank the man as he handed him his drink, only to receive a rather condescending look from the corner of the man’s eye.

Cowed, he sipped his drink, preparing himself for the worst.

Yet--oh, what a pleasant surprise! The drink was hot, but sweet, with a splash of spices and a softness which hid the bitterness of the alcohol that ran through it. The sharp smell reminded him of the trees which surrounded the manor, fruit on a cold winter’s morning.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but what is this beverage?”

“That, my boy, is a cider,” Fredrik replied, settling down at his desk. “I take it you prefer this to ale, yes?”

Indeed. Rather than answer, he took another deep, deep drink, letting it warm him all the way to the tips of his toes.

“Now, then,” said Fredrik. “There are several things I wish to discuss with you.”

Percy straightened. “Yes, sir.”

Tapping his fingers against his desk, he peered at Percy over the rim of his glasses. “Over the past few months I have had the opportunity to observe you and your character, and you seem to me to be a good, upstanding young man. Now, I must be truthful; I recognize that we have perhaps, ahem, sped things up quite a bit more than one usually would in situations such as these, but as time is of the essence, I shall be brief, and speak plainly: would you, Perseus, be amenable,” he asked, “to marrying my daughter?”

Uh.

Oh.

Well.

“I… beg your pardon?”

Nonplussed, Fredrik rearranged several papers. “I have previously discussed it with her, and she has agreed to the proposition. She was quite insistent that we consulted you before any decision was made, of course.”

It seemed that the cold had frozen all of his mental faculties, bringing his thoughts to a grinding, stuttering halt.

Percy had come up against a wide, wide range of peculiar situations in his short life. He had been stared down by gods, monsters, and all manner of supernatural entities, most of which wished him fatal injury. He had been accused of, among other things, stealing the most powerful weapon in history, then a mere four years later, had been offered the gods’ rarest, most precious gift. He had witnessed, firsthand, the passing of an age and the end of the greatest empire known to man.

Absolutely none of it had prepared him for this moment.

“I…” He did not even know where to begin with such a request. “I… think, sir, there may be some confusion.”

“Nonsense,” Fredrik scoffed, reminding Percy eerily of his daughter. “What confusion could there be?”

What confusion? What of the fact that Percy was entirely unfit to be anyone’s husband, let alone Annabeth’s? “I am aware,” he said, slowly, “that some people have… perhaps loftier impressions of myself and my station than what may be accurate. Whatever you may have heard, unfortunately, I carry no blood claim to the Palaiologoi .”

Fredrik blinked, taken aback. “I had not heard such a rumor,” he said. “I do apologize if anyone has treated you strangely due to such misinformation.”

“I carry no claim to any sort of titles at all, truly,” Percy said, pressing the truth of the matter. “I am no prince nor royal bastard, no lord nor duke, but merely a fisherman and a foot soldier of the allagion .”

“And a son of Poseidon,” Fredrik added. “Lords and dukes can only dream of a peerage such as yours, my boy.”

As flattering as that was, Percy felt it was somewhat beyond the point. “What I mean to say, sir, is that there is not much I could offer your daughter by way of marriage.” Naught but his heart, a devotion and passion equal to the power of a thousand suns, but such things were immaterial, and not usually considered in terms of a marriage contract. “I have no titles nor lands, no family--I haven’t even a lira to my name.”

“You need not concern yourself with the finances,” Fredrik said. “Anja herself possesses a considerable dowry--one or two tracts of land granted to her by my late brother which can be cultivated or exchanged as the two of you see fit.”

“I--be that as it may,” he stammered, floundering for some sort of purchase in this odd dream into which he had entered, “it was my understanding that Annabeth did not, precisely, wish to be married.” He kept the “ to me ” quiet, unsaid.

Not only had she certainly not been the greatest devotee of Hera, patroness of marriage, but the only time she had ever brought the topic up in conversation had been in reference to making herself Empress. Why on Earth would she agree to such a contract with Percy?

Fredrik sighed, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk. “How much has Anja spoken of our relationship?”

“Only the broadest strokes,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. He did not wish to divulge the deepest secrets of her unhappy childhood to the man responsible for much of it.

“Tell me, Perseus,” said Fredrik. “Do you have any children yourself?”

“No, sir,” Percy said, unsure of the direction of this conversation. “Not to my knowledge.”

Frowning, thoughtful, Fredrik held Percy in place with his keen eyes, so like his daughter’s. “While I love my sons, I would be remiss if I did not confess my numerous sins regarding the health and well-being of my first child. When the lady Athena gifted me with Anja, I had just returned from my stay at an English monastery, where I had been consulting with several of the monks there. I was a young man, not so much older than yourself, and in a similar financial predicament. My brother did not approve of my scholastic desires, and so provided me with little assistance. My union with Mary was, in part, an attempt to provide Anja with certain things she had never known before: namely, a mother, someone to whom she could turn whilst I was otherwise occupied. Unfortunately, as you well know, that is not how she saw it. And so, in my negligence and ignorance, what I thought was the right choice for her was merely the impetus she finally required in order to make an attempt for freedom.”

Somehow, Percy could not imagine Fredrik as a young man, so weighed down by years and years of regret and sorrow.

“I never imagined I would see her again; my Anja. I had presumed that she was lost to me forever, and then, once word of the defeat of Constantinople had reached us… Well, I had resigned myself to the fact of her death. It was a near inevitability. And then, you presented me with a miracle: Anja returned to me, and with forgiveness in her heart.” Then he smiled, and the years seemed to fade from his face. “I love my daughter, and I swore I would never do anything to lose her goodwill ever again. Unfortunately, as you and I well know, though she certainly would be able to live well and peacefully on her own, it can be rather difficult for an unmarried woman to make a name for herself. It can be done, and it has, but the presence of a husband can grease certain wheels, give her access to social circles in which I know she shall thrive. And there are other things to consider as well.” Shuffling the papers on his desk, he pulled one forth, squinting at it. “My wife has informed me that several young men in Uppsala have expressed their interest in marriage with Anja. The politics are long and tedious, so I shall not bore you with them, but you and I can both agree that she deserves to be more than a bargaining chip in a bloody conflict.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, for what else could he say? Percy would give her the world, if she but asked him to.

“I intend to remove her from the conflict entirely,” Fredrik went on. “And for that, we have agreed, there is no one better suited to the position than you: a friend and ally, and someone who will not press her to do anything which she does not want for herself.”

Even seated, his hackles rose at the thought.

As he fought valiantly to keep hold of his father’s legendary temper, Fredrik must have mistaken his silence for reluctance. “This arrangement is not agreeable to you?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh--no, sir, not at all--it is very agreeable, yes,” he rushed to assure him. How could he possibly explain that the man had just offered him his wildest, most precious dream, wrapped sweetly in a perfect little package? Every inch of him screamed to accept it. “I merely… do not know what to say.”

He wanted to say yes. Oh, how he wanted . He wished to wake up to her hair in his mouth, to her blinding smile in his bed, to take her in his arms and demonstrate the extent of his affection and passion for her. He wished for her every waking moment, every hour and minute of her presence, even if just to bask in the simple fact that he shared it with her. A lifetime with Annabeth, spent in the frozen North of Svealand--a better reward than anything any god had ever offered him.

“I…”

Yet, he faltered.

“If… if possible, sir, I should like to speak to Annabeth before any arrangements are finalized.”

Frowning lightly, Fredrik nodded. “I understand, though I do urge you not to linger too long on this decision. There are more things here at stake than perhaps you or I realize.”

If he had not spent so much of his adolescence as a demigod, he thought, such a vaguely ominous warning would have caused some concern. But it could not bother him now.

“I will speak with her today or tomorrow, sir.” Percy promised, though it was all he could do not to accept his offer right at this moment, to run from this room, find her, and kiss her. “As soon as possible. I merely wish to discuss with her directly regarding her expectations.”

At that, Fredrik grinned a little, humor peeking out from behind his stern exterior. “Good man,” he said. “With that attitude, I am certain you will go far as a husband.”

In something of a daze, Percy wandered his way back to his sleeping quarters, his thoughts racing faster than Apollo’s chariot, turning every word of his conversation with Fredrik over in his mind, digging for any possible double-meanings. And yet, the meaning seemed perfectly clear: Annabeth and her father had discussed her prospects, and had come to the conclusion that marrying Percy was the proper course of action.

In his experience, such a boon never came without a price. It was something Annabeth herself had told him, once upon a time: there was no such offer so duplicitous as a free meal.

When he entered his room, he found the subject of his contemplations waiting on him there. “So,” Annabeth said, keen eyes piercing straight through to the heart of him, “I take it my father spoke with you?”

Wonderful; he did not need to catch her up to the situation at hand. “I did,” he said, an inexplicable irritation surging through him. “Though perhaps ‘ambushed’ may be a better term for it.”

She pursed her lips, but said nothing.

He knew, in his soul, that he should not speak to her like this, that he was more than capable of carrying out such a conversation with logic and reason--but month after month of freezing weather, strange food, and being stared at like an animal cage had taken its toll, and he found his patience had worn a bit thin. “Had I realized you were so keen on marriage,” he said, “I would have endeavored to bring you home sooner. Your father tells me there are several gentlemen all vying for your hand.”

“My step-mother’s doing, no doubt,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Were it my decision, I would not be in this predicament, I assure you.”

As he had suspected. “Well, then I suppose I should be grateful that, if you ever deigned to marry, I would be amongst the preferred candidates.”

Her mouth twisted, no doubt a clever retort just about to trip off the tongue, but, clenching her jaw, she wrangled it in. “I know it is in our nature to quarrel with each other,” she said, “but I would have your cooperation in this. If you agree, we shall be married; if you do not, we shall not. Surely it is within our power to make it so simple?”

There were many, many things he wished to say to her, beginning with how he did not appreciate being put on the spot in that manner, and ending with how marrying her would be the greatest achievement of his lifetime, but, curse of the demigods, his mind raced far ahead of his mouth, and all that came out was a statement only tangentially related. “I am not a farmer,” he blurted.

She raised her brows. “Beg pardon?”

“I--” he rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to pluck the words from the typhoon of his thoughts and feelings, “you know that I am only a foot soldier, yes? A foot soldier and a fisherman. Yes, I can claim the mantle of a hero, but what good does that do beyond the confines of the agoge ? What could I possibly bring to the table? I do not know how to work the land, or manage assets, or--or be a husband.” And therein lay the truth, that he could not be the type of husband she would deserve. He could be a friend, an ally, and a traveling companion, and there their paths would branch off, leading them down two very different destinies.

No matter how fervently he desired otherwise.

Annabeth let out a breath. There was raw, naked pity on her face, as though she had not considered he could feel this way. “You will not have to do any farming yourself,” she said, slowly. “There are people we could hire, help that we could bring in to manage all the things that we have no knowledge of. We could sell the land and use the money for something else entirely. And as for being a husband,” she bit her lip, shaking her head minutely, “you have been the most stalwart, steadfast friend a person could ever have. I imagine that a husband would require much the same qualities.”

That much was true, yes. Percy had experienced for himself two very different kinds of husbands, the ill-tempered and devoted, the creature of harsh words and the man of warmth and comfort, the monster of Percy’s childhood and his mother’s second husband. He thought of Paul, his easy understanding and his willingness to believe the wild yarn his wife had spun for him. To be a man like that, Percy felt that was a task he could manage, yet there were other things Paul had provided his wife… things that Percy did not know if Annabeth wanted from him.

Swallowing, she tilted her chin up. Her eyes were glassy, shining in the candlelight. “I know this must not be what you had envisioned,” she said, speaking slowly as though she were choosing every word after much deliberation, “but there is… of the options provided, there is no one else to whom I would rather be married. I know you would treat me kindly, would be my friend and confidante; what more could any wife wish for?”

Ah. Now he understood.

“Very well.” Percy held out his hand to her. “I formally accept your proposal.”

Percy was her tether to freedom. Presented with the inevitability of marriage, Annabeth had chosen the least undesirable path, a man who would, at the very least, not forcibly tie her to the hearth and home.

Well, if that was the only service he was to provide for her, then provide it he could.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, and they shook on it.

***

Several weeks later, they were married.

Percy had volunteered his services as best man to several of his fellow soldiers in Constantinople; it felt very strange to be on the other side of the festivities. Still, the ceremony itself was quite similar to the ones he had witnessed before. Considerably less icons, however. Given how the Eastern Romans had fought tooth and nail for their icons, to be married without them felt nearly like a betrayal, even though he put no stock in such things.

Notice of their wedding had been posted on the church door of the little town nearby, in order to give people time enough to find reasons to object, should there be any. “Sometimes,” Alejandra had explained, “a man or a woman will have a number of wedded partners in a number of different towns; this gives a jilted lover the chance to come forward and name the philanderer publicly. Usually, though, it is to confirm that the two who are to be wedded are not so close in blood.”

Percy cast a thought to his convoluted family tree, and decided not to think on it further.

He had nearly laughed, though, when the priest had asked him if there were any sins he wished to confess before he was wed. His sins against the church were varied and extensive, as were Annabeth’s; in all ways, save the most obvious, one could say that the two of them lived in sin together. He could not truly tell, but he thought he may have seen her suppress a smile out of the corner of his eye.

She looked lovely that day--as she did all on days--but on her wedding day, she had arrived in a royal blue dress that made his heart pound and his palms sweat, nearly the same darkness as the shawl he had gifted her, dark against her pale skin. Her hair had grown much longer since her ill-fated cut, and had been cleaned and maintained by her maid, looking even softer and more golden than it usually did, falling down over her shoulders, a garland placed on her head.

There, in front of the gathered assembly, he vowed to honor, obey, have and hold until death, and slid a ring onto her finger. The priest conferred unto him a kiss of peace, and bade him to do the same to his wife. To Percy’s credit, he restrained himself from pulling her into his arms, and merely placed the absolute chastest of kisses on her lips. After the appropriate amount of time, Annabeth pulled back, her face a pristine mask, and Percy prayed that he had the same amount of composure.

The celebratory feast, unfortunately, would prove to be much more difficult.

Alejandro, merry on spiced wine and in his volunteer function as best man, had corralled the guests into a little wedding game which came from Anglia. The cooks had made enough buns and spice cakes to feed a small army, and, in a fit of insanity, the assembled party decided to stack them on top of each other, creating a sizable tower of buns, nearly as tall as Annabeth. “There we are, lovebirds!” he crowed in Spanish, as he was too inebriated for Latin, slinging his arm around Percy’s neck. “Here are the rules: you must kiss one another over the tower, and if it does not fall, your union will certainly be blessed!”

The crowd, having finished their construction, took up the call, cheering them on, Alejandro physically dragging Percy up out of his seat, and pushing him towards the tower. Magnus was doing much the same to Annabeth, steering her to the other side.

“Alejandro, I--I cannot--”

But whatever excuse he tried to invent was lost over the approving jeers and cheers of their audience. Though he could not understand their words, he knew precisely what was required of him here.

Across the tower, Annabeth was flushed, with drink or embarrassment or cold, he could not tell, but she looked on him with expectant eyes, and he knew she was smart enough to have come to the same conclusion. To refuse to take part in this little game would be foolhardy, at best.

Up close, the tower of baked goods was not nearly so tall as it had seemed, and it was easy for him to lean down without disturbing the construction of food. On her side, Annabeth had closed her eyes, her lips parted, waiting for his to fall on her.

By his count, this was now their third kiss. Perhaps it was to be their last. He would savor it then, he told himself, commit to memory the softness of her lips and the redness of her cheeks, her long, golden eyelashes resting against her skin.

A great, raucous cheer went up from the crowd, and they pulled apart, greeting their audience with bashful smiles.

Percy turned, ready to apologize to Annabeth for all of this. But he held his tongue when he saw the bright smile on her face. He knew her fake and forced smiles, this was not it. She was happy. And he could pretend, at least for a moment, that it was because of him, and not because of the clever situation she’s managed to get herself into.

Eventually, the celebration ended, and they had to retire to bed. Percy had started down the hallway to retire to the guest quarters, until Annabeth had looked at him oddly, and he was suddenly reminded--of course, they were now married. They would be sharing a bed from now on.

The very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

They had shared beds before, hundreds of times. On this journey alone, they had shared the bed of many an inn, simply to save money. For some reason, this time felt different.

Annabeth’s room was not so different to his own; a little larger, perhaps. Fredrik, Magnus, and Alejandro saw them off, Fredrik embracing his daughter and kissing her forehead. He whispered something to her in Swedish, and she nodded into his chest, sweetly. Then he looked at Percy, gave him a solemn nod, and departed.

Now they were alone.

The fire in the hearth had already been lit--and had been for a while, judging by the size and heat of the flame. That must have been why Percy suddenly felt hot beneath all his clothing.

“Well,” he said, wandering to the other side of the bed. The room had no echo; it made it feel smaller, somehow. “I imagine that was not how you had envisioned your wedding, yes?”

She did not respond.

The heat of the room was bordering on suffocating. How odd, since he had only ever known the climate to be perpetually frozen. To alleviate this, he removed the outermost layer of his clothing. “Certainly it is not what I thought mine would be. In truth,” Percy said, filling the silence with his babble, “I had not thought that I would ever marry. Not because I detested the very idea, mind you,” he rushed to confirm, “but, you know how few of us reach the marriageable age in our line of work. It always felt like some sort of far-off dream to me. Yet, here we are! How amusing, yes?”

Still nothing.

He turned to her, then yelped. “Oh, forgive me! I had not realized--”

“It is fine, Percy,” she said, lowly. “We are married now; it is no sin to look at me undressed.”

While he was not looking, she had shed her clothes as well, folding her dress neatly for someone to claim later. Her underclothes were white, made of thick, sturdy material, perfect for cold, winter days.

“Still,” he said. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You have not.” From behind, he watched her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed. “When I thought of my wedding,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “I did not think it would have so many Catholics.”

Percy laughed, a sound startled right out of his chest. “I as well!”

She chortled, too, causing the fabric of her dress to ripple. “If you must know,” then she turned to him, her hands deftly winding her hair into a braid, “I used to dream about being married in the ways of the shieldmaidens.”

Sense memory, he remembered the feel of her stiff, bloody hair in his hands, gently twisting it this way and that. His fingers twitched. “What,” he coughed, “what did the ways of the shieldmaidens entail?”

He wondered for a moment, given the story she had told him of Katya and Clarice, if that was what she had meant by the ways of shieldmaidens, and if she had dreamed of that, when she had not dreamed of Lukas instead.

“Sacrifices, ritual baths--what one might expect from a wedding.” She tied the end of her hair off with a length of leather cord, the braid coming to rest over her shoulder, the tip of it tickling the neckline of her dress. “When the bride and the groom met in ceremony, they would exchange their weapons with one another.”

He nearly laughed, it seemed so in line with all that he had learned about the northern raiders. "Quite befitting a warrior’s culture," he mused.

Nodding, she stepped closer towards the bed, though she made no move to lie down upon it, instead leaning against a bedpost. “The groom would present the sword of his ancestors which he had unearthed from the family tomb; in turn, the bride would gift him a weapon as well.” Weakly, she attempted a smile, though it looked to be more of a grimace to Percy’s eyes. “My father once told me that he had gifted my mother a weapon such as this. Unfortunately, she was not so familiar with the custom, and so would not accept it.”

Her lips turned downwards, her whole posture sagging with a muted sorrow.

Oh, why not. “We both have our own ancestral weapons,” he said. “If you are amenable, we could exchange them now.”

She flicked her eyes up to him.

“It is no trouble for me.” If it would make her smile, he would take Anaklusmos and toss it into the hearth itself. Lending her his sword for a while was nothing.

She studied him, her lips thin as they pressed against each other. “You truly would not mind?” she asked. “I know it is a silly tradition.”

Rather than answer, he pulled his sword from his belt. The magical item, when not in use, took the form of a key, for ease of portability. Whispering its name, a powerful summons, it grew into the long, leaf-bladed xiphos his father had gifted him, and he held it out to her, hilt-first.

“Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter,” he said, these strange syllables finally at home on his tongue, “I offer you my sword.” He did not know if the words were correct, but he prayed that they would suffice.

Across the bed, her large, grey eyes shone in the firelight. Her mouth quivered with furiously checked emotion, and she had to turn to hide her face, snatching something out of the bundle of clothing she had discarded. When she turned back, she had not regained her composure--not one bit. “Perseus thalassinos ,” she murmured, holding out her knife towards him, hilt-first, just as she had so many months ago, in the middle of nowhere with dead men at their feet, the highest act of trust she could muster. “I offer you my sword.”

Over the bed, they exchanged their weapons.

Taking the bronze knife in his hand, he felt different, somehow. He felt as though he had passed through a door of some kind, had crossed over into a newer, stranger world, and yet, he felt no danger, for he had a partner at his side, one who would see him through all senses of conflict.

Brandishing his weapon, Annabeth took one look at it, then promptly burst into tears.

Percy dropped the knife. It clattered against the cold stones, forgotten. “Annabeth,” he asked, rushing to her side, “Annabeth, what is wrong?”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she shook her head, her whole body trembling as a tree caught in a mighty storm. Fearful that she would accidentally hurt herself, he plucked the sword from her grasp, tossing it carelessly aside, and gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

“Annabeth, what is it?”

She grasped him in return. Her grip was always strong, and now her fingers dug into his muscles, squeezing him tight. “I--” she sobbed, “I--” Her chest was seized with hysterical breaths, her eyes shut tightly. “This is--I--it was not supposed to be like this,” she gasped. Tears flowed freely from beneath her eyelids, glittering like crystals in the firelight.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know, and I am sorry.” Sorry that she was stuck with the likes of him. She could have had her pick of the world--lords and emperors and whoever else--and somehow, she had the misfortune of being tied to him.

“No, it is not--” she wept. “Silena, we had al-always spoken of--and you have been so kind and--and understanding, but I--we--and I dragged you halfw-way across the world, but I know you h-hate it here--”

“I do not hate it here,” he protested, even though it was true.

“I had thought m-my wedding would be held at the camp.” Were he not listening so intently, he would not have heard her words, warbled and warped as they were by her heaving sobs. “On the b-beaches of Troia , and my m-mother would be there, but she is gone , and camp is gone, and--I--I just--”

“I am here,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulders. “Oh, Annabeth, I am here.”

She opened her eyes, grey storm clouds glinting with lightning.

“It is alright,” he told her. He understood her feelings well; not a day had gone by without a thought to the whereabouts of their friends, of their family. But here they were, together, and that was all that mattered. “You are not alone,” he swore . “I will stick by you, I promise.”

With a trembling sigh, she threw her arms around him. He pressed her close, his arms coming up to circle her torso, holding her to his chest. “I am sorry,” she gasped, “I am so sorry.”

“It is alright,” he said, a hand coming up to the bottom of her neck to better support her. “You do yourself no disservice.”

“N-no, it is not--” she shuddered, a localized earthquake within his arms. “The marriage,” she said, “it is not--not legal unless we--we--”

He knew precisely what she was going to say, and though his heart surged at the idea--and he was certain she could feel it, pressed so close to him as she was--his mind, thankfully, was in control for the time being. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Not tonight.”

That seemed to shock her out of her panic. She stilled in his arms, her wails subsiding.

Poor thing, she must have been so worried that whoever she married would attempt to force her to fulfill the marriage contract. Once again, he cursed the whole damnable institution; he knew so often that women had so little say in matters of the flesh. Well, Percy was not like other men, and he would not take something which she was not prepared to give. He would not do that to any woman, let alone one whom he loved so deeply.

She pulled back. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “It is our wedding night,” she said, dumbly.

“Yes,” Percy agreed, “but we do not have to do anything that you do not want to do.”

“But it is our wedding night,” she insisted.

“I know.”

“Our marriage is not legal if we do not.”

“I understand.”

“But…” she blinked, casting about for her words. “But…”

“We can claim that the festivities left us too exhausted to do naught but sleep,” Percy said. “Or we can claim that we consummated the marriage anyway. Surely your father will not check your sheets for blood.”

Dumbfounded, she gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing around nothing. Percy had grown to rather enjoy rendering her speechless, though this time around, it left something of a bad taste in his mouth.

“I do not think we should do anything tonight,” he said. “To take advantage of you… of anyone this way, would be a most unforgivable sin.”

He had thought she would agree. Surely he had assuaged her worries.

Instead, her eyes narrowed. “On the contrary,” she said, her voice still thick with tears. “I believe we should consummate the marriage tonight.”

“Annabeth--”

“You think I am too weak to fulfill the marital contract.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Then there is no reason to delay,” she said. “And, moreover, I…”

Trailing off, her cheeks filled with blood. Percy’s heart throbbed in his chest, deafening.

“I… I want it,” she said, a whisper on a breeze.

Helpless, he could only watch as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Do you… do you not?”

Beneath his vision, he could just barely see her bosom as it moved in time with her breathing. Oh, Anja, he wanted nothing more in the world than you at this moment!

She shuttered her eyes closed again, as though she were in pain. “I am sorry,” she repeated--for what, though, he could not imagine. “But I am afraid that… that if we do not… then some would see our union as--as invalid.”

The bubble of fantasy burst, and reality set in.

Of course. Politics and power-broking. To save herself, she would give herself to him. To protect her, he had to let this happen.

It was the easiest choice he ever made.

Bending his neck, he leaned down, and he kissed her.

As a flower in the dawn, she opened herself to him.

Her mouth was warm against his, her lips soft. Through the fabric of her dress, he could feel every muscle as she pressed up against him, could feel her breath hitch as he laid her down on the bed, as his hands pushed the hemline of her nightclothes up her thighs.

It felt as though every choice he had ever made, every path he had ever taken and every one he had ever shunned, had led to this moment, to Annabeth, panting and hot beneath him. Percy had been lucky enough to be the paramour of goddesses, disciple and student both, and now he had a chance to demonstrate what he had learned. If she were to be tied to him in this way, if this were his only chance to show her how he truly felt, then tonight, he vowed, he would make it worth her while.

She tasted just as sweet as he had dreamt she would. Her cries of passion, more beautiful than any music he had ever known.

And when he entered her, her scrunched face and wrinkled nose relaxing into slack pleasure, he held himself still, gazing on it, committing every single detail to his deepest, most sacred memory.

They moved together. Over and over again, they moved together, her legs slowly traveling up the backs of his thighs, ticklish and feathery. “Percy,” she gasped, one of his hands coming up to cup her breast, the other hard at work at the apex of her thighs. “Percy!”

“Anja,” he murmured into her neck. “Anja.”

With a wail, she tossed her head back, her braid loose and messy against the pillows, her legs tightening about his waist.

He could not stop himself even if he wanted to. And he did not want to.

Close behind, he followed her over the edge, hissing through his teeth as they took the plunge together.

It could have been days until Percy came back to his senses, days spent in the Elysium of Annabeth’s embrace. Her heartbeat was as ragged as his, and they beat in twain, a call and an answer.

Then she shifted beneath him. “Percy.”

“Oh.” He untangled himself from her, his limbs suddenly so awkward and gangly, pulling himself out and away, then lay down next to her, his hot, sweaty skin suddenly freezing in the cold air.

And there it was. Something of a lifelong dream, fulfilled.

Now if only he could discover why he felt so empty.

After a while, Annabeth threw back the sheets, and got out of bed. Percy tried not to linger too much on her bare form, even as he marveled how she was able to withstand the cold without so much as a protective shift. Then she bent over, picking something up from the floor, and Percy, only a mortal man, he could not resist.

Gods above, she was truly the most stunning creature ever to walk this earth. Every inch of her seemed to be perfectly crafted to send him into a frenzy of passion. So intent was he on taking in the whole beautiful picture that he nearly missed the trickle of something down the inside of her legs, belatedly realizing what it was.

He had to physically tear himself away, flopping himself back down on the sheets, to put that thought to bed. Demonic harpies , he chanted to himself. Stymphalian birdsong. Lord Dionysus in a pankration . Anything which would stop his baser instincts from manifesting themselves.

So focused on his own body was he, he did not notice what Annabeth was doing until it was much too late. “Annabeth,” he gasped, “what--”

But she had already used her knife to cut her hand, letting dark blood drip onto the white sheets. “There,” she said. “Now no one will have cause for doubt.”

He moved to leave the bed himself. “Let me see your hand--”

“It is fine,” she stopped him, already wrapping it up in a length of cloth she had ripped from her underclothes. “It shall cease to bleed by morning.”

“I am sorry,” he said, though he was not certain which sin required her forgiveness. “I did not mean to…” To what? Break her heart? Plant his seed? Fall in love? He had not meant to do any of these things, yet still, they had been done, and could not be undone. But, there was one thing for which he could apologize. “I am sorry that you must bear this burden,” he said. “It is not fair to you.”

“As I said,” Annabeth replied, slipping back beneath the covers, turning away from him. “It is fine. Good night, Perseus.”

Then silence reigned in the bedroom.

Percy could not fall asleep for a long, long time.

#my fic #the marble king #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #another doozy

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crewhonk · 5 years

Text

Only Happy Accidents (8)

Warnings: fluff. Holy shit so much fluff. happy Steeb and YN. Nursery decoration.

Songs: “Better Man”-- James Morrison

AN: lol, a short chapter and I wrote this a while ago so rip. Octobers chilled out from here on out (three midterms and two reports are out of the way) so I'm not promising more frequent updates but keep ur eyes peeled!

Masterlist

_________________________

March 27, 20th Week

Life was good, Steve thought, as he woke up on YN’s chest, her hands scratching his scalp absently as they both woke up. His hair was getting longer, and his beard was growing thicker and his abs were disappearing slightly and there was no rush to change any of it since YN made worshipping his incoming dad body a part of her daily second-trimester-hormone routine.

He and YN had gone to another appointment yesterday, and the pictures f the baby’s face were getting more and more clear— the baby definitely did have her chin, and he definitely had his nose and despite him being so squished, Steve thought his kid was going to be the prettiest thing on the world.

“Morning, Sweetheart.” He murmured softly as he breathed in deep, eyes opening finally and looking up at his girl.

“Morning, handsome. How you feeling?” She asked. They’d gotten carried away the night before and knew they would both be sore for a handful of days after. It was true— his thighs and hips were sore and judging by the look of the red swollen marks on her breasts and neck, she would be sore too.

“‘M perfect.” He replied, kissing her softly and making her sigh.

“Yeah you are.” She chuckled and he closed his eyes again.

“What’s the plan today, Ma?” He asked, and she hummed.

“Well, we have the cake testing, the flower picking and the centre piece arrangements to finalize and then I wanted to get started on the nursery cause all the furniture is supposed to arrive today.” She hashed out and he crooned, kissing her chest and up to her neck.

“What times are the appointments?” He asked, making his way up to kiss her jaw and cheek and chin.

“Nine.” She whispered, scratching his scalp harder and making him grunt. He looked over to the clock and smirked, he had plenty of time before she’d want to leave at eight. So, he pulled the covers over them and kissed her soundly— in this temple made of sheets, he would make his best girl pray.

_________________________

“You’re glowing. Really you are—are you sure you’re not the one that’s pregnant?” Sam asked, laughing as he slammed Steve hard into the mat and knocking the air out of his lungs. Things at the Rogers-YLN house were really, really great and it showed in the way Steve walked, and spoke, and fought and breathed. If Sam, Bucky and Natasha weren’t so damn happy for him, they’d want him one million miles away, and even then it wouldn’t be enough to get out of the glow that surrounded Steve.

“Nah, he’s just finally bucked up and made his fiancee have an orgasm for the first time in five months.” Natasha called out, making Bucky choke on his water and Sam drop his grip on Steve as he tried to help him up.

“Wait, what?” Bucky choked, and Steve flushed red.

“Yeah, he and YN hadn’t had sex since Halloween and I finally convinced him he wouldn’t hurt the baby or YN if he got his dick wet.” Natasha jested and rubbed Bucky’s back who was still trying to clear his windpipe of water. Sam only laughed harder, falling onto the mat beside Steve.

“You’re so stupid, holy shit.” Sam crowed and didn’t even protest when Steve shoved him two feet across the floor.

“You know what?” Steve said, smiling despite his friends making relentless fun of him. “I have a beautiful girlfriend at home who is pregnant with my child and hyped up on pregnancy hormones. I don’t have to put up with this.” He laughed and swiped his towel from the floor beside the benches. Natasha joined Sam in his giggles and Bucky snorted.

“You’re like a catholic rabbit, Jesus Christ.” Bucky chuckled, watching as Steve’s cheeks deepened in colour and as he held his water bottle in front of his groin. “You’re nasty.”

Steve’s eyes flickered over to Natasha who was snorting at his expense and raised his eyebrows at the couple. “You’re both no better— Sam tells me everything, especially about the noises you two make on a daily basis.” He pointed his finger accusingly at his life partners and Sam only laughed harder as Bucky and Natasha avoided eye contact with each other. Steve, on the hunt for blood, turned to Sam who was still on the floor and kicked him lightly in the ribs.

“And at least me and those two are getting some.” Steve grinned down sneakily at Sam as his face warped into something that resembled offence. Steve clapped his hands and pulled his sweater over his head.

“Now, I’m going to go home and help my baby mama start setting the nursery up.” And with a salute, Steve left the gym, awed silence in his wake and a skip in his step.

___________________________

“Ma? I’m home! Where are you?” Steve asked, walking through the foyer and into the living room, stopping short at the sight of countless boxes that had arrived yesterday and were now destroyed. There was wrapping across the room and it looked as if a tornado had swept through the apartment.

“Babe?” Steve asked, throwing his keys and wallet onto the counter. YN’s head poked up shortly, and a wide smile appeared across her face when she saw him. With little difficulty, YN heaved herself off the floor and stumbled over boxes to Steve. Steve only had a few seconds to take in her maternity overalls and baggy sweater (both of which showed off her stomach) before he wrapped his arm around her waist, cupped her neck, and kissed her sweetly.

“I forgot how hard it is to build Ikea furniture.” YN smiled, excitement radiating off of her person. She pulled him over to her mess (organized chaos, she said) and began pointing at things.

“This is the diaper station— that only took two hours and then now, I’m working on the crib, which I had to already take apart once because I tried to do it in Spanish but I forgot most of the Spanish I learned in university so— woo!” She yelped as Steve spun her around and pulled her to straddle his lap on the couch.

“Hi.” He smiled up at her and she seemingly melted into his lap, hands coming to scratch his scalp the way that made him purr. He tilted his chin up and pursed his lips, hinting for a kiss when she snorted at and leaned in, meeting her lips with his and sighing happily. Her hormones today were less of an issue, but that didn’t mean they didn’t wake up like a dormant beast whenever she caught a whiff of Steve’s musky post-training smell.

“I need to get off of you because if I don’t we won’t get anything done ever.” She hummed, pecking his lips twice and once more for good luck before stumbling off of him and returning to her place in front of what would be the place his son would sleep. Before his heart could flutter and his knees could go weak at the idea, YN looked up at him.

“Your paints came in if you want to get started on the walls— I know that’s something you wanted to do, and I think I’d actually kill you if you tried to help me build all this.” She smiled and he jumped up and walked over to her and crouched down, pulling her into an elated kiss, making her giggle against his mouth.

“I love you. Thank you.” He murmured, kissing her again and standing, walking back to the hallway.

“Hey, Steve?” She piped up and he turned to look back at her. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing in there?”

“Nope!” He replied, smiling at her scoff.

“No guns or American flags, Captain!” She called out and despite himself, he threw his head back and laughed, closing the door to his used-to-be-office and opening the window. There were paints there already, in all colours and new paintbrushes he’d ordered online, and a record player he’d put there last night along with his favourite records. Today was a good day.

This was a good life.

_____________________

The two spent a few hours doing their own tasks, reconvening in the kitchen for brief snacks and glasses of water and stolen kisses on countertops. Then, after one of the two managed to pull away from the other, there would be a tap on the bum accompanied with a quick smirk and farewell before disappearing in a pile of paints or boxes.

YN shut the door behind her, leaning against it and catching her breath. The elevator was down for maintenance, and knowing Steve would probably lecture her on it, had brought down all the boxes and packaging to the dumpster by herself. It had only taken three trips, but she was well and truly tired now and ready to just crawl into bed with her boyfriend and sleep for years.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t seen him in a while. She walked through her neat rows of white baby furniture lining the hallway and came up to the closed door. She pressed her ear to the door and smiled softly to herself at the sounds she heard. There was the scratching sound of Steve’s record along with the cool-far away sounds of the city outside of their small paradise of warmth.

And Steve’s voice.

It was a little flat, a little off tune, but perfect all the same as he sang softly to the song playing on the record. Somehow, his voice sounded like a perfect pair with the crooning, warbling sound of Billie Holiday— an everlasting, classic sound that made YN’s heart flutter in her chest. In only a few months time, she could be hearing this same scenario— just opening the door this time to see Steve in all of his hulking self curled around the smallest baby girl and cooing soft songs and poems to her as if she was his whole damn world.

The back of her knuckles rapped against the heavy oak of the door and his singing stopped immediately.

“‘Lo?” He called.

“You almost done, baby? ‘M goin’ to bed soon.” She called back and she could hear Steve place his brushes into the jar and shove some garbage into a bag before the door opened just enough for his face to poke through.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and she giggled before doing so, feeling the breeze of Steve opening the door and stepping around her, covering her eyes with his hot hands and leading her into the room. It seemed they were walking forever before they stopped, and YN could have vibrated with the excitement she felt. She could smell the scent of acrylic and oil and gouache.

“Steve can I look?” She whispered eagerly and he kissed the crook of her neck before stepping back. She could hear him move slightly behind her, but she kept her eyes closed obediently.

“In three, two, one, open your eyes, Ma.” He said, a nervous shake in his voice.

What YN saw made her heart stop in all its entirety. The room was no longer the pale grey of his office, but was now filled to the brim with vibrant colours of the jungle. Detailed trees crowded the walls and seemed to somehow make the room three times bigger. There were animals in and around the trees, and she walked forward to look at them closer, a hand covering her mouth in awe. There were small rodents hiding around the frame of the window, large eyes looking as if they would blink at her if she stared too long. Curled at the base of a tree, there was a brightly coloured tiger with individual hairs and eyes that made a chill go up YN’s spine. Her hand fell to her belly as she continued to walk around the room, staring only at the walls. There was an elephant against the adjacent wall, and a monkey in the top corner— on the other side of the room, there was a gorilla with a baby strapped to her back, and Yn sniffed and wiped her eyes, turning to Steve who was still standing behind her.

Except he wasn’t standing at all.

He was on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand and an impossibly nervous look in his eye.

“Steven Grant.” YN whispered, shaking from head to toe, rooted to the spot several feet away from him.

“YN, I know we’re already technically engaged, but please. Hear me out.” He waited for her to make any form of protest and when she didn’t, he sucked in a nervous breath and began to talk.

“On Halloween when I had taken you home, I’d never expected for any of this to happen. I never expected to end up with a family. I never expected my life would feel so full and I never expected I would ever be this happy. Most of all, I never expected that I would love you as much as I do.” He started, and YN walked a few steps closer as he opened the box. The ring was simple— a single gold band with one single diamond on it— classic, beautiful.

“But I do love you more than I ever thought I could and that love grows more and more each passing day. You make me a better man— the man my mom would have always wanted me to be. You make me a man who I’m proud to be. You, in all your glory and kindness and sass and unbent beauty make me a better man, and I want to be a better man for you for the rest of my life if you’ll let me.” He sniffed, tears flowing freely from his eyes. YN whimpered, hand on her belly and over her mouth to stop the sobs boiling in her chest and ruining his speech.

“YN YLN, I know we’re already engaged, but I want you to have this ring. I want to genuinely marry you because I’ve fallen so, helplessly, unfalteringly, unabashedly in love with you and I want to marry you, so, I guess I should ask, huh?” He cried, wiping his face with his sleeve and looking up at her. She nodded eagerly, bouncing eagerly from one ball of her foot to the next like an over-excited puppy.

“Will you do me the honour of marrying this old man?” He asked and YN stood, eyes glued to the ring in his hands, frozen.

“YN?” He breathed nervously at her lack of response.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you— I mean I was already gonna marry you but yes.” She cried, falling to her knees in front of him. They wrapped their arms around each other, and cried. She pressed her mouth to his in a desperate kiss and he swallowed her sobs, replacing them with his own.

“I love you, baby.” He sobbed, pulling back and grabbing her hand. He took her still-bare ring finger and slipped the ring on like it was always meant to be there. It glittered softly under the lighting of the Jungle Room they were kneeling in the middle of and she pulled his face closer to her, kissing him again softly.

“I love you more, Steve Rogers. How did I ever come to deserve someone as good as you, huh?” She whispered, wiping her tears with the tips of her fingers and wrapping her fists in the soft grey fabric of his t-shirt.

“Well I was just about to ask out he same question.” He smiled brightly. Steve Rogers was getting married to the love of his life. Getting married to his Persephone, his Eurydice, his Jane Eyre, his Elizabeth Bennett.

His YN YLN.

And as he coasted her around the room in his arms, their faces tucked into each other, Steve Rogers swore he never existed before this moment.

____________________

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl /

#steve rogers x reader #rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers series #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers drabble #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #Dad!Steve #dad!steve rogers

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xofaddiction · 3 years

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𝕠𝕙 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕝𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕪 𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕒𝕟

full name: gabriel vincent craine

nicknames: gabe

age: 34

date of birth: sept. 7

zodiac: virgo

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: heterosexual

physical

hair color: blond

eye color: blue

height: 6′2″

weight: 194 lbs

personality

morality: lawful neutral

positive traits: efficient, practical, diligent, focused, intelligent, thorough, shy.

negative traits: hypercritical, demanding, hard to please, self-conscious, reclusive.

job: lawyer

skills: organized, good at time management, unshakable, can speak a few languages (english, spanish, french, and japanese), writing, small guitar skills.

family

parents: vincent and gloria craine.

siblings: isaiah craine ( location unknown deceased )

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ : mentions of alcoholism, miscarriage/abortion, gun violence, divorce. feelsy shitTM

✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴

home life was good. born to vincent and gloria craine one sunny labor day weekend, gabriel was their miracle baby. he was a blond haired, blue eyed, chubby cheeked toddler who captured their hearts and affections beyond what they could ever imagine. even when their youngest was born, isaiah could and would never live up to his brother’s name.

his family was very catholic, and even in that he was diligent. mass on sundays, easter and christmas, confirmed and baptized, he did what was expected of him as a man of his faith. he was thankful academics kept him too busy to become an altar boy, indulging so deeply he only passively believed in felt like sacrilege beyond what he thought himself capable of.

he was a happy child that grew into a golden boy. valedictorian of his high school, gabe was heavily involved in choir, track, debate team, student council, and won prom king in his junior and senior years without much effort. it wasn’t because he considered himself popular, but because he was personable. he wasn’t snooty or above hanging out with any and every faction of people around school. he found bits of himself in everyone and was always willing to help or tutor in any way he could.

when it came time for college, it came as no surprise that he was fit for ivy league. his choice was dartmouth, somewhere with a liberal atmosphere where he could study without the competitive, stuck up harvard-yale students hounding him to do more and be better. he double majored in english and history and chose to minor in computer science. his degrees were achieved and he finished top of his class.

he attended law school at oxford, electing to study abroad in the uk and take in more than what chicago and new hampshire could. he knew what he learned in litigation for foreign law wouldn’t be useful in america, but it was important for him to understand the nuances of european law as someone interested in international law.

while at oxford, he met danielle fournier, a law student in his class that shared interests with him; from music to art to history and philosophy, she bewitched him body and soul and he fell in love harder than he thought possible. for the moment, he thought she was the endgame for him.

when it came time for him to move back to america, danielle came with him. he enrolled at yale law and worked a full-time job as an assistant in a law firm, doing what he could to support himself and the girl he loved. he did everything right; he went to school, got a dream job, moved off to new york and worked himself to success, proposed to the girl and married her. everything was was it should have been.

he was a shining beacon of hope and an example to everyone in his family, most of all his younger brother. he knew that isaiah had an odd sort of idolization over him. he was the big brother, the one who encouraged and stood as a confidant and first friend for isaiah.

the family seemed complete; two perfectly happy parents, a son with a wife and a bright future, another dating a young, successful woman. they seemed the picture of perfection, but there was some nagging presence that spoke otherwise. his parents were more friends than husband and wife- they stayed together for appearance sake. gabriel was a ceaseless workhorse, and though he did his best to be the good man who came home by 7pm, when he did come home, he found his wife drunk and drowsy, always reeking of expensive wine and stake perfume. and as for his brother and his girlfriend; there was something that felt off, whether it was in their relationship or his own, he did not know. however, something in the back of gabriel’s mind that knew his and katerina vasile’s stories would not end as they had began; acquaintances that only spoke at family gatherings.

he never believed in soul mates or twin flames, despite believing in the presence of a soul. he never understood that even upon a single meeting someone could mean so much to another person right up until the moment it happened. he barely knew katerina, and yet he saw something in her he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to forget. she would stay in his mind forever, and though he loved danielle with everything he had in him, he knew that even in the darkness when he lay drifting, it was her eyes he’d remember.

he would never act on it; he was married and happy to be, and whether the relationship between himself remain stale and passive or grow into platonic companionship, he was glad for either, though he would prefer the latter. if it meant being to keep those eyes in his life, it was worth it. he liked katerina, cared for her and paid attention to what she said, far more than his brother seemed to, though his interaction was not inappropriate.

it wasn’t often he had to be strict or commanding over the younger sibling that so adored him, but a family christmas party changed that. isiaiah was showing off; acting like a prick to katerina for the sake of bolstering himself in his brother’s eyes. gabriel hated it. excusing himself and his brother with a charming smile, gabriel gripped isiaiah by the flesh on the underside of his arm and dragging him to a quiet section of the house, gabriel’s voice dropped low and dripped venom that had never before passed his lips in the presence of family: “if i ever fucking see you treat that girl like that ever again, i’ll drag you outside and break your face against the goddamn curb, got that?” he threw his brother’s arm and stormed back in before another word could be said, plastering on a smile as he went to keep danielle from pouring another drink.

danielle was always a big drinker, but her usage escalated well within their marriage. she got pregnant and while gabriel thought she was happy to be, she was not. behind his back she was taking doses of a prescription drug that halts progression of pregnancy. she lost the baby and gabe was devastated. he’d never really thought about being a father, but the when presented the prospect of it, excited him. he thought he could be a good father, not only because he was stable and happy, but because he loved the baby from the moment he got the news.

though hurt beyond measure, he was hopeful; they managed once, they could manage again when the time was right? if there was a god that saw his diligence, surely he’d bless them with another chance?

danielle’s guilt drove her to drink and drink heavily. she lied to the man she loved and couldn’t quiet the raging inner monologue that scorned save for drowning it at the bottom of a bottle. more than one argument came of gabe begging her to slow down and her subsequent refusal. he lost a child, he didn’t want to lose his wife, too. he stood with her through it all, hoping that one day everything would be better.

over a year later, happy news came once more. danielle was pregnant again, and she seemed elated. gabriel was over the moon. overnight everything seemed to improve: his wife had stopped drinking, he was going to be a father, they were a picture of happiness ready to work their lives around a new baby. not not everything was as it seemed.

one night, roused by a work call, gabriel realized his wife wasn’t in bed beside him. worried she might be feeling poorly from morning sickness he followed the trail of light into the bathroom and glanced in, just in time to watch danielle throw back a pill. he would have ignored it, but something in his gut told him otherwise. when he pushed the door open further, danielle jumped, frightened and caught off guard. the pill bottle fell to the floor and rolled to his feet. when he saw the label, he recognized the prescription name as a pregnancy terminator from a lawsuit he’d once worked.

his heart shattered in an instant. it’s important to note that gabriel never would have forced danielle to go through with a pregnancy she wasn’t comfortable in. and while it would have hurt, he would have accepted her decision with grace and understanding. it was the fact that she bold-face lied to him. she lied about being happy, she lied about wanting to build a life with him, she watched his grief and kept everything locked away, and was set on doing it again.

gabriel wordlessly moved back into the bedroom and got a suitcase to pack a bag. he wasn’t ready for a separation or divorce, he just couldn’t have her in his ear when he so desperately needed to think.

while his back was turned, danielle reached into his bedside table and pulled out a loaded gun he kept in case of emergencies and held it to his back. she demanded he hear her side of it before going anywhere. and so he did. for two days he was kept downstairs in the kitchen at gunpoint, allowed to do nothing except watch her drink and listen to her rant and beg his forgiveness.

she waved the gun around recklessly, throwing empty bottles on the wall behind him and the floor in front of his feet. he watched her do this with a distant, cold, dejected demeanor, never jumping or shying away from the blows she had to throw. he was hurting, more than he realized he ever could and numb to her wallowing. the suffering he felt was her cause, he was angry. hurt. he didn’t want to hear her, he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. there was a grim sense that they would both die there in that house, that she would put the gun to his temple and shoot and then die in any which way she chose to do.

it took all of his resolve and none of his might to realize that what he saw in her was a facade. for so long, he’d been the best he could be: for her, for his parents, even his undeserving brother. and where did it get him? alone. his parents never worried; he was the exalted heir, the good boy, they didn’t have cause. and his brother? he had taken all of gabriel’s shining example and corrupted it into nothing more than pretense to get where he needed to go before he commanded rule over dominion that was not his; an abusive, negligent tyrant no better than the pharaoh of egypt who let his people die for the sake of his pride. and his wife, the woman he’d devoted life and happiness to, turned on him with a glock aimed at his chest.

a beacon of hope came on the morning of the third day when his partner at the firm kept calling. when you’re a good lawyer, you make enemies with dangerous people. when you’re a great lawyer, you guarantee those enemies become lethal. gabe was a great lawyer. radio silence for two days was uncharacteristic for gabe, everyone had reason to worry. although the same could not be said for isaiah. danielle grew steadily more and more frustrated by the noise and gabriel told her to let him talk down the situation to keep the firm from calling again. she steadily agreed. it was the first time gabe had ever thanked god for making his wife an alcoholic.

for a long time, he and his partner established code words as a safety measure. different words had different meanings, the most rehearsed of which was BOOTH. as in john wilkes booth. as in someone was holding a gun to his head. so when gabriel said: “hey, i had to rush out of town for a family emergency, can you email me the details of the BOOTH case to look over when I get home?” danielle was none the wiser. but the partner knew to dial 911.

when the cops and ambulance showed up, everything went to shit. danielle panicked and shot the gun when they kicked in the door, frightening her into pulling the trigger. the bullet lodged in gabriel’s left shoulder and knocked him into the broken glass on the floor. realizing her mistake, she brought the gun to her head. the cops wrestled her down before she could pull the trigger for a second time.

once discharged from the hospital, gabriel drew up divorce papers, a restraining order, and a lawsuit. he got his divorce, he got the restraining order, and danielle was placed in prison.

gabriel left new york after that, electing to go back home to chicago. once back in the windy city, he looked for work as a private lawyer, one who wouldn’t join a firm until he could scope out which councilors he chose to have on his side and those he chose to fight.

working for the vasile family wasn’t planned, but he seemed to find his niche there. he’d seen plenty of violence in the world, he knew how ugly it could be, and he knew that even those closest to him were monsters in disguise. it was his time to chose to have on his side and who to fight for, rather than against.

seeing katerina again hadn’t been his motive, but he couldn’t say that those eyes wouldn’t bring just a little bit of light to his darkest days.

#&&. gabriel || intro #&&. gabriel || visage #&&. gabriel || isms #everyone blame leia for this #hermione too #crimson.intro #&&. trigger warning #alcoholism tw #miscarriage tw #abortion tw #divorce tw #gun violence tw #i think i tagged everything

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devourer--of--books · 4 years

Text

Callis was Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist and here’s why

Okay so, in this post we’ll be discussing topics such as sex, contraception, and some religion in the context of it being used as a mean to control people sexually.

If you’re younger than 13, honestly, this post isn’t for you.

If you’re unlucky, like me, and your school didn't give you proper sex ed, I beg you to ask someone about it. Your older sibling, your mom, someone, okay? Ask google. It’s important stuff you need to know.

First of all, for composure’s sake, let’s all pretend I didn’t start thinking of this due to me writing a smut fic. At 4am, on my tablet notes. On my defense, tho, there’s an astonishing lack of E-rated fics on this fandom and someone ought do it, okay? Moving on.

So, where shall we start?

Let’s get context out of the way, welcome to my analyses, the actual headcanons are here, I promise, let me just bore you to death first:

The SGE book series overall is set in fantasy fairytale land (The Endless Woods), with the exception of Gavaldon, aka, the reader village. Due to this, there’s not really a time period liking the SGE world to ours, neither can it be presumed by the world building, as Soman mixes traditional medieval elements with modern elements, which I know bothers some of you too, it ain’t just me, but nevermind that right now.

The point is, the arguments I’m making on this post are based on aspects mentioned in the books, but I’m also going to draw some information from the real world.

A big chunk of the first two books rely on the world the existence of a patriarchal structure in that world, as do some plot points during the rest of the series, but if I were to dive into that we’d be here all night. Talking about the Endless Woods social structure is very complicated, specially with the ‘no labels in the woods’ stuff combined with the misogyny. It’s messy.

Thankfully for this post, we’ll only go into Gavaldon, because I feel things there are more… explicit (pun intended).

So here’s what we know of Gavaldon’s social structure pre-book 1:

It’s a decent sized village with no official government. There’s no political figure of power, such as prince or a mayor, as they eventually get in QFG. There also doesn’t seem to be an actual economic class distinction between the people of Gavaldon, other than mentions of beggars (pretty sure it’s just one tho, but I might be wrong). Everyone works and trades amongst themselves, with people having more or less the same things (except for Callis and Agatha, due to them being social outcasts).

Who has power in Gavaldon?

The Elders Council. They make the laws, they are respected, they have influence, and therefore they have power. These dudes stopped people from selling food to Stefan’s family during book 2, and threatened his new family in front of everybody during book 3. And everyone in Gavaldon loved that man. Why are they powerful tho?

Power is born out of inequality. If you have what we have not, we follow where you lead. Gavaldon has no nobles and no bourgeoisie. Geez, I wonder which powerful class we’re missing.

The clergy.

Personally, I hold no love for the church. I’m an atheist, but, as this post is about SGE and not religion, I’ll try to be as neutral as possible, as the point is not to offend or disrespect anyone. When I mention ‘religion’ or ‘clergy’ from this point on, I’m talking about religion as an Institution. As in the Medieval Catholic Church (which if you don’t agree was at least kind of very evil, I don’t know if I want you reading my posts anyway, so feel free to leave).

Most likely, the members of Elders Council of Galvadon were linked to its Church, whatever religion they may have. I can’t see any reason why they would have so much influence otherwise. Who appoints new men to the positions once one of them dies? I’m gonna guess the remaining members of the Council.

And no one said anything? For centuries. Okay. Corruption? Never heard of her.

Also, burning unmarried women as a way to solve problems claiming they were witches? Wonder where I’ve seen this before.

The fact they’re men, should get mentioned too, just in case you forgot. I bet there are women just as old and wise, if not wiser than the members of the council. Hm, wow why they’re not part of the council.

This hypothesis ties in with the fact that the education given to the kids is limited to the local school, which, given the lack of government and simplicity of work relations, is probably funded by the clergy. We don’t see any proof of this, but again, if we’re comparing Galvadon to a medieval village, it would make sense.

What is even taught at this school? Math and whatever language they speak there, sure, but like they have little to no history that we know of, geography would be pointless, there are no foreign languages, science who, and with these clowns running the village I’ll bet there is no philosophy or social studies and... Doesn’t matter, let’s not do this right now.

Callis briefly mentioned that all girls in Galvadon must marry before the end of their school education, or they are deemed witches. The Elders Council even chooses the matches, in case those aren’t naturally formed or if they disagree with pre-existing ones. These kids are what,15,16, maybe younger?

(this makes me so mad, you have no idea-)

ANYWAY. They form these child marriages, for... look I’m gonna presume is because of population reposition. They need an average of 2 kids per couple or they’ll have more people dying than people being born. Let’s just presume it’s because of this because if it’s because of some tradition stuff I’ll scream, okay?

Maybe they have a low life expectancy in Gavaldon (which is another evidence for the case that the elders are part of the clergy, they probably don’t work, so they live longer).

So have them teenage girls poping them babies, I guess.

Also, a miracle they have survived this long, because the genetic pool for Gavaldon must be the worst ever, everyone is related to everyone, ew. At least, in theory, there would be no STIs.

In theory.

Ahem… During the middle ages, all forms of birth control tended to be frowned upon, at least here on the west, including coitus interruptus (aka, pull out method), (tho it depends of who was the pope at the time, some of them were cool with this one if you already had too many kids and was like super poor), because sex was supposed to be about procreating, so a marriage with no kids was ‘pointless’.

(hear me raging in the background, this context is stressing me out, i just wanna get to the headcanons-)

We can assume this view is probably compatible with the Elders Council mindset, as they are marrying CHILDREN.

If there were any available contraceptive methods, you can bet they weren’t teaching this stuff at school. They probably have no sex ed, and if they do, it’s going to be just about periods and vague stuff. Gotta love them church schools (I never went to one, officially, but honestly, I live in Brazil, what even is Secular State).

(“Don’t have sex before marriage, you’re gonna get pregnant and die”, - one of the teachers at the Galvadon school at some point, I bet)

Let me also mention that there is an specific Gavaldon law that states that if a girl is pregnant she is going to marry the boy who knocked her up. Which, specially in Vanessa’s case, makes no f-ing sense. Could she prove it was Stefan’s? Did she sent it to a DNA lab? If Stefan was the Elders favorite why would they not take his word?

I digress, let’s say Stefan didn’t deny sleeping with her and only said he was under a spell, which, hm, how dumb do you have to be to do that, it’s lying 101, Stefan c’mon, but okay, you do you.

So they are probably super “moral” in Galvadon. You know, the kind of moral who just swipes stuff under the rug. Like, yeah, Stefan you’re now doomed to marrying Vanessa, but ain’t nobody gonna say a thing if you cheat on her as long as you don’t do it during plain daylight.

(The amount of closeted gays in Gavaldon is probably astronomical, can you imagine?)

And then you have Callis. Whom I think is probably responsible for the introduction of birth control in Gavaldon. We have arrived at the headcanons. Hear me out:

After Stefan saved Callis, she was deemed a witch. She’s a ‘witch’ doctor for the town. Only the most desperate of people seek her out.

That means she normally wouldn’t get a lot of patients. Like, Idk about you, but Gavaldon doesn’t seem big enough for her to have people looking for her everyday. And she probably had to feed Agatha somehow.

But, while her being a doctor for normal diseases wasn’t really working all that well, everyone knew she had a hand in Vanessa’s miracle child. So ‘infertile’ women and women who had been getting sickly during pregnancies start looking for her, asking for her to help them.

Callis obviously doesn’t use her magic, but as she can’t say she used magic for Vanessa, she gives them generally good advice about herbs and stuff they can add to their food to make it ‘more likely’, aka stuff that reduces stress, telling them how to eat better, stuff they should avoid, etc. She’s no big expert, but at least in the Endless Woods they had sex ed and she was witch, she just knows stuff.

So she becomes this sort of witch gynecologist for Gavaldon’s desperate women.

It works for a while, but then people eventually share these tips amongst themselves to avoid going to see her. Then, it’s back to slightly starving herself so baby Agatha could eat.

One day, a teenage girl arrives at her doorstep in the middle of the night, trading food for her help. If she could ‘make people more fertile’, she could surely make them miscarriage. Maybe this girl got pregnant by sleeping with someone the elders didn’t aprove for her to marry, maybe it was something else a bit darker, but we won’t talk about how that could be common, given you could literally force someone to marry you if they had your child.

Callis panics, because she wasn't ‘making anyone more fertile’ really, she was making them healthier and therefore more likely to have a healthy kid. If she were to tell her to do the reverse of what she told the others, not only it wouldn’t work, but it would actually harm the girl’s health.

At first she’s like, “I can’t help you…”, but then she hears baby Agatha crying, poor thing, so hungry all the time. So Callis decides, “you know what, might as well”.

There’s probably many potions made with magic one could take to not have a baby in the Woods. Even ones that cause abortions with no side effects or danger to the woman. But there also more natural ways, ones that maybe aren’t 100% effective, but would work, tho it had some side effects.

So Callis, makes her a potion to take. For real life comparisons, let’s say she used Queen Anne’s Lace, which works a bit like Plan B. The girl is thankful, and goes on her way.

Soon enough, everybody knows Callis can do these potions. You have girls sneaking to Graves Hill in the middle of the night to get help in exchange for food and while the elders know something is fishy, they can’t do much anything about it. They ask Callis what is up with that and she’s like ‘nope, just ya know, helping them have babies, plan b who’.

She tries to introduce a variation of the potion, one that acts as birth control, because it would stop people from being irresponsable all the time, but the Plan B one is the one every girl wants, because well, it’s easier. You can be unsafe and then take a potion and it’s fine. Soon, it’s not just girls. There’s full grown women there too, who should really know better.

She is pissed, so she says she won’t make them any more potions unless people stop being so careless.

Someone tries to make a knock-off potion, but it ends tragically, because people don’t really know what Callis puts in it. And well… you know what looks a bit like Queen Anne’s Lace?

F-ing Water Hemlock, that’s what.

After that incident, people listen to Callis when it came to ingesting stuff. And thus, birth control culture is born in Gavaldon. Other people started trying out other things to avoid dealing with Callis, like animal-based condoms, pull-out method and inserting acacia gum into your vagina before you had sex,but she had a good clientele overall.

The Elders? Pissed. But since they couldn’t just prove this was her fault, they just kept on hating on her from a distance.

After Agatha has her first period, Callis sits her down and pretty much gives her the talk. Agatha doesn’t really see a point to it, boys are gross, but she listens nonetheless.

Callis gives Agatha the best sex ed homeclass ever, you can bet she will teach her correct anatomy, debunk myths the school told her about both periods and her own body and even promised her to teach her how to make the birth control potion once she got older.

Again Agatha doesn’t see a point, but okay.

When Agatha comes home with Tedros, years later tho. Callis is... worried.

She tries to ask Agatha if she’s being safe but her daughter just... stops functioning. Blushing like crazy.

(“We just kissed, like, once, mom.”)

That being said… Callis doesn’t live long enough to teach her how to make the potion.

So when Tedros and Agatha’s relationship starts to progress (hm… if you wanna read something about it, maybe wait a couple of days, I might or my might not have a sin fic in the works, it wouldn’t be one of my posts if it had no self-promotion, I’m my own sponsor after all) she’s unsure of who to ask about this.

And it makes her extra sad about her mother’s death, so that’s great.

I honestly don’t know who she would ask. If you have any ideas, please tell me. Because I’m kind of inclined to think that maybe Merlin might have predicted this and handed a recipe to her as a semi-joke, but idk. Maybe Uma?

But yes, Callis was totally Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist. And after they made Stefan mayor, I want people to remember her for the absolute legend she was, okay?

#school for good and evil series #school for good and evil #sge #Callis of Netherwood #Agatha of Woods Beyond #gavaldon

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fideleluc · 4 years

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introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay.

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him.

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment.

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn’t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times.

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major.

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that.

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover.

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people.

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him.

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality.

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.

#st:intro #( about. )#- took a genuine million years to find a decent gif for this which isn't a brilliant sign going forward #- turns out his fc is a lot more villainy than i'd first thought! ah well. probably too late for a change. we can live with it

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ziracona · 4 years

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The tendency in fandom to take every white girl with short hair, regardless of the status of their canonical interest or lack of interest in women and explicit interest and/or sexual history with everything but, proclaim them a lesbian queen, and then ignore or absolve them of every single horrific act they take in fiction because of this. Is not doing feminism. Women. Lesbians. Or anyone. Any favors. It’s just bad.

Somehow. Some people really do apparently need to hear that...being any specific sexuality...is not a personality trait.

And also. Women aren’t inherantly less vile than men (or anyone non-binary, agender, fluid, etc, else), and whatever bad deeds they do should be judged based on just that—on the deeds, and their context. Not their sexuality, imagined sexuality, or their gender. Becuase none of those things effect whether committing murder is bad. At all. Not even a little. And none of them. Is even a personality trait. Affecting the character’s value as a person.

It’s cool, and good, to see characters with minority identities. And it’s real nice. When it’s whatever you are. But them being whatever. Is not a personality trait. Just a fact. And sometimes. People of any type. Are not good. Pretending any minority status—gender, sexuality, race, disability, neurotype, etc—is a get out of jail free card? Is not. Doing them. Or anyone. Any favors. Personality disorder. Doesn’t make you bad. Also doesn’t make you good. Your actions do. Acting like Amy from Gone Girl did nothing wrong when she date rapes her boyfriend & then frames him for doing that to her & ruins his life, then blackmails her husband who is terrified of being murdered by her into staying with her for the sake of the child she made at a fertility clinic with his sperm without his consent, bc she’s a woman. Isn’t good. Men aren’t more deserving of violence than women. Neither is anyone else. Jane. Left an infant child in an unheated car in subzero weather in a snow storm with zombies around that easily would hear it cry and go eat it. So she could lie and say she already let zombies eat it to bait a man with easily triggerable PTSD who had just lost his family to zombies for the second time into starting a fight. Because he was injured, unarmed, weak, down an eye, and 50, while she was fit, mid 20s, healthy, and armed with a hunting knife. Because she wanted an excuse to kill him without looking bad, because she wanted the 11 year old girl she was co-parenting with him, all to herself. And her immediately responding to the dude throwing a punch by stabbing him in the stomach to escalate the fight from brawl to life or death, then losing her knife, and instead of telling him the baby was alive & she’d made it up to start a fight which could have at any point ended the fight, begging the 11 year old child to gun down her oldest surviving friend with her own hands in cold blood so that she’d get what she wanted? Is evil. As is crying on the 11 year old and using pity as a weapon to get her to stay with her if she gets mad and wants to leave when she realizes Jane staged the whole thing for an excuse to murder, and so is after realizing like a month later that she is pregnant, committing suicide, and leaving the 11 year old that she just manipulated into killing her oldest surviving friend/completely isolated on purpose so she could have her to herself, totally alone in the apocalypse to care for an infant. Jennifer’s Body? Is a fantastic film. And Jennifer didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. But not one single boy she kills during the course of that film deserved it—and explicitly so. Even the guy who could easily have been a meathead jock bully is outside alone crying becuase his best friend just died and he loved him before she decides to lure him off and eat him alive. And acting like it’s totally fine & Needy should have just let her keep eating boys instead of killing her? Is fucked up. None of them deserved to die. And no one deserves death innately more because they are or are not something that is just a factual designator of their makeup as a human. The exchange student was scared and alone and nice, the catholic kid was sweet and Needy’s friend, Chip is a bad boyfriend but he meant well and being stupid doesn’t mean you deserve to die. And this girl ate them alive. That’s not funny. Or cool. Or fine becuase they were dudes. Gertrude Robinson? Chose again and again to betray people who loved her, or trusted her—sold out victims of awful trauma to their worst nightmares. Killed friends in the worst possible ways, like it was nothing. Michael loved her, and trusted her, and tried to care for her, and she without faltering fed him to his worst nightmare and forced him to become it. There is nothing excusable about that action.

Jude Perry? Has 0 redeeming features. Didn’t even stay faithful to her poor gf & was creepy obsessed w Agnes. Literally murdered her co-worker friend just because he was happy, and she wanted to destroy things: that’s it. She didn’t even dislike him. Murdered him because he had a wife and kid and house and it seemed fun, then burned down his house, took his wife’s money, and now checks in on his kid every so often in case he ever recovers from the trauma she inflicted enough to be fun to kill. There is literally nothing good about this woman. Yes. I mean that. Because being a lesbian? Is just a thing. There is no g/b tag, there is no tag at all. Amanda Young? Got kidnapped and tortured and forced to choose between killing a man who couldn’t resist but was conscious to watch her, and letting herself die, and she killed him. Then, instead of responding to that trauma with guilt or responsibility or anger at her captor, joined up with him and started helping him kidnap people just like her. She was not forced, she was not lied to. It does not matter if John was manipulative; she is a grown ass woman and like all grown ass adults, responsible for her own actions and choices. She did not get manipulated pitifully into this—she did not go unwillingly. She volunteered, with a happy vengeance, became obsessed with John and in love with him, despite his complete lack of interest. And she did not even just do what he did. She decided on her own that no one deserved redemption, & she killed them for fun in traps that wouldn’t let them go even if they did whatever awful thing the trap demanded as a price for life, just for the fun and power trip of watching them die helpless & in agony. That was all her, & her alone. She sat in a house full of people slowly dying from organ decomposition over the course of a few hours, for no crime worse than drug addiction—the thing she of all people should have been most sympathetic to—knowing full well at any time she could have saved them and stopped the game, and did nothing. She held a woman in her arms and stroked her head lovingly while she let her die in one of the most inhumane ways possible for the crime of having not been able to break an addition. She got saved by a 16 year old child multiple times, who had done nothing more than shoplift, and stood by while he had to watch a man get his brains blown out, another burn to death in an oven. As his organs slowly dissolved too. Watched the kid kill another human being & massively traumatize himself to save her life. And responded to that by attacking & knocking him out, tying him up, locking him up for days in a tiny safe bound and gagged with an oxygen supply to keep him alive, to be a piece in another game. Left his father, who had shown up to try & save him, to starve to death in chains in a horrible abandoned rotting room, & never even told him his son was alive. Let every other addict die horribly, let that kid sustain permanent damage to his organs that will kill him young, antidote taken or not, took his dad from him, & went back to torturing without a second thought. Kidnapped a woman whose worst crime was being a doctor & dating someone while maybe separated instead of divorced from her husband, put her in a trap that would take her head off with shotgun blasts, threatened her for fun, & then killed her even after she did everything she was asked, because it was more important to her that the old man she was obsessed with think she was special and great, than for the other woman to get to stay alive another day & go home to her daughter. There is nothing sympathetic about Amanda. She’s just not only evil, but too spineless to take responsibility for her own choices & actions, & tries to hide behind a “UwU I am sad & lonely & damaged & having trauma means I can literally torture people to death to feel special & it’s really tragic and sympathetic about me, not evil. Uhm. Some people??? Commit torture-murders?? To cope??” And acting like she’s somehow a victim in this becuase she is a pretty white girl with short hair? Is fucked. Up.

But every. God damn. Time. I see this. Please. It needs. To stop. People go: “UwU pretty girl short hair want” & I go “Ok. I see where u. Come from. Indeed.” But then. They go. “Girl pretty I like. So she was blameless. For this atrocity.” Those words...

Every day. I wake up. Thinking of Janic saying. Iconically. “At least me and Regina George know we’re mean,” and I weep inside. Because I cannot fathom. Or stomach. The lack of responsibility. I will kill. Characters who cannot admit they are bad. Myself. But somehow. They become. Flames. To moths. Of the “UwU pretty white girl short hair. We stan. Victim. Queen. Love her. Never done wrong.” Boy. We all done wrong. Even all my faves. At least once. I think. ...not if we count dogs probably, but people, yes. Ok. Anyway. All this is to say. Characters. Should be judged. Based on what they did. And why. And the aftermath. Not a grouping tag. I don’t mean any of these. Make bad characters. At all. Amy is a great character. So is Jennifer. So are most of them. I have quite affection even. For Jeneffer specifically. But you can like. Character. Without proclaiming. Them perfect humans. Who never did a thing wrong. Or their acts somehow. Justifiable. And ok. And you better stop saying. Ok. Because done. To men. Men do not. Deserve violence. Any more. Than anyone else. No one deserves violence defacto for factors. Outside their control. Wtf. Really people. It’s ok too. For character. To do much bad stuff. And still like character. Villains. And often just complex characters. Sometimes just characters. Do stuff. That is bad. It’s not supposed to be not their fault. Or ok. Also. Women are not a sisterhood. Of flawless beings. Who never hurt anyone or do any bad stuff. They can. And are. Often purpotrators. Of awful acts. And when they are. It is still. Very bad. Still. An awful act. Same level. Even. Of awful. Wild.

In conclusion.

Having short hair. While a girl. Doesn’t make her a butch queen. Who is absolved of all responsibility for that murder she committed. It just makes her a girl with short hair. That did a murder. I’m gonna. Kill someone. Too. And if I chop my hair off. I guess I can get away with it.

#personal #*dances wildly to abba music while delivering speech*#some of you all apparently really need a girl to come fuck up your life bc the lengths to which some of y’all so devotedly seem to believe #women are less evil is astronomical. and let me tell you. from personal experience? a girl can ruin your life. just as easily. and with as #little pity. guilt. remorse. or afterthought. as a man. and it aint any more ok. & you know what? so can a fluid person. or a nonbinary #person. legit anyone. can be bad. or good. and do bad. or good. theyre not defacto worse for coming from X starting point. and theyre also.#OuO not. better.#not everyone who likes or is sympathetic to these specific characters even be like that either like u know what? its possible to both be #sypathetic to a character & not excuse & atand their actions. I like & feel bad for Jennifer. a lot. one of my bros in college loved Jane #from twdg. Not bc she thought it was totally fine she’d been super evil though. its *dances* not that hard actually #also nothin against lovin evil lady characters or evil characters in general. just me or anyone else loving them does nothing to make their #evil deeds suddely ok or vanish into the mist #people have some real trouble w nuance huh. folks like a character & assume that means stanning everything theyve ever done. hate a charactr #and suddenly forget how to factor any outside factors into their view of said person’s actions. its a wild bad ride yo #like i get it. im a girl & ive had plenty of men ruin my life i truly get it. but is there anything truly more detrimental to feminism & to #just treating people decent in general than the WomenDoNoWrong mindset & apologism thrown up like its actually a decent counter t patriarchy #? probably actually yeah im sure there are worse. but its still REALLY not good!! feminism is just a stance that all people deserve equal #treatment & an investment in pursuing that reality. if youre excusing people of horrible actions bc girl & treating violence against non-#women as fine youre not a feminist u actually just suck generally as a person #i also lose my mind how half the characters i see get this treatment aint even lesbians & often explicitly like men yet get both assigned #that & treated like that sexuality is a hall pass for human rights violations. im dyin #this entire thought rant was prompted by reading a post earlier today about bi-phobia & gettin mad about how bi people get treated idk how #spagheti brain exactly went there to here so /fast/ but anyway. same brand of problematic. & i am v tired :] of this :] specifically :]#every time i see that post abt women killers in horror i am like ‘OP hiw are your points so good but all your examples so /terrible/.’ rip #i guess this is just life. and i feel excessively better after screaming jnto the void of my blog #also i get it gertrude robinson wanted to stop the apocalypse but fuck gertrude robinson she has no excuse. nothing could justify what she #did to people who loved her. and shes a well written and layered character whonisnt like just pure evil but she is VERY bad and i WILL kill #her (again) myself if given the chance & i have every right to.#spoilers #again. great charcters. amanda an iconic saw villain. gertrude fascinating. etc. but also. they be doing mad evil deeds & tis not ok

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queenofpcrtugal · 4 years

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❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the QUEEN OF PORTUGAL, CRARA BRAGANZA, from PORTUGAL. they are at best GENEROUS, and at their worst VINDICTIVE. whilst abroad, their ambition is to STRENGHTEN THE POSITION OF HER COUNTRY BY CREATING ALLIANCES, AVENGE HER SISTER. SHE seems to remind everyone of LENA HEADEY & SCENT OF MUSK AND AMBER, PEARLS SCATTERED ON THE MARBLE FLOOR,SILENCE AFTER ASKING AN UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTION❞ penned by LUX, GMT + 2, SHE/HER, 23.

Hello to all of you !! I’m Lux, and here’s my cersei’s & catherine de medici inspired baby, Crara; come to me for plotting, just don’t cry if she bites you :3

FULL NAME : CRARA MARIA BRAGANZA (NEE HENRIQUEZ)

TITLES ( FROM BIRTH UNTIL PRESENT ) :

Duchess of Valencia

Queen of Portugal

BIRTHPLACE : Valencia, Portugal AGE : 45 LANGUAGES : Portuguese, Spanish, Catalan, Latin, Arabic, English

DYNASTY / HOUSE:

MOTHER & FATHER: Teresa de Silva & Pedro Henriquez, descendant of the first King of Portugal of House of Burgundy

SPOUSE: Cristiano Braganza, King of Portugal

ISSUE : Crown Princess, Francisca 2nd Princess of Portugal 3rd Princess of Portugal

SIBLINGS : Duke of Valencia Costanza of Viana (Queen of Aragon) (†)

OTHER : Brother in law, Ferrando of Viana (King of Aragon) (†) Sister in Law, Lianor Braganza of England (†) Nephew, Arthur, Prince of Wales (†) Nephew, Harry, Prince of wales Niece, Beatrice, dowager duchess of Burgundy

ZODIAC : Scorpio RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : Roman catholic ORIENTATION : Heterosexual PERSONALITY TYPE : ENTJ: The Commander (Extraverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Judging) VICES : vengeful, manipulative, proud VIRTUES : generous, open-minded, loyal FACECLAIM : Lena Headey HEIGHT : 5,54 ft RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : Long, wavy golden hair, green eyes. REPUTATION : To the people of Lisbon she is the extension of her father - a loyal advisor, always at the feet of the king’s throne, always ready to help. To other royals she is a cut-throat negotiator. A viper ready to strike. Above all else - a pious and devoted catholic (at least that’s what she wants people to believe) , generous hostess, a connoisseur of art.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

Lover / s.

Though Crara and Cristiano have heirs, she still hopes to give him a son, and ensure the safety of their lineage on the throne. Or rather - her lineage. Restoring Henriquez' royal bloodline was her father's dream, and it is still hers... embedded in her, just like his lessons. She feels history gazing down at her. The amount of hours she spent praying for a son is countless, and the ocean of tears, every time she was sure she might be pregnant again, but wasn't - bottomless. But maybe God is merciful after all - if He made Sarah pregnant with Abraham's son at old age, maybe there is still a glimmer of hope for Crara ? She's desperate enough to take a lover who might bless her with what her husband couldn't, despite their mutual agreement that this is the last boundary they shouldn't cross.

Brother, Duke of Valencia

They are the last descendants of the great House of Burgundy, the last Henriquez children who count. She would die for him without asking twice, and she’s afraid that he could die for her - or, at least, wants to die foolishly, by the hand of their enemies. Like a devil on her shoulder, Duke of Valencia wants her to wage war against the Emirate of Cordóba, and she loves him enough to give in.

Allies ( new, different betrothals to her daughters )

Though her daughters are engaged, that doesn't mean they are wed. She wishes to influence and change some of those decisions to create international alliances and secure the position of Portugal in Europe. And everyone who sees the Emirate of Córdoba as an enemy - might be a potential ally.

Enemies

Crara wishes to know the truth. She loved her sister, her Costanza, too much to let the memory of her go down with the ship, and rest at the bottom of the sea. Sitting alone in the dark she thought of many possibilities of what could have happened, but one of it stood out the most : wasn't that too convenient? They had a chance to reclaim Aragon at last, with the help of France, and the murder of Muslim ambassador... She wishes to face the men who might have given the order and decide, what is it going to be : war or peace between them. She's equally willing to give them both, though her brother wants her to choose the first option and encourages her fiercely to do so. There wasn't a better opportunity to investigate, than having a potential murderer of her sister under her own roof. She spoke with wolves in the wolves' den, so she's used to facing enemies on the grounds far less pleasant than her own home.

HER-STORY.

Pedro Henriquez, late duke of Valencia, was a descendant of the first king of Portugal, Afonso I, member of the Capetian House of Burgundy, also known as Afonso Henriques or Afonso the Conqueror. He conquered Santarém and Lisbon from the Muslims (1147), secured Portuguese independence from Leon (1139), and established a dynasty who ruled for over two hundred years. However, in the mid XIV century house of Burgundy was overthrown as a result of economical decay and schemes of other, power-hungry Portuguese noble houses. The power struggle ended with a Braganza's rise to power. However, the house of previous kings did not disappear, on the contrary - they still stood close to the throne, waiting patiently for Braganza's mistake and opportunity to reclaim power.

Pedro, father of Crara, Costanza and duke of Valencia, knew very well that being a ruler doesn't necessarily mean sitting on a throne, but, sometimes - standing behind it, pulling the strings. He would whisper in the ear of the old king, and then the next one - Cristiano, while always making careful steps and creating a never-ending web of connections.

With Pedro as the head of Henriquez family their return to power seemed to be closer than ever with Crara by the side of the king of Portugal, and Costanza - as the wife of king of Aragon. Many speculated that Crara would be a great fit for the throne... if only she was a man.

Her father began to arrange her marriage with a man who was most likely to succeed the late king of Portugal when she was sixteen. Though it was carefully mastered plan, she did love him. Their love became the example of marriage in the whole Christiendom, but nowadays things are not as bright behind closed doors, especially since Crara, during her almost thirty-year of reign did not provide a male heir.

1458.

𝐵𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝐵𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃.

How can one live only on love ? Her husband, no - her King's love was, for so many years, the beginning and the end for her - the base for her position on court, the core of the respect of others in his palace... Until she grew up and became a woman she was always meant to be. Not only a wife. An advisor. A ruler. Many called their marriage legendary, but if so, then her jealousy was legendary as we, at least for the majority of their marriage.

She grew bitter and cynical as well. Her eyes have seen all the pitiful and ugly faces of politics, and she now can only shake her head in awe when she sees people being lead so easily by their rulers' pledges. 𝒫𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓂 𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓈 , once could say, but there were so many nuances in between. The trick, as her father used to say, is to rule over people well enough that they wouldn't feel they are ruled.

Crara doesn't give second chances too often. She may forgive but never forgets. She always wanted to be better than her sister and if she was offered to bring her back to life, she would refuse. The world without Costanza felt empty, but that was an emptiness she felt inside her too, every time she would compare herself to her pious, beloved sister, who at least was not a failure of a woman - she had a son, after all. Crara is unloved, because she can hardly love herself, knowing what she became, and she hates it. But she loves power too much to change it, and the state of self-loathing is quite comfortable at times.

#CRHS.INTRO #that was a long one but I hope It may somehow encourage you to plot ? :)#Also I will give my firstborn for duke of Valencia I need Crara's brother for angst !

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juleshq · 4 years

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* 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐠𝐨𝐬 here and do i have the tea for you . 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 is back in bridgehampton for the summer , living off the 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎 family 𝟐.𝟑 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 net worth . must be nice to come back home to the hamptons , i wonder what her fellow class of 2017 grads think of her return . you know , she was known around town as the 𝐂𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 and for bhs senior superlatives pronouns was crowned as 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 & 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 . i wonder if that still holds true today , a lot can change when you go off to 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 and study 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 . either way , i bet she is still very 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 , 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃 , 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 . hopefully this time next year the plans to 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 come true . in the meantime , i look forward to seeing her blast 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄) 𝖇𝖞 𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐢 𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐬 at every hamptons function . it’s going to be a wild summer home , welcome back .

i don’t think i’ve EVER been this excited to plot and interact with a group of people , u all seem like such beaut ppl & i’m in love already but i’m a little . . . intimidated ADFJH . anyways , i’m not going to ramble bc i’m ready to get down to business , i’m sammie & i go by she / her pronouns ! under the cut is a long bio on jules ! i will GLADLY give you a synopsis on this chaotic mess pls just ask , HERE is her pinterest board please ignore the sudden amount of pins of just her , also i’m down to plot here or on discord , my discord is @ᵘ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵈᵒˡˡᵃʳ ?#3246

* / BASICS

full name: juliana kaia dicaprio

nicknames: jules , julie / juli

age & dob: twenty-one , august 14th , 1998

place of birth: long island , new york .

sexuality: heterosexual ( that she knows off )

bender: cisfemale

* / MORE BASIC INFO

languages: english, french, some spanish.

religion: catholic

education: high school , majoring in biology at stanford

occupation: unemployed

drinks, smokes, & drugs: all of the above

* / PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: leo

likes: dark chocolate , tea in the morning , white roses , instigating bad situations , wine , black coffee , the smell of freshly brewed coffee , talking with strangers , long travels , adventures , being called “ angel ” , popcorn , quick tex responders , products made with silk , athletes , crime shows / films , crowded rooms , glitter .

dislikes: fake designer bags , people who don’t know how to lie , f , people who wear pearls regularly , long text messages , voicemails , men who are cheap , people who chew with their mouth open , humming , thrift shops , water-poof mascara , the smell of grass , extensive planning , and arrogance & stupidity combined .

bad habits: breaking promises to herself & others , not thinking before doing , fixating with her hair when nervous .

secret talent: juggling

fears: aging terribly , being widowed , drowning , being buried alive .

positive traits: alluring , convincing , affectionate , ambitious / devoted , systematic .

negative traits: manipulative , conniving , deceitful , dishonest , subjective .

* / APPEARANCE

tattoos: dagger on right index finger , “ devil ” on left index finger .

piercings: three in each ear , cartilage .

* / FAMILY INFO.

parent names: claire boucher & david dicaprio .

parent relationship: divorced .

sibling names: annalise , ashton , keller , & wade .

sibling relationship: step siblings & half .

children: none .

pets: 2 family dogs on her moms side.

* / BIOGRAPHY

i’m sorry it got long

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐑’s entire childhood was spent in the spotlight -- her father was a huge rockstar in the 70's & 80's, and her mother a model . Claire spent her childhood between Florida , California , and New York , attending red carpets , premieres , etc. Claire attended Stanford to obtain a bachelor in science but was in and out of modeling in her teens and early twenties .

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎 lived an affluent life more under the radar . His grandfather is CEO of JD banking , one of the four largest banks in the world . He attended Princeton as the rest of his family did . He got involved in the company business at a very young age as did his brothers , but went on to become the new CEO after his fathers unfortunate passing in 2002 .

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 was and will forever be her parents pride & joy . her parents were high school sweethearts & got married young -- at a twenty-two / twenty-three . they had been trying for two years to start their own family but jules’ mother struggled . thanksgiving in the hamptons , a dicaprio family tradition the day is engraved in her mothers memory , in 1997 , they announced to their family that after years of trying , they were pregnant .

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 grew up completely pampered ; bi-weekly trips to the nail salon with her mother and annual father-daughter trips . her mother was her best friend until she began morphing jules into what she thought was perfect . making sure she spoke at least one other language , was active in school , extracurriculars , how she presented herself . her mother cared about image due to her own childhood of growing up in the spotlight . besides the near brainwash to fit her mother’s image of perfect , everything was ideal & ‘ normal ’ up until the summer before her freshman year of high school . her mother discovered the affair her father had been having for months with a woman he did business with . he claimed it was due to the fact that jules’ mother had returned to some normalcy and wanted to work again , modeling and doing some traveling , therefore he ‘ just missed her around ’ . jules was aware of everything going on , heard the countless nights they spent arguing in the opposite wing of the house , she picked up on her father being late to family dinner because “ he had work to do ” . her parents tried their best to keep her in the dark for the sake of her sanity , innocence , and view on her father . jules went along with it all , the daddy’s girl in her was in denial for all of the months leading up to their divorce . at the end , her mother got full custody of her .

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 came two “ yes ” parents . everything became a competition between the two , trying to one up the other ; who took jules on the better summer vacation , had the most over the top christmas morning , etc . it was insanely manipulative & jules there wasn’t a time period where jules felt more alone ; not having a sibling to relate to , she was embarassed to tell her peers the real reason why her parents split , it was so cliché . both parents didn’t take too long to remarry , her father found another stay-at-home wife and her mother lucked out with a lawyer ten years older than she . her step-father had two daughtes & son with whom jules hated in the beginning – it was a lot to take in and she was used to being the only child . her father went on to have a child with his new wife two years after their marriage . it was all an immense amount of change within seven years .

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 for jules had been constantly changing since the news of her father’s affair , she’d spend her summers & holiday’s going back & forth between each parents in the hamptons until her father moved to calabasas to be closer to his wife’s family as soon as the baby was born . jules had always been a wild , reckless child at heart and the divorce between her parents only allowed her to push her limits even more . the two-three years her parents spent processing their divorce were her golden years -- she could not get in trouble with her parents and they never got upset with her . she took advantage of it all and abused drinking , hanging out with boys , you name it . she loved the attention she received from any male figure -- it made up for the lack of attention she was getting from her father once he got the boot .

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 was where jules found her safe space ; she could be her wild self , far away from home and only a five hour drive from her father that she still rarely sees . she joined a sorority , joined the exec board , was forced to join french club by her mother , all while maintaining a 4.08 gpa .

* ` 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 jules has always been a wild child . she’s always had a desire for attention , all eyes & attention on her , though the B I R T H of her uncontrollable desire for attention from males stemmed after her parents divorce . the lack of attention from her father allowed her to realize her dad wasn’t the only one who could spoil her & every man was basically the same . she’s not super close with either of her dads at the moment and sees her father about three times a year , two of which are holidays & every now and then the spontaneous visit from him in cali .

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 is a h u g e cry baby in the sense that she hates not getting what she wants . its not on purpose most of the time , it’s the way she was raised and the nature of her parents . she’s never had to ask for anything twice & hates doing so . though she’s a huge cry baby , she will try her best to mask her actual tears . she does a good job of seeming innocent , she’s that one friend that is super sus & lies a lot & keeps secrets but somehow is so good at convincing people other wise ? she’s a huge flirt , even when she’s not doing it on purpose , it’s sort of a weird practice or habit she’s grown into ? she feels empowered in the weirdest way of owning men and being able to form their opinion of her for them , this stems from her newly founded daddy issues it’s more so due to the fact that her relationship with her father began to diminish once he moved out . she is & has been on her “ fuck love ” rampage .

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 do whatever she wants and will hide her bad intentions . she lives for chaos , loves enjoys pushing limits & boundaries . she loves a game of cat & mouse / teasing just knowing she has someone in her grip is what helps her sleep at night . she is a bit crazy . . . the type to watch someone’s snap score go up . def that type to block and unblock someone 238473 timES . she has an underlying need of approval from others and she almost needs to be liked by everyone she meets .

𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 she wants to model & be a playboy bunny BUT her dad would literally disown her if she didn’t follow her family legacy and attend stanford or yale to use her brains for good . she’s in school to be a pediatrician because at the end of the day she loves children and always wanted to seek a job in the healthcare field . she has plans to attend yale’s medical school after her senior year is complete at stanford .

i really based her off of american beauty & angela in the movie ( if you’ve seen it omg ily ) g

#╰ * ✴ 𝙢𝙪𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙨 ↝ 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 › ooc #entitled:intro #hi hI HI!!!!!!#xD

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thebreakfastgenie · 4 years

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@kaelio I believe you were the one who asked about the Elizabeth Weber drama! I had it all typed out the other day but tumblr ate it and I was too distraught to type it all out again right away. CW for brief mentions of suicide attempts.

There’s kind of a soundtrack to this as relevant songs are noted throughout.

When the story of Elizabeth Weber begins her name was actually Elizabeth Weber Small. Elizabeth is Catholic and when she became pregnant fairly early in her relationship with Jon Small they decided to get married. Jon Small was in a band called the Hassles, which featured Elizabeth’s brother Harry as a keyboardist. Unfortunately, Harry was struggling with addiction, and when he became unstable and difficult to work with Jon fired him from the band and replaced him with Billy Joel.

According to Jon, Elizabeth initially did not like Billy, but Jon and Billy immediately became best friends. Within a few years Billy and Jon decided to move on from the Hassles and start their own group called Attila. At this point we must acknowledge that the Elizabeth Weber drama performed a public service by ultimately leading to the end of Attila because Attila was the worst band maybe ever. Attila was a self-styled metal band featuring Jon Small on drums, Billy Joel on organ and vocals, and absolutely no one else. He even tried to scream on some of their tracks. Can you imagine Billy Joel doing screamo? Yeah. They also hooked up a bunch of amps and stuff to make their live shows as loud as possible. Unsurprisingly, Attila wasn’t doing well, and all of them were struggling financially. This led to Jon, Elizabeth, their young son, Sean, and Billy all living in the same house together.

According to the most recent biography of Billy Joel, Elizabeth claimed she and Jon had already separated, and Billy only discovered later that this was untrue. I’m not sure I buy this, but in any case, Billy and Elizabeth started sleeping together. Jon found out and that was the end of Attila and their marriage. It was also during this period that Billy Joel drank furniture polish. There was also an incident where a friend, seeing he was stressed about the situation, gave him some pills and he decided to take them all at once. This is also when he wrote the suicide note that eventually became the lyrics for Tomorrow Is Today, which appeared on his first album, Cold Spring Harbor.

With Attila mercifully dead, Billy and Elizabeth drove from Long Island to Los Angeles to kick off his solo career. This trip was the inspiration for Worse Comes To Worst from the Piano Man album; the “woman in New Mexico” refers to Elizabeth’s sister who they stayed with along the way.

Billy and Elizabeth were living together when one day Elizabeth said “we’re getting married.” Billy didn’t particularly want to get married, but he thought it was the right thing to do, so they went to the courthouse that afternoon. Jon flew out occasionally at one point they were all in a parking lot together, possibly to hand Sean over for a visit, and they all just started laughing together about the absurdity of the situation. They also used to put 6-year-old Sean on airplanes by himself to go back and forth for visitation. Billy has said Ain’t No Crime from the Piano Man album is about “a fight with my wife.”

The story of Billy Joel’s first record deal is a post of its own, but while waiting out that contract we get to the Piano Man period, where Billy was playing in a bar under the name Bill Martin (his middle name) and Elizabeth was working there as a waitress while also taking classes to get a business degree. Eventually Billy signed with Columbia and they decided to go back to New York (half of Turnstiles is about this: Say Goodbye To Hollywood, New York State of Mind, and Summer Highland Falls refers to the town they were living in when they first got back).

Sometime during this period Billy asked Elizabeth to be his manager. I'm more sympathetic to Elizabeth than most fans. She is a very intelligent woman who faced a lot of sexism in he music industry in the 1970s. In any case, Billy Joel wrote two songs about her on the Stranger: She’s Always A Woman, which referred to how people saw her as cold or cruel but he didn’t see her that way, and his first real hit, Just The Way You Are. The latter was presented to her as a birthday present and, the story goes, Elizabeth asked if she also got the publishing rights. Now, I can excuse this, because as his manager she did need to know, but she was later witnessed outside smoking a cigarette muttering about how she “didn’t even get the fucking publishing.”

Eventually Elizabeth got tired of being Billy’s manager and her brother, Frank took over. Frank continued as Billy’s manager even after Billy and Elizabeth got divorced, which turned out to be an awful idea. While making the Nylon Curtain Billy Joel was in a bad motorcycle accident. Elizabeth came to visit him in the hospital and tried to rush him into signing divorce papers while he was still out of it, hoping to get concessions he would not have agreed to otherwise, saying “oh let’s just get this over with!” He figured out what was going on and kicked her out. Billy Joel summarized A Room of Our Own as “I got divorced,” and Surprises, both from the Nylon Curtain, is also said to be about the divorce. (Laura is not about Elizabeth, it’s about his mother, though all he’ll admit to is “a member of my family.)

Frank Weber went on to scam Billy Joel out of a ton of money, which the song The Great Wall of China on River of Dreams is about. Billy stopped playing She’s Always A Woman in concerts for a few years, though he often retires songs just because he’s tired of playing them. A few years ago Elizabeth attended one of his concerts and he played it for her, and it’s since found its way back onto his regular setlist. When he played Just The Way You Are at the concert I attended he said “well, it didn’t really work out, but it was fun while it lasted.” He’s still on good terms with Sean, who refers to him as his stepfather. Jon Small became a music video director and directed some of Billy Joel’s music videos and they’re still close friends. Apparently they’ll still call each other up to talk about Elizabeth sometimes.

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fluffyunicornofdanger · 5 years

Text

Just What I Needed

A/N: This might be a little confusing, but this fic takes place in 1987. Roger is 38 and Axl is 25. I changed the ending of the fic from the request. It kinda just went where it went. I may turn this into a series, let me know if I should. I have a few more requests that I’m gonna try and get done before the end of the week. Requests are open, so don’t be afraid to send them in. I would love to get feedback or whatever. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask. Hope you guys enjoy.

*~~~~~*

Masterlist

Roger Taylor x Reader/ Axl Rose x Reader

Part Two / Part Three

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: Hey! So I had this idea some time ago, hope you can do it. I know you will have to mix timelines to make it make sense, but what would happen if Roger or Bri (aware of reader’s feelings) had taken the reader for granted until Axl Rose tries to make a move on her during a party or whatever. Rog/Bri gets really mad because suddenly is afraid of losing the reader. Lots of fluff at the end, please. Btw, I love your writing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Language???

*~~~~~*

The studio was buzzing with life as Y/n walked in. It often amazed her how full of life the building could get during the day and how silent it would become at night. The difference in time was astonishing, making her fall in love with the art of music. It had a way of bringing out colors and feelings that weren’t present when the sound was turned off. That’s what it did to the studio and her heart.

Y/n took a seat on the couch, watching Roger play the drums. He did it with such power and certainty, it was unbelievable that sometimes he would screw up. She sighed, trying not to stare but that’s all she could ever do around him.

It was a horrible thing to admit, she knew it, but she loved the man. There was no way to pin down exactly what it was about him. It seemed to be everything and nothing all at once. Sometimes it was his smile, others it was his personality, and then there were those rare moments where it was nothing but the ora surrounding him.

Not only was it a horrible thing to love him, seeing as how he was 18 years her senior, but it was stupid. She could see it plain as day. Though he wasn’t married, he practically was. Dominique was still in the picture and Y/n was also aware that a few other women were as well. So her love for the drummer was stupid and foolish. He simply couldn’t stay with one woman long enough and the only reason that he was still with Dominique was because they had kids. Those poor kids who had to grow up knowing that their parents didn’t really love each other. It was a shame, but she loved him anyway.

That, to her, was the funny thing about love. She knew that her feelings were useless, nothing would really come of them. It wasn’t like her and Roger would ever be involved, yet she still loved him. Hopeless love, it seemed. But each and everyday, she felt that same spark when he was around no matter how much she tried to suppress it.

Y/n was snapped out of gaze when Roger stood from the drums and walked into the room. He gave Y/n a quick smile, one that was always thrown her way ever since he found out about her feelings, before turning to John.

“How did that sound? Cause I’m not doing that again,” he stated with a chuckle.

John shrugged, a playful smile growing on his face. “One or two more times should do it.”

Roger shook his head, his short blonde locks flying out of place. “Then you can do it, Deacon.” He extended his drum sticks to the man as a joke, taking them back when John wasn’t interested. He then plopped on the couch next to Y/n.

As much as she wanted to scootch away, create a barrier that she felt was needed around him, she found that she couldn’t. He had her wrapped around his finger and everyone knew it. It was obvious.

Roger threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close her.

“Roger,” she whispered, trying to move away. “Not here.”

He laughed, vibrating against her. “Why not? They already know.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, giving in to his sweet voice.

They already knew.

She hated that. Y/n felt like eyes were always on her, giving her dirty looks when her back was turned. Try as she might to escape them and escape the drummer before a scandal broke out, nothing worked. She was Queen’s assistant and they not only needed her but loved her. They would probably crash and burn without her there to keep them in line. Though they weren’t as wild as they used to be, it wasn’t hard for them to go off the rails every now and then. She was quite like an anchor to them, so any time she tried to resign, no one would have it. Freddie would tell her how they would be lost without her, Brian and John would tell her that nothing they did would be the same without her there, and Roger would always tell her that she would miss them too much to stay away for long.

It was a horrible situation to be in.

All she wanted was the best for them. She truly did love each of them, but she felt that if she stayed things would... get weird. Her feelings for Roger wouldn’t disappear anytime soon, but his would. He was always going after the next best thing. So, he would be interested in her for a while until a prettier woman was to come along. And Y/n didn’t think she could deal with that pain. Not when she would have to see him almost every day. That was pain she didn’t want to go through in front of prying eyes. That pain would change everything, she knew it.

Y/n was too caught up in her thought, something that was becoming a reoccurrence, to notice that Roger was talking to her.

“Y/n.”

She blinked, turning to him. A serious look plastered on his face. “Yeah?”

He rolled his eyes, a small laugh escaping. He looked at her like she was some child. The same way he looked at his own children. It was sickening. But she was young and naive, making looks like that normal, but she didn’t want to receive them from him. “Were you listening?”

“No,” she sang, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t think you deserve to know, seeing as how you weren’t paying the slightest attention.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, pouting a little, something that always made him give in. “Fine.”

“Now, don’t look so down,” he told her. “I’ll tell you.”

She perked up, repositioning herself so that her body was almost turned completely towards him, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “Alright, let’s hear it then.”

“The boys and I have been invited to a party in L.A. by one of our friends,” he began. “Seeing as how Freddie is a partier, there is no way we could turn down the offer.”

Try as she must to understand, she simply couldn’t. Freddie may have been the life of the party, but Y/n wasn’t even close to that. So, she wasn’t sure why Roger was even telling her about it. They were grown men, who were all smart enough to pack their own bags and get to the airport. There was nothing they needed her to do. Y/n raised a brow, “Is that it?”

“No. I was thinking that I won’t have nearly as much fun Freddie will, so maybe you should come with me. It will be a blast. What do you say?”

She swallowed, unsure of what to say. What about Dominique? What about the press? If she went with him, people were bound to ask questions. Most assistants never got the chance to leave their office, let alone go to a party halfway around the world. It would be more than odd if she were to go with them and even odder if she hung around Roger the whole time. He may have not cared about what the public had to say, but she did.

The logical answer to his question was obviously no, but logic had been thrown out the window a long time ago. “Sounds like fun,” she replied. “When do we leave?”

*~~~~~*

Music was blaring, encasing Y/n in a layer of noise. The idea of going to the party was great at the beginning before she had even arrived, but now it was the last thing she wanted to do. Everything was too loud, overloading her sense, and people were way too close for comfort. She enjoyed having her space, but here, in the middle of a crowded room, she got none of that. It didn’t help matters that the one person that was supposed to guide her around had disappeared into the crowd.

Y/n sighed, trying her best to slip between people to get to the bar. She needed something to take the edge off. Parties had never been her thing. She was always that good kid. Her grandmother never had to worry about her sneaking out, doing drugs, drinking, or getting pregnant. She was the good Catholic girl that she had always wanted, seeing as how her brothers were the exact opposite. Y/n was her little piece of heaven, always trusting that she would stay out of trouble. And she did. Even in university, she was good about sticking to her studies. She needed to graduate to get a good job. There was no way she was going to fail as her grandmother had spent so much money on her education. So, parties were always out of the picture.

At least ones like the one she was at.

Once at the bar, she took a seat at one of the bar stools. It would be better for everyone if she just stayed put and out of the way. There was the chance that she would have to drag a drunk Roger back to his hotel room, so she was gonna try and stay out of as much of the chaos as she could manage. She flagged the bartender down, smiling when the woman stopped in front of her.

“What can I get ya?”

Y/n thought for a moment, she didn’t really trust herself around alcohol. Well… she didn’t trust others around her when alcohol was involved. “Wine.”

The woman nodded, her braid whipping around. “Any particular kind?”

“Surprise me.”

With that the woman was out of sight, going to fetch whatever wine she could get her hands on.

Y/n drummed her fingers against the bar, looking around at everyone having the time of their lives. She wished she could be more like them. More carefree and less uptight. God, how life would probably be more fun. She would probably spend less time stressing over the smallest of things and have a larger social group than just people involved with Queen. Maybe she would travel more, get a job that didn’t involve taking care of people. Being a personal assistant was never on the top of her dream jobs list.

She wasn’t allowed to daydream much longer as there was a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, her eyes landed on a young man, maybe around her age, with long red hair.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked her with a small smile.

She shook her head. “No, it’s all yours.”

He took a seat, turning to face her, with a curious look on his face. “You’re British?”

Y/n laughed, nodding just as the bartender set a glass of white wine in front of her. “Well, not really.”

The man shook his head, “Sorry, I guess I should have introduced myself before asking questions,” he confessed. “Axl Rose.” He held his hand out for her to take.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” She grabbed his hand, giving it a firm shake.

Y/n grabbed her glass of wine, smelling it before putting it to her lips. It wasn’t the type she would have normally chosen, but she was glad that it was the one picked out for her. She needed to try new things and why not do that in a whole new setting?

Axl ordered his drink in the time it took her to set her glass down. When he was finished ordering, he turned back to Y/n. “So, you’re British but not really.”

Y/n let out a laugh, nodding. “I guess you could put it that way. Technically, I’m American, so are my parents, but I was raised by my grandmother in England,” she told him.

“That’s interesting. This you’re first time here?”

She shook her head. “In L.A., yeah. But I used to visit my aunt almost every summer in Texas.”

The conversation just went on from there. She told him about her favorite places to go in London and he told her about what he liked about L.A. He asked about what she did for a living and she asked about what made him become a musician. Whether they intended for it to become a deep conversation or not, that’s where it lead.

Y/n tried not to think too much about it, but she couldn’t help but think that she had never had conversations like that with Roger. Never in the time that she had worked for Queen, had she ever had a real conversation with him. He had no clue that she was raised by her grandmother or that she was American. All he knew about her was the small things that everyone else knew. He knew about as much as he cared to know, which it seemed was nothing at all.

It was weird how open Y/n was with someone that was a complete stranger. Well… they weren’t really strangers anymore. It seemed that with alcohol racing through their veins, they spilled their whole life stories. It was odd, but Y/n felt something she hadn’t felt before. She couldn’t put a name to the feeling, just that it was foreign. Axl made her feel something… something that brought about butterflies, but not the nerves that often came with them. Just a fluttering feeling that made her feel free of whatever had once bound her. Roger never made her feel like that. Her feelings for him often felt like dead weight. Something she had to drag around with her all day, every day. It didn’t help that she would often beat herself up over feeling that way.

It was refreshing to feel light as a feather.

“Did you come alone?” Axl asked, the bartender sliding a new drink in front of him.

Y/n sighed, thinking back to the man she had arrived with. Just thinking about him made her want to scrunch her nose up in disgust. “No.”

“Are you gonna leave with him?”

Looking around the crowded room, Y/n couldn’t pick Roger out anywhere. He had probably gone off with some woman that had planned from the beginning to leave with a man. “No,” she drawled, once she was sure Roger or any of the boys weren’t in sight.

“You wanna leave with me?”

Y/n didn’t need him to ask again. “Hell, yes.”

With that, Axl took her hand, both hopping off the bar stools and making their way through the crowd.

*~~~~~*

Y/n rubbed her eyes as she entered the room that the boys shared during their stay. Her head was pounding from all the wine she had consumed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had drank so much. Thinking about it, she probably hadn’t drank that much before. Walking fully into the room, she smiled at John and Brian.

“There you are. We thought we had lost you,” Brian admitted

She waved it off, not wanting to bring up what she got into after the party. They probably wouldn’t think very highly of her for it. “Well, here I am.”

John opened his mouth to say something, maybe ask where she had gone off to or if she enjoyed the party before Roger walked in. He looked angrier than a bull chasing a clown, smoke was practically blowing out of his ears. He didn’t even have to say anything, John and Brian understood enough, both taking their leave.

It was just Y/n and Roger as the hotel room door shut behind them. Y/n bit her lip, unsure what was going on. Roger had no reason to be mad about her leaving with Axl. It wasn’t like Roger had been around to leave with her. And why would he even care what she did?

“So, did you enjoy the party?” she asked in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yeah, probably not as much as you did.” His voice was like venom when it hit her ears, something she hadn’t expected.

Y/n rolled her eyes, as much as he was trying to hurt her, she couldn’t understand why. He didn’t own her. “What does that mean, Roger?”

He folded his arms in front of him, “You know what I don’t understand?”

She didn’t respond, as silence filled the air, he was bound to tell her.

“I don’t understand how you can love me yet sleep with that, that drugged up excuse for a musician!”

Y/n let out a sigh, trying to stay calm. She was not going to give in to this childish behavior. Not when he had every chance to love her back or make her feel wanted. “That may be so, but I can’t seem to understand how you can love every girl at once but none at all at the same time! And you may see him as a drugged up excuse for a musician but at least he has yet to lead me on like you have!”

Roger groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do, Y/n? You act as if you don’t want to be seen with me!”

Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her voice steady as she said, “Maybe that’s because you don’t know what commitment is. You haven’t been loyal to Dominique, now have you? You haven’t been loyal to any of the woman you have been in a relationship with.” She paused, tears were on the verge of spilling. “How can I be seen with you when you’re cheating on all the other woman in your life? How can I be in a relationship with you if you do nothing but cheat?”

She waited for an answer but he gave none. She nodded, there was no way he could answer either question. Y/n knew him like the back of her hand. She knew the dirty things he did and there was no way he could get around it. She may still love him, but she was no longer blind to his behavior or intentions.

Turning from him, she wiped a tear away. “Goodbye, Roger.”

Y/n slipped out of the room, tears rolling down her cheek. She let out a sob as she walked down the hall.

“This is just what I needed,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

As much as it hurt, she knew that loving him was wrong. It was from the start. Last night, it had been eye-opening. She was no longer blind, she could see the world in bright colors. The dead weight that she had carried with her for so long was now gone as she walked down the hall. It was replaced with relief. She no longer felt like a caged bird. What she would do now was a mystery, but she knew that she couldn’t go back to working for Queen. She needed time.

Maybe L.A. would give her that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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