#If you declare one is now the book you must declare all

[makethatelevenrings]

Just Friends? // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? yes!

WARNINGS: none

Summary: Jason panicked and told Dick he was dating someone. Now he’s being forced to bring them to family dinner so he turns to his best friend, you, for help.

“You want me to…what?”

The couch dipped beside you and a heavy arm draped across the back. You nudged Jason with your elbow as he crowded up against you and he retaliated by swiping your book out of your hand. Since he didn’t particularly feel like dying again that day, he made sure to slide a bookmark between the pages before he shut it and tossed it onto his coffee table.

“I need you to be my date. To Sunday night dinner.” He said it so simply that you had half the mind to start concussion protocol in case he had landed helmet-first sometime during last night’s patrol. You raised an inquisitive eyebrow and he grinned.

“And this is in relation to…?”

“Dick was trying to set me up with this guy he met at a coffee shop and knowing Dick’s taste in people, I panicked and said I was already dating someone and he insisted that I bring them to meet the family. Because anyone who would date me, and I quote, is a godsend and/or in need of some serious help.”

You hummed and poked his cheek. “What if I’m both?”

“See? You’re perfect.”

You adjusted your seating on the couch so you could face him, one leg tucked under you and the other hanging off the edge of his worn couch. His large hand came down to rest on your thigh and he drew circles against your skin before squeezing gently. You slid one hand to the nape of his neck and played with his hair.

“How on earth are we going to convince your family, the greatest detectives in the world, that we’re a couple?”

You found yourself at Wayne Manor on Sunday with one very antsy vigilante. He kept asking if you remembered the story the two of you had generated and you were very close to throttling him. Two years of friendship and he still didn’t trust your ability to make shit up on the fly.

The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a short kid. He appraised you with a disinterested expression and then delicately sniffed.

“Todd, I see you have brought your lady friend for once.”

“Nice to see you too, Demon Spawn.” Jason ruffled his hair as he passed and the kid swatted his hand, a murderous glare flitting across his face.

“You must be Damian.” You held out your hand and he regarded it coolly before shaking it. “Jay told me you like animals. Remind me later and I’ll show you pictures of my cats.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded and stepped aside. “That is agreeable. Perhaps I can introduce you to Alfred as well.”

You mouthed something akin to isn’t that the butler? to Jason and he snickered as he sidled up to you and slid his hand along your waist. “Butler AND cat. Damian was inspired when he named him.”

“Hmmm, that’s cute. So, one sibling down. How many more to go?”

“Too many.” He leaned down to brush a kiss across your brow. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bird boy.”

Dinner went off without a hitch. Dick declared his love for you the second he met you, Tim was hesitant at first and fully assumed you were actually a mercenary hired by Jason to try and kill him again, Steph gleefully regaled you with stories of Jason slipping and falling off of roofs during patrol, and Cass had laughed when Jason had tried to steal some of Alfred’s famous mashed potatoes off of your plate and you proceeded to launch a fork at him.

Bruce, as expected, just sat quietly.

“Oh, miss, don’t worry about the plates,” Alfred exclaimed when you started stacking up Jason’s dirty dishes onto yours. “I have it handled.”

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal.”

“Quite alright, miss. It is my job after all.”

You smiled at the kindly butler. “Jason speaks very highly of you. Thank you for always being there for him.”

“Of course, miss. Master Todd has always been a great joy in my life.” You could see the unspoken sorrow that lingered there too and you briefly thought of the jagged, y-shaped scar that spanned the length of his torso. Jason slid his hand in yours and tugged you into another room.

“Movie night,” he explained. “National Treasure, of course.”

“A classic.” He maneuvered you to fall back onto the couch, leaving a space for him between you and Dick. “Ah, shit, let me go get you a blanket.”

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Dick asked when Jason disappeared.

“I’ve known him for two years but we’ve been dating for three months.” It was the agreed upon date you two had come up with last night when you laid on the couch together, a mess of tangled limbs. “He’s my best friend.”

“He better not be trying to replace me.” Dick pouted but Damian tossed a pillow at his head and let out another scoff. The youngest Robin had Alfred the cat in his lap and stroked the cat’s fur like some kind of evil villain in his lair.

“Don’t worry, Dickiebird. No one can replace you,” Jason drawled as he returned with a blanket. He draped it over your lap and then took a seat next to you. “Good?”

“Yeah, thanks Jase.” You knew you wouldn’t last through the movie. In fact, you probably fell asleep twenty minutes in. Your head fell against Jason’s shoulder and he carefully adjusted the blanket to cover your shoulders before running a hand over your hair.

“If you haven’t already,” Bruce said from behind him. “You should tell her you love her.”

Of course, Jason groused. Nothing got past Batman.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Commoner Love

Pairing: Dark Paul Atreides x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: You’re a simple maid to the Atreides House, unaware of Paul’s intentions towards you. 

WARNINGS: --

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

“Come in.” 

You push the heavy door, peeking. Paul is inside, standing in front of the window with his back facing you. You enter the room, staying close to the door. 

“I didn’t realize we had called for a maid.” a feminine voice speaks and you glance over to see Lady Jessica sitting on one of the cushions, a book on her lap as she looks at you. 

“It was me, actually. I have something I wish to discuss.” he declares, giving you a sly look and you awkwardly stand there, crossing your hand in front of your simple gray dress as you wonder why you’ve been summoned. 

“Mom, I know this is going against the rules but I must be truthful to you. I love Y/N and as such, I wish to marry her.”  Paul speaks, a determined expression shadowing his face. 

Both you and his mother widen your eyes. You’re too confused with the Duke’s statement to fully understand it. He loves you?

It’s not like you haven’t noticed the discreet looks he gives you from time to time, often offering to help you in your chores even when it’s not appropriate of him to do so. His eyes following you as you work on your duties.

Small things though, it’s hardly enough for him to fall in love with you. And never did you think he’d be willing to marry you. You’re simply a maid whereas he’s a nobleman. 

“Paul! You’re the Duke, you cannot marry her.”  Lady Jessica interjects, pointing your way with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“And why is that? I’m the one who holds the power, I can do whatever I want, I’m sure dad would be happy for us if he was alive.” he scoffs, his voice breaking a bit. 

“He wouldn’t approve of this, you know that. Your marriage is supposed to increase the political strength of the Atreides House. He didn’t marry me either.” 

“That was his decision and now I’m making my own, mother. I won’t budge on this one so you can give us your blessing or not, but either way we are getting married.” Paul grips the back of a chair as he spits the words. 

He glares at his mother, eyes cold as ice. They both share a staring contest, eyes full of cold anger and disagreement.

His mother drops her eyes, flattening her hands on the dress before glancing at you. Her eyes meet yours for only one second but it’s more than enough to make you notice how suspicious they are. 

“This will be a grave mistake, Paul. Know that.” she says before standing up and leaving. You hold your breath when she passes by you, suddenly feeling trapped in the room. 

Paul comes near you, but you don’t dare to move your eyes, keeping them fixed on the floor. 

A gentle hand sits under your chin, urging you to look up. A small smile adorns Paul’s face as he looks at you with much passion. 

“Don’t listen to what she says. She’ll come around eventually.” he says as if trying to comfort you. 

You take a step backwards, putting some distance between your bodies. A cautious look settles in your eyes as you look at him.  

“My lord, I think this is a misunderstanding. I cannot marry you, it’s not proper.” you carefully explain.

Paul lets out a sharp scoff, his demeanor changing as he charges forwards, coming too close to you. His eyes darkening with emotion.

“I don’t care about any of that. All I know is that I love you and we will get married. The rest doesn’t matter, it never has. All that I care about is you and only you.” 

[primofate]

The Ruthless Prince (Part 16.1) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD forgive me, longer than usual, lots of things happen, steamy! but completely safe for work, implied sexual activities. 16.1 because I cut out the hot parts, 16.2 will be the one that details what exactly they did *eyebrow wiggle* but it doesn’t take away anything from the story if you don’t read 16.2. It’s just a little extra for those who feel like it.

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

You sit in the silence of your shared room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it is now past the birthday celebrations. Past your usual bed time, even. 

And yet, not a wink of sleep has found you.

There’s only anxiousness and uncertainty that makes your chest tighten. It drops to your stomach, and it dissipates the slightest bit, making you think that you’ve gotten control of your emotions back, but it shoots up your stomach and wraps around your heart again. The cycle of being anxious and uncertain continues.

Scaramouche disappeared as soon as the two of you got back to the castle. He strode past the big castle doors in a hurry, and when he remembered that you were there with him he swerved around and only said one thing. “Go to sleep,” It was rather dismissive, and for a moment you wondered if going to sleep was really the only thing you could do. 

It turned out that even going to sleep was difficult at the moment. For the past three hours you weren’t quite sure what you’ve been doing, sitting on the bed in your night gown, back leaning against the headboard, trying to read a book yet realizing that you’ve been reading the same line over and over again. You sighed, and dropped the book on your lap whilst closing your eyes.

Things escalated so fast. The moment that Tartaglia burst through those doors, you didn’t have any idea how much things could turn so bad.. 

“You’re here uninvited. Must be something serious,” Scaramouche sneered at the Snezhnayan Prince. Gone is his red scarf, replaced by a dark purple coat that seemed to radiate wickedness, the scruff of his neck is wrapped in a feathery white collar. There’s a red mask that rests on the side of his head, one that you’ve never seen before, and his armor that clung to his form made his hands look like claws instead of human hands.

He looked like a modern day devil.

“Quite,” Tartaglia replies, the grin plastered on his face rivals that of Scaramouche’s. He raises his arms and with a powerful voice addresses the whole room. “An important announcement, ladies and gentlemen,” he commands the eyes and ears of people to look at him just with a simple statement. Scaramouche’s demeanor changes, a frown replaces his sneer, he senses that this might not be the usual scuffle or fight between rivals that he initially thought it would be.

“I, Prince Tartaglia of Snezhnaya, declare war over the Kingdom of Balladeer.” He points one clawed finger towards Scaramouche, whose face was now painted blank. You, behind him, slowly internalize the words and start to process what was happening. People around you gasp, there are murmurs and mumbles and whispers all around as Tartaglia continues. “My victory will mean that I take over these lands, anyone who gets in my way will be punished.” He upturns his hand, palm facing up, “Everything of yours, your kingdom, your vision, your resources–” his darkened eyes dart towards your cowering form behind Scaramouche “your people…will submit to me,”

There’s an uproar in the venue, people start to shuffle away unsure of what to do, some of them file out of the ballroom, possibly wanting to get home and warn their family as soon as they could.

“But, I’m a fair man,” Tartaglia smiles all too pleasantly. “A battle isn’t fair if one of us is unprepared…by daylight tomorrow morning, my men and I will be outside your castle walls, ready to obliterate it,” The palm he has stretched out, crumples into a fist, and finally, he finishes his speech, dropping his hand next to him. 

“...Confident as ever,” Is the first thing that Scaramouche says. He crosses his arms over his chest and tips his head up to meet Tartaglia eye to eye. Then, as if the whole world was his, as if he wasn’t the tiniest bit threatened, he smirks. Smug. Matching Tartaglia’s superiority. “You’re taking nothing from me and when I���m done with you, you’ll never even think about stepping into my territory again,”

It’s a war.

No matter how many times you repeat it in your head it just doesn’t seem real to you. People could be killed, innocent men and women and children who are just trying to live day by day. People who have lived here for all their lives have nowhere to run and tomorrow all they can do is stay inside and hope for the best. That wasn’t fair and all for what? A power-hungry prince who seemed to have some sort of grudge towards Scaramouche.

And me, what will I do? Sit pretty and wait? What about my parents? 

You think to yourself, the clock ticking by and in the blink of an eye, it’s been another 20 minutes of just sitting and digesting everything. You shake your head away from your thoughts.

Scaramouche hadn’t come back from whatever preparations he was handling, it was past midnight. How was he going to lead a war without any sleep? Without thinking your legs swung over to the edge of the bed and you had the urge to go and see what he was still up to.

There must have been thousands of preparations, but when you stepped out into the hallway it was quieter than you thought it would be. Somehow the image in your mind were maids and knights running around, alerting the kingdom about the impending trouble. There was none of that. It was quiet, like any other night in the castle.

Your footsteps were light on the carpeted floor, following the path that you recognized out into the training field, your gut feeling telling you that if there was anywhere Scaramouche might be right now, it was there. 

When you opened the wooden door outwards a nice night breeze hit your face, your hair momentarily ruffled with the wind. You push past and you see him in the middle of the field, sword in hand, covered in sweat, and looking as if he’s been out there for far too long. He doesn’t sense your presence, too engrossed in his own stance and concentration, like he was in a duel with the real person. 

It’s a little cold out here with what little you wear, but something strikes you as you watch him. Admiration? Unsure of what it was exactly, you approach carefully, the crunch of grass under your feet grabs his attention, his eyes darting towards the intrusion. Realizing it’s just you, he straightens up, sword dropping on his side and raises an eyebrow as you approach. “I thought I told you to go to sleep,”

You stop an arms length away from him. The wind quietly whistles once again, and aside from the faint sound of crickets there isn’t much to hear out here in the field. He stays his gaze on you as you remain silent, it’s difficult to form the words in your mouth. In the first place, you didn’t know why you went out here anyway.

However, your silence seemed to have spoken to him, he looks at you for a few more seconds, before sigh-huffing and sheathing his sword on his side. “Whatever, I’m done here anyway,” Something in his voice tells you that he wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight, but whatever aura you had given off had probably changed his mind. 

“Come on,” Scaramouche walks past you, and doesn’t turn to see if you were following. It was partly the look on your face, but it was partly the fact that the ring on his finger had been radiating shades of blue and grey the whole time he was out there on the field. He didn’t exactly know what those colours meant, but the dullness of it told him that it wasn’t something pleasant.

You follow him in silence, noticing that your heart grows heavy as you walk behind him. You watch his back, and you can’t help but think that all you could ever do was watch his back, even in a crisis like this. 

The two of you arrive back in your room, and he quickly states he’ll use the bathroom to freshen up. 

The heaviness in your heart is still there as you lay yourself on the bed, facing the bathroom door. Your eyes are heavy, but the muffled patter of water on tiles in the bathroom reminds you to stay awake. You look at the space next to you, where Scaramouche should be. The fingers tucked under your face twitches, as if it wants to reach out and feel how empty it was.

Tomorrow…Will everything be okay?

People could be killed. You think once again. And so could he. He was human, despite how brash and abrasive he was, one precise stab to the heart or an injury beyond repair would cripple him. 

Was that what you were anxious of, all this time? Or was it the fact that if he loses, Tartaglia claims everything of Scaramouche’s, and the Snezhnayan prince certainly wouldn’t spare you. Your eyes snap open when you hear the bathroom door open, not realizing that you had fallen asleep for a small moment there. It usually wouldn’t wake you up, these small sounds, but the atmosphere tonight has gotten you tense. 

Again he’s clad in his silk sleeping attire, towel around his neck and drying off his hair with one hand. He approaches the bed, passes you a glance, and sits on the edge of it, continuing to ruffle his hair with the towel. 

The sight is so mundane. So plain. So ordinary and yet the possibility that you won’t be able to see it again tomorrow night…the feeling that came with it was so complicated. He had been far from nice to you, the past few months. Perhaps there were instances wherein he showed parts of him that was human, an emotion other than loathing, but for most of the time that you’ve lived here, he was infinitely hard to reach.

But not impossible…

One had to squint, very very hard, to see the kindness in Scaramouche. One had to know that his words were harsh but they sometimes had an undertone of concealed and secret concern. You had to know him and spend time with him to know that he didn’t know how to apologize, but that his mannerisms changed when he felt apologetic. Only when you spent as much time with him as you did, would one realize that he didn’t like being vulnerable in front of others, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t care, he just had his subtle and rather grating and unconventional ways of showing it. 

“Stop worrying,” he suddenly mumbles, knowing that you were still awake. He’s moved on to drying his face, just as his routine goes. “I’ve made all the preparations I can, the knights have always been prepared for this, and your parents will be fine,” 

Your eyes move up to stare at the back of his head. There it is. That rare moment of him being humane. It’s been more frequent lately, and you wonder if he knows that as well. Strangely enough, you don’t respond to his statement. It dawns on you that you’ve been awfully quiet, it was strange even for you, but none of what he says eases your mind to a comfortable enough level.

“Kuni’ll stay here with you, in the castle,” That catches your attention, and he says this as he lays down on his side of the bed, his back facing you, as per usual. 

“Wouldn’t it be better if he’s out there with you?” Your head lifts up a little, there’s obvious concern laced in your voice. Kuni was a good fighter, from what you’ve heard.

“No. Along with him, there’ll be a few knights stationed here. Someone has to stay here with you, and it can’t be me,” He simply explains, and it makes a lot of sense to you, yet it doesn’t feel quite right.

You fall silent once again, looking at his back and how he seemed to be so close yet so far. He turns the lamp off on his side, usually an indication that you should turn yours off too, but you’re stuck still ruminating on your thoughts. Festering in what you would now admit was worry.

The same hand that was once resting under your cheek slides out and away, reaching over to him, towards his back, and suddenly clutching on the fabric of his sleeping shirt.

His eyes were closed, but they flash open when he feels it. His body tenses and relaxes in a span of a second. He’s blinking, staring at nothing in particular on his side of the bed, waiting for you to say something. He waited for a while, and he was confused if you were even going to say anything at all, or did you just latch on to him for some sort of…anchor? To let yourself feel that you were still in the real world, because, frankly, no matter how put together Scaramouche looked at this moment, he also had the feeling that this might just be a dream. That the war was not going to happen tomorrow and he would wake up to find out that it had just been a figment of his imagination or a sick joke. One or the other.

“...You’ve…taken care of everything else…but you haven’t said anything about yourself,” You finally started, piecing your muddled thoughts together and somehow coming up with the things that you wanted to clear up and say. “You’ll be back tomorrow when it’s over?” As casually as you could, you asked the most important question that had been weaving around in your mind ever since he told you to go to sleep.

Scaramouche could not place a word on the sudden feeling that engulfed his chest. It seemed to be a little bit of surprise and a little bit of astonishment, mixed with a pleasant bloom of warmth that made his heart pitter patter a little faster. “...I’ll be beyond the kingdom walls before daylight with the knights, and I’ll be back before nightfall, it shouldn’t be long,”

He talked about it as if it was just a meeting he had to attend. Like he didn’t have to go out there and fight for his land and his life. Like he wasn’t a prince, but a normal man out on an errand to buy fruits, telling his wife he’ll be back before dinner. But it wasn’t that at all, and you weren’t alright with that.

“...You’re sure?” You prod, and now it’s his turn to fall silent. You wait for an answer, five seconds, ten, fifteen. He doesn’t give you one and that’s how you know that he’s only trying to reassure you with false words. 

There was no way Scaramouche would know exactly what would happen, and there was no way for him to know if he would really return. 

Your hand loosens at the realization, releasing the now crumpled part of his shirt, hand inching back towards you as your heart tries not to drop. In a split second he’s turned around, now facing you, hand on your wrist before it could even rest peacefully beside you. Your eyes widen a fraction at the sudden movement, but you close it almost immediately when he flicks your forehead rather painfully.

“Ow!” your other free hand comes up to your forehead to rub it and you half glare at him for the sudden punishment. 

“What kind of question is that? Who the fuck is going to put up with your clumsy and stubborn ass if I don’t come back?” He asks, deadpan look on his face but there seems to be a genuine hint of annoyance there.

“I was just making sure…” You mumble while still rubbing your forehead and twisting your wrist away from his hold. He lets it go and glances at the ring on your finger. 

“See this?” He holds up his hand for you to see his own ring and you blink at it, before looking at yours.

“Oh, yeah, mine’s been turning different colours…What’s that about?” You ask.

“It’s connected to me. The Sangonomiya clan makes the rings with varunda lazurites, infused with magical properties of the sango pearl. Don’t ask me how it works, it’s just been tradition for the rings to be connected, so you know how the other feels,” He drops his hand and looks bored as he explains it, but you’re thoroughly intrigued.

You pick up your hand and turn it around in wonder. “Oh…So these colours are connected to your emotions… I didn’t think I’d see different ones cause you’re so uncaring,” You said it offhandedly, insulting him was like part of the normal conversation and him insulting you was equally as normal. He glares at you, about to have a comeback but you pipe up with your question first. “What does pink mean?” because the pearl on your ring was clearly glowing a pink colour.

He glances at it and scoffs, “Fuck knows. These things don’t come with instructions, you just have to go with what your gut tells you,” 

Your nose and eyebrows scrunch up as you lay your hand next to you. “Well that doesn’t make it a very effective “feeling” ring then doesn’t it?” 

He huffs, “It’ll at least let you know that I’m still alive. If the colour fades, then…”

And suddenly that curtain of dread and tense atmosphere descends on you again, just when you thought the mood was becoming a little better. 

So that’s why he talked about it. 

He wanted to tell you that there was a way for you to know what was happening, even if you were apart from each other. Wanted to tell you how to know if he had died.

“...I see…” there’s an almost uncomfortable silence when you utter the words, but he wasn’t done talking.

“...If the colour fades, you’re going to have to tell Kuni. He’ll take you on horseback to the neighbouring kingdom, we’re mostly on friendly terms and you’ll be fine there…your parents will follow,”

It hits you that he’s prepared even for the scenario in which he’s killed. Your mouth opens with slight indignation and shock. It felt unfair that he could just decide what to do with you and your life, but you couldn’t deny that it was probably for the best. There’s a shiver that runs up your spine, but you don’t tremble. You do, however, feel the tremble in your heart and you look up into his eyes to glare at him with great displeasure. “That’s not what I want to hear,”

Scaramouche wonders why it is that your eyes start to look a little glossy. He gives a lopsided grin, laying there next to you and watching the emotions race through your face, it was easier to decipher than what the ring shows him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you glad you’re finally gunna get out of this hell hole? It’s one way to get rid of me,” He’s saying it with humor, but you find none in it and he knows it, because he’s never looked at you with such a tender gaze before. 

How dare he. You think. To just assume how you would feel and what you wanted, but it was exactly how you would have felt months before and now, you’re not too sure what exactly it is that spurs you to be so upset by his words. To be so bothered that he might not come back to you alive. To know that he had still thought about you, in the event that he was killed in battle. It was unexpected and touching, but somehow, in all the wrong ways and methods. 

“That’s not–” the unexpected tear that slips past your eye surprises you as well, but you look at Scaramouche and there’s no surprise in his face. It’s as if he knew this was going to happen. You gulp down the thick lump in your throat. “How can you talk about it so easily? I don’t–” another tear follows, followed by another and another until you can’t control them anymore. They’re more out of frustration, not sadness or anger. 

It feels as if whatever progress you’ve made with him was slipping away. Like the parts that you’ve seen of him had been ripped from your hands and the past few months in which you saw the confusing yet weirdly fascinating sides of him had burned away. 

“You’re an idiot,” he whispers and you feel his hand rest on your cheek, thumbing away the tears on one side of your face. “You can live a normal life again, away from the issues in aristocracy and free from my bullshit. Who knows, maybe there is someone else out there who would put up with your impossible attitude,” he grins a little when he says this. 

It’s ironic, the way he puts it. Because between the two of you, you believe that he has the more impossible attitude, and yet as always, he turns it around on you. As if trying to convince you that him dying was a good thing, that there was nothing but benefits. 

“Stop it,” You try to assert, but the words come out softly without any strength. Your moment of weakness dissipates despite still feeling the tightness in your throat. You take your hand and hastily wipe the back of it over your eyes, but there’s still wetness messily smeared around the area and if he continues talking, more might leak out. 

Scaramouche doesn’t take away the hand on your cheek, and now he’s only looking at you. Digesting the fact that you were so distraught over the thought of him perishing. Your tears speak volumes. He doesn’t understand why you’re so upset over it, yet at the same time, he understands it completely. He understands because he’d felt that anxiousness before, when you were shot in the chest by an arrow, he thinks that what you feel now is exactly what he felt then. 

Perhaps it was then that he had started feeling this way and piecing the puzzle together, or perhaps it had been before that. He couldn’t be sure. 

“...If you cry you’ll make it harder for me to leave in the morning,” he admits, and the words taste nearly sour in his mouth, saying something so unusual like that. But you take it in stride and answer in your own stubborn way.

“...Then maybe I should keep crying,” 

He almost laughs despite the situation. Leave it up to you to have some sort of clever and annoying response.

At that moment, it all feels right to him. The way that you can counter his snarky attitude, that you were able to not gawk at him when he did something unusual. The way that you were hard-headed in almost the same ways as him and the way that you had somehow wrapped his cold heart in a warmth that he didn’t expect to feel from somebody. Specially someone who only started out as a pawn in his plans, but he had to admit, you had your charms. 

“...Y/N,” 

The way he says your name prepares you for his next move. He leans forward without warning, you see him approaching and your eyes instinctively close, like you’ve envisioned this moment in your mind’s eye before. 

It feels like your heart shatters into a million pieces when you feel the softness of his lips descend on yours. Like the tiny little pieces of your heart scatter inside your body and spreads the tingle to every little crevice of you. It’s not a kiss that starts out certain, if anything, it’s a little unsure, a little skeptical and cautious until your hand tethers to his shoulder, pulling yourself a little closer to him. 

You feel him sigh into the kiss with your motion, and now he presses further, a bit more certain, his hand draping over your middle and tugging you further into him. His legs are suddenly bumping into yours, tangling a little with each other as he hooks his foot behind your heel to drag your leg towards him. His body just suddenly ached for that contact, to be closer, at least for tonight. 

By the time the two of you break away, it’s with a satisfied sigh. Neither of you are out of breath, for it was a very innocent yet complex kiss. There’s a mild stupefied look on both of your faces, like the two of you hadn’t expected it at all, but found that it wasn’t exactly disagreeable. 

Your heart has definitely jumped out of your chest, and you wonder if you’re still alive. You open your mouth to say something but close it again as you fluster, unsure of what to say but very aware that this is the closest you’ve been to him, wrapped in his arms and inches away. 

Scaramouche, however, had other plans. He had a strong urge to go for another one, watching your lips move and entice him. Again, he leans forward, but he whispers before he closes the gap, his eyes locking with yours and his breath fanning your face. “If you don’t like it you’d better say something now,” 

You don’t utter a word. 

So his mouth claims yours in an open-mouthed kiss. The intensity of it is different from before. He manages to slip his arm under you and now you’re flush against him. You can’t help the slight whimper that escapes when his lips relentlessly finds yours. You’re aware of the fact that your head starts to tilt and turn to receive his kisses more willingly, adding a sense of urgency into them as if he can’t get enough and as if you’re begging for more. 

Your hands slide up his shoulders and wrap around his neck, your tongues start to meet each other for the first time and you’d always thought that the lewd sounds of intense, sloppy kissing was not your thing, but for some reason it now lights a fire in your stomach and his small sighs and subtle groaning into your mouth was just fanning the flame stronger. 

It doesn’t let up, and you’re not sure you want it to, but all of a sudden he pulls away and buries his head into the crook of your neck. He breathes heavily, his arms retreating back to him and pulling yours away from his neck, forcefully placing it back next to you. You’re confused, but he speaks up before you can ask. “...We shouldn’t,” 

It’ll make it more difficult for him and this wasn’t the right time, he thought. Again he feels like this wasn’t the correct order of things, and he’s trying to calm himself down, eyes shut tight against your neck, and yet your scent just permeates his nose. 

“...I…don’t want to be worried,” you whisper, and it seems almost innocent at first until you continue. You don’t know what pushes you to say it or where the sudden courage comes from, perhaps it was adrenaline. “I don’t want to think about tomorrow or what might happen… so I…” You swallow the nervousness down. “I want to forget, just for tonight,” 

Scaramouche’s eyes snap open, but he remains hidden in your neck. He’s vaguely aware of what you’re implying and it takes him some self-control to confirm and ask you. “...What do you mean?”

There’s a few seconds of silence before you answer, stumbling on your words a little but clearly your desire overpowers it. “I mean that…you could help me…take my mind off of things… I’m too anxious about everything right now and I just–”

Scaramouche needs no further explanation as he suddenly pushes you down on the bed and towers over you, his hands on the sides of your head. Legs trapping your body in between and under his. There’s a carnal need that flashes in his eyes and they look clouded and darker to you. 

You bravely meet his gaze, you meant what you said, and perhaps part of you just wanted more of him to be ingrained in your memory, in case something dreadful happened tomorrow. 

“...You really are impossible,” he mumbles and you smile a little at his observation. He leans down to devour your lips again, and the rest of the night is spent in exploration of each other’s bodies and feelings, as if tomorrow was never going to come. Like the two of you were infinite and timeless in each other’s passion.

Like the melding of your bodies into one would tattoo and anchor you to each other forever.

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[see-arcane]

Knowing what I know about how Jonathan and Mina’s ride-or-die romance flexes itself later on in the book, it always makes me wonder what would have happened if, somehow, Lucy wasn’t the bedridden bloodsucker victim. What if it had been Mina? 

1) Jack mentioned Art seeming at the edge of violence until he assessed the situation, i.e. Van Helsing being the Guy Who Knows Better (c). Jonathan, while not immediately resorting to violence, would try, politely, to return to Mina’s side; scary face or no. And if Van Helsing tried to move him again? He Would Find Himself Unsuccessful :)

2) Jonathan being Jonathan, he suspects the truth. If not outright knows, and is keeping mum for the same ‘You’d Think I Was Crazy’ secretive reasons as Van Helsing. The difference being that, as we’ll see in the book later, Mina takes precedence over everything in his view. Everything.

God? Humanity? Sanity? < Mina. 

Regardless of what she is. Regardless of what she needs. So when they declare her dead and the sign of those rosy lips comes in, Jonathan wheedles his way into ‘Having the room alone for a moment.’ For mourning and such.

(He does not look like a mourning man. Jack recognizes something of Renfield in his mien. Tell them what sounds rational. Tell them what they expect. Turn your back, Doctor, all is well.)

They leave him. Then, he cries out for them--they come running and find, ta-da! Mina is alive! False alarm, everyone. Mina is all sunshine and mirth and health. Thank you all so much for your vigilance. She’s so much better now...

(Only Jack and Van Helsing notice the new bandaging on Harker’s arm. How some of the color has gone out of his face. There was a water glass on the nightstand--missing now.)

3) Jonathan is very pale and languid whenever they see him now. Yet he seems pleased; or nearly so. He’s jubilant when he walks with Mina under her parasol, and she with him. Her smile looks too sharp. 

(”What’s wrong? Can you not name your worry even now?”

“No,” says Van Helsing. “There is something wrong. Terribly wrong. But it is not wrong enough; no others are harmed. He feeds her from a cup. And what can they be accused of until other lives are brought into it? What can be said that is not madness to hear, even if it is true?”)

4) One night, Jack is surprised to look from his office window in the asylum and see the Carfax estate all lit up. A gloomy sight even aglow, but it is lit for welcome. A coach arrives and deposits--he would swear his life on it--both the Harkers. A dinner party? He wonders. Mina must half-carry her poor husband up to the door. Even in the ruddy light of the manor, he seems to have paled. His cheeks shine wetly in the lamplight.

There is a last new bar of light as the door is thrown open. Mina smiles. Jonathan ducks his head, looking only at her as a great white hand drifts out and oozes over the young man’s shoulder. A friendly gesture that, even at a distance, reminds Jack of a bird’s talon sinking into its prey before taking flight. Husband and wife disappear inside. 

Down below, Renfield goes into a new fit.

(”It is not fair!” he rails sourly to Jack, to the attendants, to the fresh and unsuspecting songbirds he’s collected. The man appears nearly to sulk. “It isn’t! It isn’t! I have been so patient, so full of fealty, and yet the most obstinate of thralls wins the Lord’s grace! It is not fair!”)

5) Jonathan and Mina Harker are declared missing that week when they do not arrive for Lucy’s pre-wedding rehearsal. That same day, Jack sees two new parcels arrive for the Carfax estate.

To his eye, they look as big as coffins. 

[adultish-momma]

Contract Law

In which Azul finds out that Yuu passed their law class for good reason.

Warnings: Book 3 spoilers, if we still warn for that.

AN: So out of the three mermen, Azul decided to intermittently participate. Honestly, this monster is fairly self-indulgent, I'm that person who always reads every contract I come across, and I literally screamed when Azul said Yuu would have to belong to him. So enjoy an educated Yuu.

Oh! Before I forget: @dandelionwhisp Enjoy my metaphorical feeding of octopus to 1(one) Azul Ashengrotto.

"I'm not signing this"

Azul Ashengrotto physically stutters when the Prefect pushes away his contract. Everyone in the room seems to have their own reaction to the bold declaration from the magic-less student. The Leech twins (they haven't quite figured out how to distinguish between the two just yet) displayed amusement if one's eerie giggles and the other's mocking chuckles were anything to go by. Jack, who bless his heart, only seemed to get stiffer at the sudden turn in atmosphere. And Grim, well...

"NYAAAA?!?! What do you mean you aren't signing the contract Prefect?!" The monster has settled on just beating on Yuu's legs. No claws, yet. "Henchhuman you can't just abandon the Great Grim to life as a dish rag!"

"I must say", Azul's voice has risen about Grim's yowls of betrayal. "You have surprised me. For someone so adamant about their desire to release their friends from my contracts, you give up on them incredibly quickly." He then turns to the cat look-alike crying at the Prefect's feet. "I do feel sorry for you, just a poor soul having to rely on a useless and cowardly housewarden."

"Oh, so you're backing out of the deal Ashengrotto?" At this point, for their safety, Yuu has lifted Grim by the scruff, holding the thrashing and cursing ball of furious fluff far away from the squishy parts of their body. Since the beginning of the negotiations, the Prefect has had a face of stone. The only change has been an upward tick of their eyebrows at Azul's assumption.

"Am I backing out of the deal?" The cracks in the housewarden's mask are starting to show, his steady voice making way for the indignation to shine through. "I'm not the one refusing to sign a contract. All the terms we have already verbally agreed on are now just on paper, and you are the one refusing to hold yourself accountable by signing the scroll."

"I never said I wouldn't sign a contract. I said I wouldn't sign this contract. Because these are not the terms we agreed on." They pull the contract back towards themselves, skimming intently. They drag one finger carefully down the scroll while blindly reaching for the discarded pen. They acknowledge the more put-together twin (Jade?) when he hums to gain their attention, pen held aloft in his open palm. A seemingly innocent gesture, but Yuu has figured out by now that this particular trio of Octavinelle students is exceptionally good at twisting an act of supplication into a threat.

Yuu isn't too worried about it though. They might not remember personal details, but the feeling of power that the negotiations and the business meeting has flushing through their system assures them that this is familiar territory.

"We agreed that should I fail to win our bet, you would earn the property rights to Ramshakle dorm. As you have just stated aloud, you plan to rope me, and assumedly the ghosts of Ramshakcle as well seeing as they also reside on the property, into your winnings should I lose. And you have intentionally left the wording of the contract vague so you could accomplish that."

Yuu takes a moment more to continue marking up a certain paragraph of the contract.

"... But wouldn't he be able to do that no matter how he worded it?" Jack inquires, rubbing his neck sheepishly at his lack of understanding. Grim, who had considerably calmed down while sitting in the beastman's lap, also considered his Prefect's words. "He'd own Ramshackle dorm and we're Ramshackle students so he would essentially become the new housewarden, right?" Grim finally asked, turning to the only human he truly trusted.

Ah, to be removed from the intricacies of politics and loopholes and double meanings.

"No, I only agreed to give him the rights to the property. Owning the rights to someone's property does not mean you would own that person. They're two completely separate things in the eyes of the law. Something Azul is well aware of."

"Honestly Prefect," Azul finally snapped, pushing his glasses up his nose to hide the irritation building in his eyes. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill." He waved his hand in the direction of the contract, leaning back against his desk in a clearly fake show of nonchalance. "If you intend to go through with the deal, then sign the contract. I'm only offering this opportunity once."

"I'll gladly sign the contract. Once you rewrite it."

Yuu shoved the newly annotated contract back into Azul's hands. He briefly glanced down, just enough to skim their notes, before snapping his eyes back up to meet the Prefect's steady stare. Before, their eyes had been steely and cold, unforgiving under his scrutiny. Now, he could see something warming the ice of their glare.

"Yuu I am a very busy man. The lounge is still open and I must be making my rounds soon. I do not have the time and I am very quickly losing the patience to attend to your-"

"A shame really." The Prefect broke their impromptu staring contest first, turning to gather their things. "Oh well, I'll tell Crowley that I tried. Come on Jack. Grim, I'll get all the soap out of your fur when you return home."

"So that's it," Azul called, the frustration and irritation and downright offense cracking his voice. "You're just going to wa-"

The Ramshackle Prefect whipped around in the doorway to Azul's extravagant office. One hand gripped the doorjamb in an attempt to curb and contain their shaking rage. The other hand moved their flyaway hair out of their face so everyone in the room could see the unbridled anger in their eyes. Eyes that had once been as cold as a frozen sea now swirled like a tropical storm, the ice in their eyes melted by the warmth of their offense.

"If you were hoping to make a deal with a naive and gullible idiot Azul Ashengrotto, I am not your intended audience. I know for a fact that it would take you less than a snap of your fingers to have your golden contract rewrite itself. I will not sit here and let you bully and gaslight me into signing a legally binding contract that is so obviously stacked against me. I can afford to walk out of this room with no deal made. The question left to be answered, is can you afford for me to?"

Azul Ashengrotto was, at the end of the day, desperate. At the end of the day, Azul was the person in this meeting who wanted something. And while they might not actively point it out, Yuu was well aware of the upper hand that provided them in these negotiations. So they showed no visible reaction to the snapping of the Octavinelle's housewarden's fingers, nor Floyd's giggles, nor Jade's hum of amusement as he once again held out a pen to Yuu. They instead reviewed the contract (mentally making a packing list when they noted the new wording surrounding the collateral clause), and finally, finally signed their name on the dotted line.

The temperature in the room had considerably chilled, the tension between the two housewarderns more than likely to blame. While the Ramshackle Prefect and Jack packed up their belongings, the sophomore considered his newest "client'. Azul was frustrated and annoyed with the gall of this, this otherwordly nobody to put up a fight about the details of his contract. Not to mention that they were spot on with their spotting of his loophole, and he's mourning the excellent free labor the prefect would've provided to his new location.

Yuu on the other hand was downright offended at how stupid the lilac-haired man thought them to be. They could also feel the pressure to come through starting to build. While their own servitude was no longer on the table, Yuu was justifiably worried about losing the place they've made into a home. They've spent months of time and resources on turning the derelict "fixer-upper" into a place they were proud to call their home. And maybe, and Yuu would deny this if asked, but just maybe they were sick and tired of how much everybody underestimates them.

It's that small, damaged bit of pride that stops Yuu at the doorway once again to say one last thing.

"I aced each and every one of the contract law classes I've ever taken. Try to swindle me again Ashengrotto, I dare you"

[llendrinall]

Literacy in OFMD

One of the things I like most about OFMD is how they manage to discuss the ugliness of inequalities and class relations while still being a comedy. Episode 5 opened the windows of my house to let in clean air and light. There is a lot to play with and analyze in the show: race relations, gender relations… and education, specifically literacy.

 So who reads and writes in OFMD?

At The Revenge, Lucius states that only Stede and him can read and write. This is confirmed when the crew postpones the mutiny because no one else can read the stories. They are all illiterate… but not to the same degree.

No, I don’t mean Jim. Actually, I posit hat Jim doesn’t write, only Boni does. I will elaborate later.

More interestingly, Frenchie doesn’t read or write but he fakes writing twice (the journal, the pyramid receipts). I theorize that he has some basic literacy skills. He might not be able to read words, but he can tell from context cues what a document should say even if he can’t read the message. i.e.: this is an invitation, this is road sign, this is a notice, this is likely a wanted poster, etc.

At Queen Anne’s Revenge (the canonical name of Blackbeard’s ship, not stated in the show, omg) there is no definite information one way or the other. Nothing about Ivan and Fang. Izzy is seen holding books, but he focuses on the pictures. Later he tears one off and shows it to Ed, rather than read a description of the fearsome Blackbeard. Mmh...

In episode 9, in a terribly vulnerable moment Blackbeard signs his name with an X (and Stede notices!). He also recognizes that the tricky information is on the small font, “that’s how they get you” he says. This is a devastating line. It shows that Blackbeard knows how written documents can and have been used to take advantage of people. It tells a lot about his background. That’s how they get you, by writing things you cannot read.

At The Republic of Pirates there are wanted posters for Bonifacia Jimenez which points at the idea that some people must be able to read them. Later we learn it was a taunt for Boni, so it’s possible that Spanish’s Jackie expectations of a reading public were small. But, in any case, this points that someone out there can write and had access to a printing press. There are some small signs here and there pointing at shops. This location works as a hinge between the ships, where the majority is illiterate, and…

The society at Barbados where we see newspapers, books and leaflets all around. This is a society where the expectation is that everybody is literate and that important information is passed in written form.  

Finally, the imperial ships be they British, Spanish or French, function as an extension of the land and thus put a lot of stock into writing.

 Why is writing important?

Because verba volant scripta manent. That is, the spoken word is made of air and carried just as easily, but the written word stays. Even now, today, we put a lot of symbolic power in the act of writing. We still use weird scribbles as proof of identity even though they are ridiculously easy to forge because the action of writing one’s name is a ceremony on itself. Writing is a promise of permanence.

The difference between speech and writing is underlined in the scene in which we are told about the Act of Grace. King George speaks and his word is law. I, the king, hereby promise and declare… his speech is unnatural and careful but then he stops, amends, changes his mind, and finally tells the scribe to put “act of grace” that’s the best name yes. This shows that, even with a king, the spoken word isn’t as important as the written one. Writing has the power of changing reality in a way speech doesn’t.

(Although sometimes it does. Sometimes the spoken word has magic powers. This is called a perfomative utterance inside the illocutionary acts, the mere fact of saying something makes it so).

 And what are they writing?

That’s the thing, dear reader. Themselves. They are writing themselves.

 Bonifacia writes to remind herself that she is an orphaned girl masquerading as a pirate and that she has to complete her quest of revenge. There is this line, me sudan hasta los cojones que no tengo (I’m sweating up to the balls I don’t have) that serves to remind her that she is not Jim. But once Jim opens up to the crew and develops that identity, the writing stops. Honestly, good for you, Jim. While Bonifacia has to keep a diary so she won’t stray from the revenge path, Jim doesn’t need to commit their identity to paper.

Mary presents herself to society as the The Widow Bonnet. I don’t know what else I can tell you. This is not a name, it’s a marital status and a man’s last name and it is also freedom and Mary grabs it with both hands. This is what she wants to be, even if she has to renounce her name.

Stede writes (or has Lucius write) his life as a pirate. Even though it is a highly let’s say, decorated, version, the fact that it is written makes it real. Lucius immediately realizes the diary can and will condemn Stede. And it does! Badminton refuses to believe the account, but it is there and it’s is damning. This is what Stede wanted to be, what he wrote himself to be, and what he has to pay the consequences of being. Blessedly, the diary also saves Stede’s life. And that’s such a beautiful chain of language acts! The king speaks, the scribe writes the Act of Grace, Stede verbally invokes it, the diary supports it and the whole thing is closed with a drawing and a written signature.

And maybe, maybe, Blackbeard does know how to read (we see him opening books) but he signs with that painful, heart-rending X because he doesn’t know what name to use.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Got another idea for your Fluff-Drabble Marathon... 😁 Thor (or someone of the other Avengers) tries to convince Loki to do a stag party, but he's totally annoyed and confused, like: A what? Why should I do that? That's stupid. 😂

Fluff Drabble Marathon II A link to my Fluff Library is HERE Warnings: Some mild language. Some naughty references. (w/c 700) A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE [18+]

Loki's Bachelor Party

Loki’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Brother, I’m not sure I understand…” he murmured warily, watching Thor’s excited eyes widen. “Oh Loki” he chided, “as I told you before, we will be celebrating your last night of freedom...Midgard style.” “What’s wrong with Asgard style?” the dark-haired god said questioningly, tilting his head. “A lute, some fine wine and nuts is all the celebration I require for my last night of ‘freedom’, brother...thank you.”

Loki re-centred his gaze to the book in his lap, hoping that would be the end of it. The volume was rudely swiped from his grasp, waved in the air by Thor like a childish prize. “I think not, brother.” he boomed, “I will be planning you a bachelor party the likes of which this realm has never seen. We cannot allow the infamous god of mischief to be wed without due homage to his many, many conquests and shenanigans, now can we?” he winked, as Loki rolled his eyes.

“Alright, tell me more about this...homage.” Loki murmured, leaning back against the sofa cautiously as Thor beamed above him. The blonde took a seat beside his brother on the sofa, getting a little to close for comfort as he geared up to reveal his daring plans. “I have been doing much research on the concept and it seems there are several key ingredients which must be adhered to in order for the adequate amount of mischief to be met…” he began, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Right…?” Loki drawled; his interest piqued. “Firstly, ostentatious garments.” Thor declared. “It is necessary to dress in a themed fashion which is both degrading and hilarious in equal measure. For instance, brightly coloured ill-fitting shirts adorned with startled cats...or as babes, diapers and all.” Loki stared at Thor’s expectant face, brimming with enthusiasm. “Absolutely not” he said vacantly, wondering how on earth he would survive the rest of this conversation. “Ok, ok…” Thor mumbled, “we can circle back to that...but you’ll love this one. Alcohol, brother...and lots of it. Ideally in a venue which caters to large crowds of rowdy men. With loud music. Many of them. A ‘bar crawl’ as it is so aptly named.” “Can I bring my own wine?” Loki said warily, watching his brother’s eyes narrow in frustration. “Brother, no” he sighed. “You will be positively bombarded with beverages of all flavours and strengths. Apple sours. Vodka. Tequila. And of course...my personal favourite, Jaegerbombs. The first round of those is on me.” he winked. Loki shuffled awkwardly on the sofa. He could tell that a concession was required in order to placate his brother, who was becoming more excited with each passing moment of his grand reveal. “Perhaps, yes. That would be fine. I do enjoy dancing with Y/N on occasion at those establishments so I am certain she will be a welcome distraction from the taste of midgardian alcohol.” Loki smiled, pleased at his diplomacy. His brow creased as he saw Thor’s eyes flicker to the side.

“Brother,” he whispered, “Y/N will not be in attendance. The most sanctified rule of a bachelor party is...as the name suggests, a covenant between men close to the groom. Men only.” he paused, thoughtfully “and maybe Romanoff.” Loki rolled his eyes, cursing the idiotic traditions of this realm of yours. “Which brings me on to the final aspect of this night to end all nights on the revel-o-meter…” Thor said coyly. There may as well have been a roll of drums, a flourish of trumpets to match the gravitas of his oafish sibling’s tone, Loki thought. “Strippers.” he announced smugly, waiting for Loki’s reaction. “Strippers?” Loki mumbled questioningly, “is that another hideous beverage I know not of?” It was Thor’s turn to roll his eyes. “Ravishing women removing their clothes seductively to music, brother. They parade themselves willingly in front of our merry band, and...special attention is always paid to the groom himself” he murmured knowingly, throwing another wink to Loki as he recoiled in disgust. “Why would I wish a strange woman’s unclothed body within my vicinity when I have true perfection in my own bed?” he questioned solemnly, as Thor’s enthusiastic smile fell. “Well?” Loki doubled down, his eyebrows raised judgementally as his brother squirmed. “It is...expected, Loki. It’s part of the midgardian trad-” “Oh to hell with midgardian tradition and it’s superfluous ridiculousness” Loki huffed, standing and swiping his book from Thor’s hand. “Where did you get all this boarish information from anyway?” “Stark…” Thor mumbled, staring at the ground and playing with the fabric of his trousers. “Right. Well you can tell Stark that my last night of freedom will be spent with our attendees enjoying some invigorating lute music, asgardian wine and the finest, succulent nuts from Vanaheim. There may be naked women only if Romanoff has too much wine and removes her clothes again, but that is not my concern. Understood?” Thor nodded regretfully, his eyes lighting with a final flourish of enthusiasm. “Brother, may we wear the shirts...with the startled cats?” Loki sighed. “Yes, brother...we may wear the shirts with the startled cats.”

Fluff Tags (reduced)

@lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @loopsisloops @xorpsbane @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @nightshadelm @michelleleewise @mochie85 @theaudacitytowrite @holdmytesseract @sititran @mcufan72 @yelkmelk @awkward-and-indecisive @holymultiplefandomsbatman @muddyorbs @gigglingtigger @demoiseller @chantsdemarins @lollywritesstuff @evelyn-kingsley @wheredafandomat @simplyholl @homesickcassie @ladylovesloki @lokikissesmyforehead @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @vbecker10

[alyswritings]

Sister or Daughter

Request: omg hear me out. I had an idea for another Bridgerton fic. it is still Anthony's daughter but with a twist. what if to avoid a scandal the family decided to tell the people that the baby was violets and Edmunds? (maybe he died a lil later?) and she grows up thinking it as well, basically violet adopts the baby, and she is raised as Anthony's sister but he is like incredibly protective of her, more than his other sisters ofc and a lot more gentle. anyways the only ones who know the truth are the bridgerton sibling except Francesca, hyacinth, and Gregory cause I feel like they were too young at the time and could have been fooled. anyways what if the truth comes to light? maybe not to the public but to yn? what if a sibling in a fit of rage says something about it to use it against Anthony and then that's how they find out and its just chaos?

Anthony Bridgerton x daughter!reader

Summary: Y/N finds out her life has been a lie.

Warnings: lying, i don't really know what to put, but it's angsty lol

a/n: thank you for the request!! sorry it took like forever to get out! hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

Anthony paces outside of the drawing room nervously. He knows he has to tell his parents about the pregnancy, but his mind is going through all of the worst case scenarios. He's not sure his hands have ever been this sweaty. And it's hard to breathe.

"Anthony? Son, are you all right?" He turns to find his father in the entry of the drawing room.

"Yes. Uh, ye-- yes, father. I must talk to you and mother about something." Anthony says, putting his hands behind his back, fiddling with his fingers.

"Of course. Come in." Edmund encourages. Anthony walks in, Edmund close behind him. Edmund joins his wife on the couch, both looking at Anthony expectantly. Benedict, Daphen, Eloise, and Colin are on the other side of the room, Benedict drawing, Daphne doing embroidery, and Colin and Eloise are reading books.

"What is it, dear?" Violet sweetly asks.

"Um... well, I... uh..." Anthony takes a deep breath. "I was having relations with a woman and she is now with child." He quickly states.

Anthony's siblings all seem to choke on air at the news, staring at the eldest Bridgerton sibling with wide eyes.

"What?" Edmund asks, not certain if he actually understood his eldest.

"I... a woman is with child. My child." Anthony says. His voice shakes slightly as his nerves have rised even more.

"Oh, dear." Violet whispers, putting a hand to her head.

"Are you certain?" Edmund asks.

"Yes." Anthony nods.

"We, uh... we should go." Benedict mumbles to Colin.

"We should." Colin whispers, nodding. Yet neither of them move.

"All right, well... do you plan to be in its life?" Edmund asks. "As the father, I believe you shall be, but it is your decision."

"I... more than likely, yes." Anthony answers. He's not fully sure if he's ready to be a father and he doesn't even know how he feels about the whole situation yet, but if the child needs anything, he would be there.

"What about our reputation? This could destroy everything. The children may never marry." Violet stresses.

"We do need to figure out how to avoid a scandal. If possible." Edmund agrees.

"I understand." Anthony says.

"We could say the baby is ours. Our ninth child. That's believable. Then Anthony can be around them and... and perhaps the mother." Violet says.

"Nobody outside of this room is to know. Aside from some of the help since it will be obvious your mother isn't pregnant." Edmund says.

"We'll tell everybody I'm bedridden. The last pregnancy with Hyacinth was hard enough, it's a believable story." Violet says.

"Your other siblings cannot know. Not Francesca, Gregory, or Hyacinth. No friends, no neighbors, nobody." Edmund declares.

"I understand." Anthony nods once.

- - -

During the pregnancy with Anthony's child, the mother had moved in with the Bridgertons. But as far as the ton knew, she had left town. She never left the Bridgerton house, often alone in her temporary bedroom. After the baby was born, she was going to actually leave town.

Violet stayed in the house and the family often went to Aubrey Hall for visits so that Violet and Elizabeth, the mother of Anthony's child, could actually get fresh air. And so they were around less prying eyes.

But during one of those visits, Edmund had died of a bee sting. It sent the family down a spiral, Violet going into a depression. Anthony had to step up and take care of his siblings in the wake of his father's death, pushing his own grief aside for them.

He was handed all of the responsibilities, everything coming at him full force.

But after nine secretive, stressful, terrible nine months, the baby was finally born.

The labor took a few hours and only some of the maids were in the room with Elizabeth. After the baby was born, a maid came out of the room to where Anthony was waiting in the hallway.

Anthony looks up at the door opening, seeing the nurse walk out, a small bundle of blankets in hand.

"Here she is." The nurse softly announces, gently patting the baby's back to keep her calm.

"She? It's a girl?" Anthony asks.

"Yes, my lord." The nurse nods, a soft smile on her face. "Would you like to hold her?"

Anthony hesitates, but after a moment he nods. The nurse carefully transports the baby into Anthony's arm, the man easily finding a comfortable position to hold her in. He knows full well how to hold a baby, having many younger siblings.

Once she's in his arms, Anthony feels an overwhelming sense of love and protection come over him. Tears spring to his eyes, but he holds them back not wanting to cry in front of the maid.

"I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind you naming her." The nurse says.

"I'd have to check. Since she's a, uh... a sibling... she'd have to start with an I." Anthony says.

"I know she isn't supposed to be your child. But you should be able to name her, at the very least. I or no I. Miss Elizabeth didn't have any suggestions." The nurse states, a caring smile on her face.

"Could I be alone with her, please? The baby?" Anthony asks.

"Of course." The nurse nods before retreating back into the bedroom.

Anthony takes a deep breath, looking down at his daughter. Well, as far as most other people are concerned, his sister.

"Hello, darling." Anthony quietly greets, slowly walking to the bench in the hall. He's scared if he moves too quickly he'll drop her. Or that she'll break. "I'm sorry this is a... unique situation." He says, sitting down. He holds the baby close to him.

"Perhaps one day when you're older you'll understand. Or this will all go terribly and the family may fall apart. God, I don't know what I'm doing." Anthony mumbles to himself.

He stares down at the baby who has her eyes peacefully shut. Anthony strokes her tiny hand with his pointer finger, only stopping when the baby wraps her hand around his finger lightly.

Anthony softly smiles, looking back to her face and finding her eyes now open, matching dark brown eyes staring up into his.

"You're so beautiful, my darling." Anthony whispers. He feels the tears spring back up, a sad but loving smile on his face. "I already love you so much."

Before he can help it, a tear falls out of Anthony's eye, dropping right onto the baby's cheek. The baby starts to whine and Anthony quickly brushes the tear away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, dear. My bad." Anthony mutters, making sure her face is completely dry. A few moments later, Y/N is calm again. "I suppose you need a name."

After thinking for a few moments, Anthony constantly rubbing his hand over the baby's head or stomach or hand or cheek, he finally comes up with something.

"How about Y/N? You like Y/N?" He asks her, earning a small babble in return. "Yes. I think it's good. Y/N Bridgerton it is, then."

Anthony places the softest kiss to her forehead, knowing he's going to do anything to make sure that she grows up happy and loved. Rather she knows she's his child or not.

- - -

The first few years of Y/N's life were a little hard for the Bridgertons. At least for Violet and Anthony. Anthony found it heartbreaking that he had to simply just watch as his daughter was raised, calling him by his name and Violet by 'mama'. He wishes he could be called 'papa' by her, but knows he can't.

Benedict spends a lot of time trying to get Anthony's mind off of the child, but even after multiple glasses of alcohol, she's still all Anthony can think about. How she can't be his and how they're lying to her every day.

He hates that most of the family is lying to her, not able to tell her the truth. No, she probably wouldn't understand it at her young age, but he still hates that they know and are not able to change anything.

Despite pretending to not be her father, Anthony couldn't help but to treat her differently from his sisters. He's more protective and fusses over her much more when she gets a scrape on the knee than if any of his sisters were to get one.

Anthony lets Y/N steal his food all the time and gives her pieces of food. Something he has never done with his sisters, unless they were upset and he was trying to cheer them up.

He does whatever Y/N asks him to.

"Why does Anthony favor Y/N?" Hyacinth once asked her two oldest sisters.

"He doesn't favor her. They simply just have a... a closer bond." Daphne tells her.

"But they're so far apart in age." Hyacinth says.

"Well, so are us and you. We get along, don't we?" Daphne asks.

"Yes. But you two don't fuss over me like he does with her. He doesn't fuss over anybody else like that but Y/N." Hyacinth says.

"Well, he had to raise her since she was born since she was born at a... a difficult time." Eloise says. "He probably just feels obligated to look after her more. He's practically her father." She says, earning an elbow to the ribs from Daphne.

"I think papa would've loved her." Hyacinth says.

"I think so, too." Daphne softly smiles at her youngest sibling who runs off to play with Gregory. Daphne turns to Eloise, a stern look on her face. ""Practically her father"? Are you mental?"

"What? He is." Eloise says.

"Yes, but nobody can know that." Daphne hisses.

"Why must we lie?" Eloise asks.

"Because of our reputation. You know having a child when not married is unacceptable." Daphne says.

"If he loved her enough, he would not care about that." Eloise says.

"You know he loves her. It was a difficult decision." Daphne says.

"It was barely his decision. Mother and father came up with it all on their own. They gave him no say." Eloise says.

"I suppose that's true. But we were sworn to secrecy and we are keeping the secret. If Anthony or mama ever decide to tell the world, or even just the others, then that's okay. But we are not going to be the ones to say anything."

"All right, all right."

- - -

"Now, what story would you like?" Anthony questions Y/N. The five year old is tucked into bed and every night Anthony reads her a story before she goes to sleep.

"Make one up." Y/N grins.

"Make one up?" Anthony repeats, Y/N nodding, a small grin on her face. "Oh, my. All right, give me a few moments."

Anthony sits on the bed, resting against the soft headboard. He puts his hand on Y/N's head, going through her hair and gently massaging her scalp. "Okay..." Anthony starts before beginning the story he was able to come up, adding things as he goes.

By the end, Anthony looks down, finding Y/N sound asleep. Anthony softly smiles, brushing some hair out of her face. He gets off the bed and leans down, kissing her forehead gently.

"Goodnight, my love." Anthony whispers.

- - -

Anthony and Daphne are arguing, against each other due to the whole Duke of Hastings relation that seems to be going on between Daphne and him.

Neither siblings notices the five year old standing outside the drawing room. Y/N had a nightmare and wanted to find one of her family members for comfort, but was distracted by the yelling between the oldest Bridgerton boy and girl.

"If anybody were to find out about you two in the garden, it would ruin this family's reputation!" Anthony shouts.

"Oh, you are one to talk!" Daphne sarcastically laughs. "If anybody were to ruin it, it would be you! You are the one to have a child out of wedlock!"

"I know what I did!" Anthony bellows. "I know what happened! And I have to live with it every day. But nobody knows about that."

"Well, they should! You choose to lie to your daughter every day of her life instead of telling her the truth! She should be able to know!"

"She's five! How would she understand?"

"She would eventually! Y/N deserves to know that you are her father and not her brother. You lie every day and we have to lie, too, and it is tiring!"

"What, you think I enjoy lying to her? You think I don't want to be the one she immediately runs to when getting hurt or-or you think I don't want to be called 'papa' instead of Anthony? But--"

"But it would ruin our reputation, yes, I know. But is that really more important than your daughter knowing the truth?"

"I'm your daughter?"

Both siblings turn to find a teary eyed Y/N in the doorway of the room. Anthony feels his heart drop and his eyes widen. Even if she were to ever find out, it should not have been this way.

Daphne's heart breaks at the sad look in her niece's eyes. She knows Y/N shouldn't have found out about her true relation to the family this way and she feels awful that she's the one who accidentally informed her.

"Y/N--" Anthony starts, beginning to go over to her, but the young girl dashes out of the room, running as quickly as she can to get away.

Anthony lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Anthony. I-- I didn't know she was there. I wouldn't want her to find out this way." Daphne says.

"No, it... you were right. She should know. I know that. I'm the one who let the lies start in the first place. I should've told mother and father that I wanted to keep her. Actually keep her... as mine. But I went along with their plan."

"You should go talk to her." Daphne says.

"If she'll let me." Anthony scoffs. "God, what have I done?" He mutters to himself.

Anthony makes his way out of the room, going to Y/N's room. He walks in, finding Y/N, his mother, and the rest of his siblings there. They had all heard Y/N sobbing and rushed in.

Y/N managed to explain what she had heard. Violet was instantly bombarded with questions from her three youngest. The three who knew all exchanged glances, worried about what was to come, but also relieved the secret was finally out.

"Let's go, children." Violet urges.

"Will you explain everything then?" Hyacinth questions.

"Not tonight. Go back to bed." Violet orders her three youngest. She gains complaints from them, but still sends them to bed. After the three are gone, Violet shuts the door after them.

"Anthony, what happened?" Violet strictly asks.

"Daphne and I got into a fight. The truth about Y/N came out." Anthony briefly explains.

"All of you knew?" Y/N asks, looking between her siblings and mother. Well... she guesses they're her aunt, uncles, father, and grandmother. They all have guilty looks, giving the girl her answer.

"Y/N, darling..." Anthony tries.

"No! Get out!" Y/N yells. "I don't want to see any of you!"

"Y/N--"

"You've been lying! Leave!"

"Let's go." Benedict ushers his two younger siblings out.

Y/N lays on her side, her back facing the two remaining Bridgertons as she starts to cry. Her sobs break Anthony's heart, the man only wanting to scoop her into his arms and hold her tightly.

"Come along, Anthony." Violet quietly encourages. "She isn't going to talk right now."

"I'm sorry, dearest. I never wanted to lie to you. I hope one day you can forgive me." Anthony tells Y/N. He leaves the room, beelining for his office, his eyes stinging as he forces his tears to stay in.

Anthony slams the office door shut behind him, pacing the room. He slumps into his chair, burying his face in his hands. Tears stream down his face, a sob managing to escape him here and there.

Anthony pours a glass of whiskey, downing it immediately. He repeats the process, ignoring the tears.

- - -

Anthony lets out a small groan as he wakes up. His eyes squint, blinded by the sun filtering into the room. He lifts his head up, realizing he's still at his desk in his office. An empty glass is next to him, the almost empty bottle of whiskey not far away either.

Anthony groans, holding his head, grimacing at the pain.

"Oh, God." Anthony grumbles. He remembers last night's events and his heart cracks more. He doesn't know how Y/N is going to react to everything or how it's going to be different now.

Anthony sighs, knowing he has to get up, so he reluctantly leaves the office. Anthony changes into fresh clothes before going to the drawing room where he finds his entire family.

"Morning, dear." Violet greets.

"Morning." Anthony quietly says. He looks to where Y/N is sitting on one of the sofas next to Francesca, the older girl reading to her. "Morning, Y/N."

The girl doesn't pay him any attention, keeping her focus on the book Francesca has.

"She, um... she isn't talking to anybody but the youngest three." Daphne informs.

"Don't blame her. We have been lying to her face for five years." Benedict murmurs, earning smacks from his mother and older brother. "Ow."

"Y/N, may I talk to you?" Anthony asks. She still doesn't acknowledge him.

"How long do you think this will go on for?" Colin asks.

"I'd personally never talk to you lot again if you lied to me about my family." Eloise comments.

"Shut it." Daphne quietly hisses.

- - -

Two weeks later, Y/N is still pretty good at giving most of her family the cold shoulder. She'll speak to them if she absolutely has to, but it's only short answers.

The young girl is currently sitting on the swings, staring at the ground as she lightly pushes her feet, not having much enthusiasm to actually swing.

She hears a throat clear and looks up to see Anthony standing near her.

"Hi." He greets. She doesn't respond, just looking back down at the ground. "Mind if I join you?" He asks. Y/N doesn't answer.

Anthony goes to the other swing and sits down. He lightly pushes the swing back and forth, much like Y/N is doing.

"Listen, love." Anthony starts, fiddling with his hands nervously. "I am deeply... deeply sorry for us making you think you were our sibling. We should not have lied to you about how you fit into the family. It was wrong."

"Why did you do it then?" Y/N quietly asks.

"We... we had an image to uphold. And none of us really wanted to break it. We would be... our family would've been looked down on. Having a child without being married is... is wrong."

"And that's what you did?" Y/N asks.

"Yes." Anthony nods.

"So I'm a mistake?" She asks, finally looking over at him. Her eyes are glossy which breaks Anthony's heart.

"No. No, darling, not at all." Anthony states. He gets off his swing and kneels in front of her. "You are not at all a mistake. You are... you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. And I should not have agreed to keeping the fact that you're my daughter a secret. I shouldn't have let it go this far."

"And I am still deeply sorry for that and I will forever be sorry for it. I intended to tell you one day. I did not want you to fight out the way you did. You should've been able to find out in a calmer setting."

"So are we gonna keep pretending I'm not yours?" Y/N asks.

"No. No. I've had a lot of time to think these past two weeks... and I am more than ready to reveal the truth. Keeping you hidden is not the correct thing to do and it never was. From now on, I promise to not lie to you about anything."

"You are my daughter and you always will be."

"It's going to take some time to get used to that." Y/N informs.

"I know. However long it takes, I will be there and you can get comfortable with everything at your own pace." Anthony says. "But you need to know I love you. More than anything."

"I love you, too... papa." Y/N says, making a face at the name. "It's still slightly weird." She says making Anthony lightly chuckle. "But not that weird. You are the only papa I've known anyway."

Anthony softly smiles. He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead.

He knows it would take a while for Y/N to fully accept the truth and get used to it, but he was willing to wait and provide her with unconditional love no matter what.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

Ingo JoJo's His Own Funeral

Got this one from this post by @large-black-coffee

Word count: 1910

As soon as Ingo felt hard ground beneath his feet, he started moving. He had a mission, a terminus. He could not fail. The blank space around him shattered, showing the dimly-lit interior of a home. He glanced around, that feeling of nostalgia welling up inside his gut again. It was sparsely decorated, except for some posters and some model train set on the shelves. There was a bookshelf in the corner, filled to the brim with old books. A TV and a couch sat opposite each other, a small coffee table between them.

It was his home.

Ingo basked in the glow of remembering something for once, though that had been part of the deal. Ingo had requested that he be sent back to his own time with not only his Hisui memories intact, but also the memories from his life prior. Akari had set up the meeting between him and Arceus, and Ingo had brought along the best rice cakes he could possibly make, in accordance with what the god of creation enjoyed the most. And it had worked!

“Emmet?” No response. Ingo’s frown deepened as he thought about this development. He quickly checked over every room in the apartment, not finding hide nor hair of his brother. So, he decided to go to the next best place and try the Subway. He locked the door from the inside on his way out, not entirely sure where his house keys were. He briskly walked out the door of the building and down the street, emerging into the bright sunshine of Nimbasa City.

All the old shops he remembered were there, though some seemed a bit dingier than he remembered. He passed by a newspaper shop on his way and noted the date. It’s been four years since he fell into the wormhole. He walked faster.

Ingo certainly noticed the odd glances thrown at him by passersby, but he paid them no mind. He and Emmet had been some of the most well-known names in Nimbasa. He wondered where that stood nowadays.

It was only a ten-minute walk to the Subway on a bad day, but it felt like years to Ingo. He had allowed his long braid to flow down his back, but now he questioned it. The stares he got only got more intense as he approached the Subway. He felt like a bug being scrutinized under a magnifying glass, but he simply kept his eyes forward and strutted as fast as he could without breaking into a sprint.

Finally, it came into view. The Subway. It looked exactly like Ingo remembered. Except for one little thing, and that was the swarm of people outside the gates, waiting like a herd of angry Combee. Ingo got closer to the group, but no one seemed to notice him. It wasn’t until he got within earshot that he recognized what was happening. In the middle of the group, right by the doors, stood a tall man wearing a white cap. Ingo’s heart soared.

“Mr. Emmet, since the declaration this morning, do you have any idea about when the proceedings will be held?”

“Mr. Emmet, is there a location picked for the funeral?”

“Emmet-”

“Mr. Emmet-”

Ingo crept around the side of the crowd. It was almost painfully obvious that Emmet was barely holding it together. His smile seemed false, even to people who didn’t know him. His eyes shone with unshed tears, his entire body taut as a bowstring. His eyes were bloodshot and had bags under them. He must have been crying. Ingo took this like a kick to the gut. He had a guess as to what these reporters were getting at.

“Mr. Emmet, will the Battle Subway be closed for the duration of his funeral?” Ingo had darted into the crowd, passing along the walls and grabbing Emmet’s hand. Emmet jerked in his grasp, his head whipping around to meet Ingo. He didn’t seem able to process anything at the moment. Ingo had an idea.

“Whose funeral?” he asked, his voice booming and calm. Then he pushed open the Subway doors and shoved his brother and himself inside, locking it behind them. The reporters stood there in a stunned silence, but Ingo knew it wouldn’t last long. He bolted, Emmet in tow, zig-zagging his way down into the main levels of the subway, past the office, and down further still. He passed the main platforms, descending down a seemingly random maintenance tunnel, moving six paces to the left, sticking his fingers into a crack in the dark and pushed open a door that read “Authorized Personnel Only”.

Only he and Emmet had been allowed into this room since they acquired the Subway years ago. They had told nobody about it and no one had found this room, to his knowledge. It was something that the brothers used as a panic room whenever either of them got overwhelmed or needed a quiet break. Ingo shut the door and turned on the single lightbulb, casting a thin yellow shade on everything in the room. There was a couch, a small table, a fridge, two pairs of headphones, and a cabinet. Ingo sat Emmet down on one of the chairs, immediately going to the cabinet and grabbing a blanket, then grabbing a dusty water bottle from the fridge. How long has it been since anyone has been down here?

Emmet was still out of it. He simply stared at Ingo as he flew around the room, his braid swishing behind him as he grabbed the necessities. He pulled a little rubber ball out of the cabinet and handed it to Emmet, wrapping him in the blanket and placing the water bottle on the table. Then he sat beside Emmet on the couch, carefully turning his brother to face him. He said nothing for awhile, and just allowed Emmet to come out of it on his own. Five minutes passed. Ten. Emmet’s Xtransceiver beeped and vibrated. Ingo removed it and set it aside.

The whole time, Ingo held Emmet’s hands in his own, squeezing them occasionally. He rubbed his thumb along the back of his brother’s pale knuckles. Emmet seemed inclined not to say anything, but that had Ingo a little concerned. Usually he said something by now, at least a hum. He typically reached for physical affection by this point. So, Ingo decided to try the next tactic.

“Emmet? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hands if you can.” A moment passed. Then, a small squeeze. “Perfect. It’s just you and me down here, Emmet. It’s just us. The others left. I made it home. I came back for you, Emmet.” As he spoke in a low tone, Emmet seemed to regain a little bit of life. His hands twitched slightly, his eyes blinking again. He seemed to breathe again. “It’s me. It’s your brother, Ingo.”

As soon as his own name left his lips, Emmet jolted. He jerked his hands away as if they’d been burned. “It’s fake. It’s a dream again,” his voice cracked, his eyes filled with terror. “I’m going to wake up alone again.” He put his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t do this again. I keep seeing you. But you aren’t there. And you aren’t going to be there. You’re dead. They said you’re dead.” Emmet was becoming hysterical, his voice rising to a shrill scream. “This is a trick. Please. Just leave me alone. It hurts.”

Ingo pulled his brother against his chest, rubbing his back. Emmet gasped, but did not remove his hands. Ingo hummed, deep in his chest. It was a tune that their mother used to hum to them when they were small. He sat and hummed, holding a shaking Emmet as he slowly calmed down. He began rocking his body. He was nervous. It took a long time for Emmet to finally calm down enough that he could breathe again. Ingo reached to his brother’s eyes and wiped away the moisture that had built up there. Emmet grabbed his hand and studied it.

“I… didn’t wake up,” Emmet breathed quietly in disbelief. “Am I still asleep? Am I dead?” He looked up at Ingo’s face.

Ingo looked back down at his little brother. “Can’t you hear my heartbeat? You’re alive. I’m alive too.” He grinned, ever so softly, down at Emmet. “Somehow. I missed you, Emmet. I didn’t even realize it but I missed you so much.” Now it was his turn for his eyes to get watery. He looked away, flicking his own tears away. “My apologies, it seems I may have over-oiled my tracks earlier-”

Emmet’s arms flew around him in a tight, soul-crushing hug. Ingo’s did the same. They sat there together, on the grimey couch below the subway, hugging each other like they were about to be ripped apart again for what felt like hours and yet only seconds. Ingo hiccupped into Emmet’s shoulder. Emmet loudly sobbed, not caring what he sounded like anymore. Ingo held onto Emmet like this was the last time he would get to.

He hadn’t even noticed he was speaking until Emmet pointed it out. “Ingo, what are you apologizing for?” Emmet pulled away enough that he could see his face again. His eyes were redder now, his face absolutely smeared with moisture.

Ingo almost couldn’t speak for a moment. “I- I fell through a wormhole. All those years ago. I fell through into a strange land in the past. I had such a rough departure that I was left with no memories, aside from my own name. I forgot about you, the Subway, I couldn’t even remember what a train was. All I had was my cap and coat. I would see my own reflection and grow so sad but I never knew why.” He lowered his eyes, his frown more prominent. “I forgot about you.” Emmet paused.

“But you remember me now.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Ingo nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. He still refused to see the disappointment sure to be in Emmet’s gaze. “Then that’s all that matters,” he said simply. Ingo had forgotten his brother’s mannerism of speech, how most things could be explained with a singular statement. He rather liked it. Emmet hugged him again, much less forcefully this time. “You’re home. That’s all I need.”

“No more of this talk of my funeral. That would be quite an awkward affair.” Emmet laughed, a wonderful sound to behold. Ingo gently retracted his hold on Emmet. “We should go see the state we left things in. If you’re ready for that.” Emmet took an assessment of his engines and then nodded, his eyes set with determination. His smile looked less like a fabrication and more real, more genuine.

“As long as you do the talking. You know that’s not my forte.” Ingo chuckled, handing him the water bottle and folding up the blanket, stowing it back into the cabinet. “I didn’t know you’d grown out your hair so much.”

Ingo flipped his braid to his back from where it had taken up residence on his shoulder. “I am prepared to have it shorn at a moment’s notice. It’s more of a nuisance than anything.” Ingo looked at the door for a moment before he opened it. “We’ll do it together.” He took Emmet by the hand again and together, they walked upstairs and into the warm sunlight.

[daceydeath]

Picnic Dates

Pairings: OT8 x Reader Word Count 2.9k Genre: Fluff galore Warnings: None (except for potential cavities)

How each of the members reacts or plans a picnic date just some fluffy, fluffy stuff

Chan

Chan had made his secret plans weeks in advance and you knew that once the promotions had finished he was going to finally get some time off to rest. You were always excited for quality time together not just because you missed him terribly during promotions and tours but because you loved spoiling him whenever you got the chance. This time however Chan was all about spoiling you and he had booked a trip to Jeju for the two of you to relax for a few alone and undisturbed, as he could manage, since he sill needed to be contactable for the rest of the kids.

So after arriving and settling in to an adorable little house on the seafront he had rented for the duration of your stay you found yourself standing alone in the lounge slightly confused as to where he could have disappeared to. Looking around the house you wondered where he could have wandered off to, until you saw a small note stuck to the sliding glass door that led out of the kitchen into the garden, the note asked you to walk to the end of the garden and look around which you did smiling to yourself at the game you boyfriend was playing. Another note on the back gate requested that you walk down a small path between patches of grass and wild flowers until you found the final note that he had left for you. Following the directions again you found yourself stepping onto a sandy beach wondering where the final note could be. Looking towards the perfectly blue ocean you found Chan standing on the sand single camellia twirling between his fingers as he waited for you to arrive.

"Oh my gosh Chan! this is so beautiful" you gushed as his face blushed a light pink as you looked over the large picnic rug spread over the sand surrounded in fairy lights and wild flowers that he must have picked, a picnic basket was over flowing with delicious fruit and sweet treats for you to share and beside it a bottle of wine sat in the sand waiting to be opened. Wrapping his arms around you tightly he smiled into your temple.

"Only the best for my Babygirl".

Lee Know

Despite the tsundere act he frequently put on, your boyfriend was notoriously sweet and kind when it came to those he cared for so it really didn't really surprise you that he had taken up baking and cooking as ways to show his love and affection for those around him.

Being away for such a long time he had confessed that he had felt very guilty that he was not a very god boyfriend to you, leaving you behind and only seeing you over face time but you had always understood and you didn't mind really when every time he had time off he would rush to be with you, which was happening today a a photo shoot had to be cancelled since the photographer was sick. Within 20 minutes he was knocking on your door with a large backpack in tow.

"C'mon Kitten lets go for a walk" he grinned excitedly taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers, you giggled in response but didn't argue simply because why would you, you hadn't seen him in person in a week and now he was in front of you, you would take any free time he had. Walking down towards the Han River you realized where you were being led to.

"This is where we had our first date" you declared looking around happily remembering that date fondly, he had been shy despite him being the one to approach you after meeting you several times. His hair had been blonde then and he had asked permission to hold your hand, it had all been so sweet and perfect you never thought you could ever forget it.

"Yes it is Kitten, and its where we will have today's too I bought everything for a riverside feast" He smiled affectionately looking down at your linked hands and pulling you to the grassy riverbank and putting down the blanket for you to sit on. He got you comfortable before sitting himself behind you sliding a leg each side of you so you could lean back against his chest.

"I love you baby" you whispered as he picked up a grape for you to eat.

"I love you to Kitten and I always will".

Changbin

Changbin's week off had started that morning and despite not having to actually turn up to practice or the studio he could not turn off the part of his brain that was frantically trying to get melodies recorded and lyrics written. Despite telling you he would be over in the late morning it was now almost 6 o'clock and he was yet to move from his desk, groaning he sent you a quick text

I'm so sorry pretty girl I got stuck in my head can we still meet? I love you xxx

It's ok lover boy I understand inspiration is not something you can time. I still really want to see you tho xx

Yes! I'll pick you up at 8 dress comfy we aren't going anywhere fancy just somewhere for us xxxxxx

Relief swept over him as he saw you weren't mad and he slowly showered, dressed and made himself look slightly less rough after sitting in front of his equipment all day, before grabbing two hoodies, one of which he wore, and his keys he went down to the garage to get into his car. You apartment wasn't far but he was excited to see you so he drove the 10 minutes to your place and knocked on your door.

"Hi handsome, I thought you said 8" you whispered letting him and kissing him soundly.

"I did but I wanted to see you say sorry for missing you today" he pouted slightly but was very pleased as you tried to kiss the pout from his face. "When you are ready we can go no rush though my pretty girl"

You smiled at him and finished brushing out your hair opting to just put it in a simple ponytail since Changbin was in a hoodie and jeans it wasn't going to matter too much if you didn't straighten your hair. Leading you from your apartment he opened the passenger side door for you helping you in before getting himself seated in the drivers seat. You drove around for hours just talking about life, his future dreams, your future dreams, singing in funny voices and occasionally you just staring at his handsome face and his thumb stroked your knuckles.

"I was thinking pretty baby, maybe we should get some snacks and have a little picnic in the car while we look at the stars" Changbin smiled as he glanced at you while stopped at a traffic light not wanting his time with you to end.

"That sounds like an excellent idea" you grinned quickly pecking his lips and squeezing his thigh before the light changed making him blush under the bright street lights.

Hyunjin

You had known from the very beginning that Hwang Hyunjin was two things he was a hopeless romantic but he was also a dramatic klutz so dates were always something else akin to a tv drama plot. He always made sure you felt like the most beautiful princess on the planet but sometimes things ended in you both dissolving into fits of laughter in between him pouting about how his plans had been ruined. Today's date so far had only been the picture perfect romantic event and you were endlessly grateful to him for it.

Your date had started in the late morning Hyunjin showing up at your door with a bunch of beautiful peonies before he whisked you away to get coffee and then to an art class that he has signed you both up for Hyunjin loved all forms of arts so you were always more than happy to accompany him as he explored his passion, you loved watching the pure happiness on his face as he learned a new technique or discovered a new artist he wanted to learn all about.

So you stood in the entry of the studio iced Americano in hand talking with one of the other artists that would be attending the class when you came to a sudden realization that you were sure that your sweet protective boyfriend had not yet come to. Excusing yourself from the others you stepped towards where Hyunjin was talking to an older gentleman who ran the studio.

"Hyunjin, my love" you whispered softly tugging on his sleeve to get his attention, he politely ended his conversation and turned to you with curiosity burning in his eyes.

"Yes princess" he mumbled moving his lips closer to your ear.

"Do you realize you have signed us up for a life drawing class?" you murmured trying not to giggle as you turned your face to his watching his brow furrow in confusion then his eyes go from curious to as wide as they possibly could, if it wasn't for how much you knew Hyunjin was about to panic it would have been almost comical. "I'll take that as a no then?"

Without a word Hyunjin quickly intertwined your fingers and almost dragged you out of the building striding out with his very long legs taking half the amount of steps your shorter ones could manage. His face had turned bright red from the tips of his ears all the way to the collar of his shirt, you couldn't contain your laugh any longer as he started spluttering about how 'your innocent eyes couldn't see things like that' and 'how could you think he would intentionally subject you to naked strangers'. After at least 5 minutes of dramatic flapping Hyunjin eventually calmed himself again and became himself once more.

"New plan Princess how about we get some coffee and cake and eat it in the park under some trees?" he smiled before kissing your lips sweetly.

"That sounds perfect my Prince" you sighed kissing him again.

Han

Your precious Hannie was working himself too hard again and you knew it even if he tried to tell you otherwise, it was an annoying habit he had picked up after years working with Chan, but you couldn't be mad really you understood their drive to make the best songs they could, create the most incredible things they could imagine.

So after you discovered he was staying late in the studio again after the Vlive he had planned you decided to pull his attention away from his work for just a little while to help stop him burning out. Packing some fruits, cookies and cute picnic stuff you stopped at one of his favorite places to pick up some take away for you to both share for dinner. You made your way to the company and to his studio, you had been watching his live stream so you knew he was still in one of the conference rooms doing and that he was being teased on the group chat about something he had said, so you slipped unnoticed into he studio and started setting everything up from candles on the desk, for safety reasons, a blanket over the couch and the food and fruits on plates it looked every it the home made warmth Han always seemed to love.

Texting him that he shouldn't order anything to eat while he was live because you were going to drop something off to him, you waited for him to finish hoping he would like your surprise. 10 minutes later he opened the studio door to find you sitting on the couch grinning like a fool.

"Surprise baby" you sang at him throwing your arms in the air. His eyes widened then creased up in joy as he moved to you for a cuddle.

"You are so sneaky my little Cupcake" He smirked into your hair before settling you both down to eat.

Felix

What was meant to be a perfect sunny spring day had turned into a drizzly windy mess of a day so your plans with your precious sunshine boy had to be changed. But much to your joy Felix told you he had made a plan that only required you to meet him at his dorm dressed in a comfy outfit, which you naturally guessed meant it was going to be a movie or video game afternoon.

Turning up on time you were quickly almost knocked off your feet when you found yourself standing in Felix's bedroom which had become a perfect pillow fort, no pillow castle, retreat. Fairy lights were strung up around every corner of the room and pillows and blankets littered every surface and sitting in the middle of the floor was a serving board filled to the edge with brownies, cookies, cupcakes, chocolates and strawberries.

"Lixie, did you do all this by yourself?" you gasped looking at the beautiful scene in front of you which had been made with such care.

"Nah, I had some help from the others but I baked all the goodies myself, just for us, do you like it?" He grinned watching the happy expression on your face.

"I love it and I love you" you smiled back before he pulled you into his arms for a tight hug pressing kisses into your hair and he squeezed you.

"Ok sit down and get comfy Bub, I'll make us some hot chocolate and then we can spend all arvo snuggling" You pecked his lips softly before he flushed slightly and left the room to get your drinks. You knew you had hit the jackpot having Felix in your life he was even sweeter than the brownies he baked.

Seungmin

Packing up sandwiches he had made that morning, some fruits and some pastries from his local café Seungmin knocked on your front door just before 11 o'clock on a Saturday morning. Letting him in you found yourself swept up in a hug that was as warm as sunshine and as sweet as candy.

"I've followed all the instructions you gave me my love, can you tell me where we are going now?" you giggled as he finally started to let go of you.

"Nope it is still a surprise but it wont be long until we get there I promise" he smiled down at you with happy little half moon eyes. You huffed but accepted that he wasn't going to budge on the whole secret date idea he had come up with.

Leading you out of your apartment he waited for you to lock up before taking your hand in his and walking towards the car that was waiting for you. After a fairly short trip you found yourself in front of a large building, leading you in and passed security towards the elevators you were getting a little confused but Seungmin just kept squeezing your hand reassuringly. Finally you made it to the top secret location the roof of the building where you found what looked like a makeshift roof top garden, made from a tent less marquee draped in fabric, scattered cushions and beanbags and large potted plants

"How is this even here?" You asked in wonder looking at the fairy lights and soft blue fabric hung as a make shift roof to the marquee which looked like the perfect little private oasis for just the two of you.

"We used it for the photo shoot we had yesterday and I asked the company if they could leave it up for one more day for me to use and they said yes" He explained softly his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you against him.

"It's beautiful" you whispered

"I thought we could relax, read, eat then maybe we could catch a movie on the way back to your place. Maybe make a whole day of it" he smiled shyly ducking his head slightly to kiss you softly.

"You have such brilliant ideas baby"

IN

Jeongin had been away in Busan seeing his family for the last few days but he was getting back late in the afternoon and had asked you to meet him at the park by his house just before dinner so he could see you. You were excited to get some time with him before he started up another set of promotions which would keep him busy. but you were confused that he hadn't invited you to the dorm since that was usually the easiest way to spend time together. You got to the park while the sun was still fairly high in the sky to find him already waiting for you blanket under his arm and large bag in hand.

"Where are we going baby boy?" you asked eyeing what he was carrying.

"Everyone is at the dorm so I thought we could have a picnic for dinner" He smiled taking your hand in his and walking you into the park and along a path until he found a spot that overlooked the city scape slightly. Throwing out the blanket for you to sit you watched in awe as he started getting out various types of food and treats for you to enjoy together in the last of the afternoon sun.

"I thought maybe we could just sit and watch the sun set then go back to the dorm after if that's ok my little Boo" He smiled watching your face light up.

"This is the most romantic thing ever" you sighed moving to sit beside him and he put his arm around you and pulled you into his side.

"I was hoping you would like it" He grinned cheekily picking up a strawberry and popping in into your open mouth.

A/N: I wanted to post something to say thank you to everyone that follows me, comments on my works and reblogs my stuff. You are incredible and you really make me feel so happy so thank you.

[transmascrage]

Florencio Pla Meseguer, born in 1917, and known as La Pastora, was a shepherd who fought in the resistance against Francisco Franco.

He was intersex, but his parents declared him female. The reason given is different from account to account, some say his father was worried military service would be embarrassing for him, and others say his mother didn't want him to face discrimination.

In an interview in the book "Teresa / Florencio Pla Meseguer "La Pastora". Del monte al mito," by José Calvo Segarra, he says:

When I was born, they put my female name on the parish register, because it was evident that I was not normal, and no one really understood whether I was male or female.

“At least a female must not go as a soldier. A male gets undressed for the visit, and who knows what a shame it would be to be seen like this”. She was thinking of me, my poor mother.

Then he says:

"(…) Do you mean if I felt like a man?

Later, yes, when I was older, and it made me feel bad that everyone saw me as a woman. But back then, as a young girl, I didn't want to think about it and didn't think about it.

I was me, and I was made as I was made. I couldn't choose. I had never chosen anything since I was born, not even a small thing. Never. Could I have chosen the way I was made? I had to take myself as I was and peace. (…)"

And again, when the commander of the partisans came to ask him if he wanted to join:

"Pastora, what are you planning to do?"

Some nights, when we had been drinking, I had told him that I felt more like a man than a woman.

My mother used to say that I was female and I stayed female, but I have everything men have: my strength, my beard, my way of doing things, my wickedness. But people see malice everywhere.

“Because they are ignorant, Pastora, because the fascists who have won the war don't care that people learn, it's better for them all to remain donkeys. What they want is for everything to remain the same, for the poor to break their backs to work, for them not to know how to read, because revolutions are made with books ”.

But what do books matter if people laugh at me?

"They matter, Pastora, matter. In the party, they teach you that people, all people, have dignity and deserve respect, and this is learned in books, there you learn freedom. "

Throughout his life, people were invasive of his genitalia, up to a real episode where he was forced to strip to see "what he was hiding under the skirt.":

"(…) But I'm from here and everyone laughs at me, and they want to see what I have between my legs, only by frightening them have I managed to stay in peace. It's hard, Catalán, a whole life like this. (…)".

And later, when he's asked to join the partisan group and he refuses because he can't fight in petticoats, there's this conversation:

“Didn't I tell you that everyone in the guerrilla is whatever they want? Do you feel like a man, Pastora?".

"Yes," I told him, and looked at the ground as I said it.

“So you'll be. Come with me to my sister's house tonight. She'll cut your hair and dress you like a man. And Teresa can go fuck herself, do you understand? Fuck her! ".

He said that while he was hiding with his companion in the mountains, he thought this:

I kept going, in the mountains there is always a lot to do and I wasn't bored.

I was just sorry I didn't have any sheep with me. I missed the sheep, perhaps because they were the only thing someone like me could miss.

At night we would come to mind many things in my life. I thought I'd missed what everyone had, children and a wife. That I had worked like a beast. That joining the partisans had been good for many reasons, bad for others.

Nice because I had found real companions, because I was finally able to be a man. Because I had learned to read.

Bad because the revolution didn't happen in the end and because the things I had learned hurt my heart.

Now I knew what the dignity of the person was, I knew that we have rights and what exploitation is. And all of this made me think my life had been shit, without anything a man should have.

I imagined what it would have been like if it had gone differently. If my mother hadn't been ashamed of me and she hadn't forced me to be a woman. If I could have gone to school. It hurt my heart to think about it at night, locked inside the cave.

And then I would take the blanket and go out into the open air, lie down and look at the sky, as when I was a shepherd. If it was clear and you could see the stars, I already felt better.

His companion Francisco (I'm not sure if he was his lover or just his comrade.) was killed in the resistance, and Florencio served 17 years in prison.

When he was released, he lived in a small hut with two dogs. It seems he legally changed his name in 1980, approved because of the fact that the urologist and gynecologist that visited him to decide which prison he should be put in, had decided his anatomy was that of a man. He died in 2004.

Obviously, I won't put a label on him, since he was intersex it'd be wrong to declare he was trans, or cis for that matter. I'm only using he/him pronouns because it would feel disrespectful to read all the excerpts where he mentions feeling like a man, and then referring to him as she/her. Besides he used he/him pronouns to refer to himself as well,

However, his experience is very close to transmascs, and obviously to other intersex people, so I wanted to share this story. I think the language he uses to express his identity is the closest to what trans people use nowadays.

He's also described as a "monstrous woman" in articles reporting about his life, and a "lesbian with criminal tendencies.", which is why I'm tagging this as transandrophobia, not because I'm labeling him as transmasc.

[sadprosed]

𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   THE  INFERNAL  DEVICES  SERIES   (  2010 - 2013  )  by  cassandra  clare.

sentences  taken  from  or  inspired  by  the  dialogue  from  the  series,  including  the  books  clockwork  angel,  clockwork  prince,  &  clockwork  princess.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  /  roles  !

‘  one  must  always  be  careful  of  books,  and  what  is  inside  them.  ’

‘   we  live  and  breathe  words.  ’

‘  if  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  who  cares  for  you,  do  you  really  exist  at  all  ?  ’

‘  they  say  time  heals  all  wounds,  but  that  presumes  the  source  of  grief  is  finite.  ’

‘  requited  love  is  nice,  but  it  doesn’t  make  much  of  a  ballad.  ’

‘  i  am  not  the  one  of  us  who  has  no  heart.  ’

‘  i  haven’t  broken  his  heart  at  all.  ’

‘  you  don’t  know  that  there’s  only  oblivion  after  death.  ’

‘  if  you  have  the  soul  of  a  warrior,  you  are  a  warrior.  ’

‘  i  thought  we  could  at  least  talk  about  books.  ’

‘  there’s  plenty  of  sense  in  nonsense  sometimes,  if  you  wish  to  look  for  it.  ’

‘  pointless,  needless  suffering  and  pain  ?  i  don’t  suppose  it  would  help  if  i  told  you  that  was  the  way  life  is.  ’

‘  you  hurt  everyone.  everyone  whose  life  you  touch.  ’

‘  it’s  all  heartbreak,  death,  and  unrequited  love.  ’

‘  such  harsh  truths  so  early  in  the  morning  cannot  be  good  for  the  digestion.  ’

‘  hell  is  cold.  ’

‘  i  seek  scandal  and  low  companionship.  ’

‘  perhaps  we  do  need  a  chaperon.  ’

‘  death  could  be  imminent.  ’

‘  the  handsome  fellow  that’s  trying  to  rescue  you  from  a  hideous  fate  is  never  wrong.  ’

‘  i  have  lost  everything.  ’

‘  who  said  we  were  owed  happiness  ?  what  about  what  we  owe  others  ?  ’

‘  he’s  going  to  kill  someone.  or  get  us  killed.  ’

‘  clearly  the  word  excellent  means  something  else  on  this  side  of  the  atlantic.  ’

‘  you  may  hide  here  with  me,  if  you  wish.  ’

‘  with  god  on  your  side,  what  does  luck  matter  ?  ’

‘  are  you  highly  intoxicated  at  the  moment  ?  ’

‘  you  wish  to  marry  me  now  ?  ’

‘  entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee.  ’

‘  don’t  be  ordinary  like  that.  ’

‘  is  it  because  i’m  better  looking  than  you  ?  ’

‘  dreams  can  be  dangerous  things.  ’

‘  declarations  of  love  amuse  me.  ’

‘  be  prepared  to  swoon  at  my  finery.  ’

‘  i  don’t  believe  you  can  threaten  people  into  goodness.  ’

‘  finally  broke  down  and  admitted  you’re  in  love  with  me,  have  you  ?  ’

‘  i  say  this  out  of  pure  selfishness.  ’

‘  is  loyalty  still  a  commendable  quality  if  it  is  misdirected  ?  ’

‘  you  must  be  terribly  dull  witted.  ’

‘  you  need  not  be  so  careful.  i  will  not  break.  ’

‘  there  is  more  to  living  than  not  dying.  ’

‘  men  may  be  stronger,  but  it  is  women  who  endure.  ’

‘  was  there  ever  a  more  beautiful  sound  than  your  name  ?  ’

‘  we  do  not  have  to  carry  the  burden  of  their  choices  or  sins.  ’

‘  life  is  full  of  risks.  death  is  much  simpler.  ’

‘  you  serve  a  greater  cause.  your  life  is  not  yours  to  throw  away.  ’

‘  there  are  so  many  worse  things  than  death.  not  to  be  loved  or  not  to  be  able  to  love,  that  is  worse.  ’

‘  you  are  human.  never  think  that  you  are  not.  ’

‘  if  you’re  determined  to  follow  me  into  hell,  i  cannot  stop  you.  ’

‘  i’ve  always  wanted  to  see  hell.  doesn’t  everyone  ?  ’

‘  come  back  to  me,  for  i  cannot  bear  to  lose  all  my  heart.  ’

‘  i  am  catastrophically  in  love  with  you.  ’

‘   i  can  offer  you  my  heart,  though  i  have  no  idea  how  many  more  beats  it  shall  sustain.  ’

‘  our  souls  are  knit.  we  are  one  person.  ’

‘  i  do  not  want  to  sit  by  while  tragedy  comes  for  us.  ’

‘  i  am  leaving,  but  i  am  living.  i  will  not  be  gone  from  you  entirely.  ’

‘  they  say  that  you  cannot  love  two  people  at  once.  ’

‘  i  cannot  leave  you  to  face  death  alone.  ’

‘  when  i  breathe,  i  will  think  of  you,  for  without  you  i  would  have  been  dead  years  ago.  ’

‘  the  world  is  a  wheel.  when  we  rise  and  fall,  we  do  it  together.  ’

‘  you  are  the  first  dream  of  my  soul,  the  only  dream  i  was  unable  to  stop  myself  from  dreaming.  ’

‘  when  i  am  in  the  darkness,  i  want  to  think  of  it  in  the  light,  with  you.  ’

‘  heroes  endure  because  we  need  them.  not  for  their  own  sakes.  ’

‘  if  there  is  a  life  after  this  one,  let  me  meet  you  in  it.  ’

‘  life  is  a  book,  and  there  are  a  thousand  pages  i  have  not  yet  read.  ’

‘  words  have  the  power  to  change  us.  ’

[see-arcane]

Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1.     There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2.     Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3.     Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Fjaka (Ivar x reader)

Summary: You dwell on the thought of how sometimes doing nothing with Ivar makes you the happiest.

This is my entry to @doctorwhoandfairytaillover short and sweet challenge! Congrats on all your followers! I'm so happy for you!

Fjaka (Croatian)– "the sweetness of doing nothing"

The book quote at the beginning of the story comes from one of my favorite books 'Mara, Daughter of the Nile', page 210. (if anyone is interested)

Words: 699

Warnings: Pure, sugary fluff. Soft Ivar. One swear word.

Triumph swept over Mara, giving way immediately to something so much stronger and deeper that every other reality dropped sway. She found herself clinging to him fiercely, caught up in an emotion more compelling than any she had known. For once she did not plan or scheme or use her wits, since it was quite impossible. She did not even think. 

You closed your eyes for a brief respite, allowing the emotions of the story to flow over you like a gentle stream. The character Mara could not place a name to this new feeling carving its way into her being. But you could – love. 

Lifting your gaze, you stared at the man sitting on the couch with you. Your legs stretched over his lap, his arms rested on them as he held a game controller. His radiant blue eyes glued onto the TV screen, playing some video game that frequently made him swear and grumble about getting his brothers back. Laying the book in your lap, but careful not to lose your page, you rested the side of your head on the leather couch, admiring your fiancé. 

You thought back to your own declarations of love. It was not intense or overly romantic like in the book you were reading. A slave and a lord, betraying customs and social conformity, throwing themselves into an well of hopeful love, only to hit rock bottom. 

No, your own declarations were much simpler, more tranquil. It happened laying in bed next to one another, the morning sunlight spilling over you two. Neither of you moved, even as both of your alarms had blared repeatedly already. Instead, words of contentment, satisfaction and love filled the narrow space between your bodies. Nothing profound. Nothing world-shattering. Just an acknowledgement shared in that moment, solidifying the dedication and love between the two of you. 

He must have sensed your gaze on him, since he spoke without removing his eyes from the TV screen. "What?"

"Nothing."

This time he quickly glanced at you before turning back and humming his disbelief. 

"I just…I guess I was just reminded of how much I love you."

"Are they fucking in your book right now?" 

"Ugh! No! That's not why!" You smacked his shoulder lightly with the side of your book, not that the book was actually thick enough to do much damage. "I was just….thinking."

With a quirk of his lips, he paused his video game. Using a single finger under your chin, he guided your lips to his. The kiss he placed was so gentle, so tender, you were unable to do anything but melt under his touch and lean into him wanting more. No confection, no sugar, no candy or chocolate could ever be sweeter or more satisfying than this kiss. For it delved deep into your soul, further wrapping you in the knowledge of his complete and utter love for you. 

Ever so slowly, he drew back to kiss the tip of your nose and then turn to his prior spot. "I love you too." After that, he returned to his game, unpausing it only to then colorfully swear about some idiot on the screen. 

The smile on your face could easily rival the sun in its brightness. With that adorning your face, you opened your book back up, returning to the characters and their newfound, forbidden love. 

You were happy in the contentment, the simplicity of your life with Ivar. It may not be riveting or dramatic. Certainly nothing that would ever be written about or made into a song. But that did not matter. It was these quiet moments shared between the two of you that were your favorite, and his. Unlike the characters in your story, whose love was like a threatening storm; the love shared between you and Ivar was an oak tree – strong, resilient and peaceful with deep roots. 

Your life with Ivar had its ups and downs, like all relationships, but it was these moments where you seemed to be doing nothing together….they were what spoke loudest of the happiness surrounding you two. The joy of companionship and just being with one another. A simplicity that is profound. 

Tag List:

Vikings (all)

@youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille888 @quantumlocked310 @errruvande-2-0

Vikings-Ivar

@breezykpop @frankie-undead-dame

[fangirleaconmigo]

As much as I enjoy the fanon trope of Jaskier becoming enraged and losing his shit on people for insulting witchers, (it's a satisfying trope and I've used it in my fics) let’s also appreciate the book!Jaskier (Dandelion) approach.

When people express fear or suspicion of witchers in the books, Dandelion just thinks it’s hilarious and mercilessly roasts everyone involved. There’s no anger. He is almost grateful for the entertainment.

The idea that his best friend, (who he considers a simple guy, excessively heroic, a little sensitive, and a bit of a drama queen) is in any way exotic, violent, or malevolent is so absurd as to be absolutely hysterical. It's just too ridiculous to take seriously.

When Sir Eyck of Denesle (the douchebag knight in Rare Species) tries to give a little pious speech against sin and witchers during the dragon hunt, Dandelion interrupts him constantly to clown on him.

"The Holy Books says," Eyck said, now yelling loudly, "that the serpent...will come forth from the abyss! And on his back will sit a woman in purple and scarlet, and a golden goblet will be in her hand, and on her forehead will be written the sign of all and ultimate whoredom!"

"I know her!" Dandelion said, delighted. "It's Cilia, the wife of the Alderman of Sommerhalder!"

"Quieten down, poet, sir," Gyllenstiern said. "And you, O knight from Denesle, speak more plainly if you would."

"One should act against evil, O King," Eyck called '...But who do we see here? Dwarves, who are pagans, are born in the darkness and bow down before dark forces....blasphemous sorcerers...a witcher, who is an odious aberration, an accursed unnatural creature....are you surprised that a punishment has befallen us? I call you, king, to purge the filth from our ranks before--"

"Not a word about me," interjected Dandelion woefully. "Not a mention of poets. And I try so hard."

Geralt smiled at Yarpen Zigrin...The dwarf, amused, grinned.

Dandelion thinks it’s so funny when people are afraid of Geralt, that he will mock them to the point where Geralt has to tell him to lay off.

When they run into Dainty, (a halfling friend of Dandelion’s) Dandelion mocks his fear of Geralt until Geralt (ever the gentleman) intervenes to put a stop to it.

"You really are an ass, Dandelion," the halfling said reproachfully.

Dandelion laughed brightly again, simultaneously playing two complicated chords on his lute.

"Well, you have an exceptionally stupid expression on your face, and you're goggling at us as though we have horns and a tail. Perhaps you're afraid of the witcher? What, perhaps you think halfling season has begun? Perhaps--"

"Stop it," Geralt snapped, unable to stay quiet..."

Also, in The Edge of the World (the Posada devil story) an elderly woman named Lille reads from an old book with an entry for witchers that describes them as mangey and horny. Dandelion really enjoys this.

"Eeee...but careful one must be to touch not the witchman, for thus the mange can one acquire. And lasses do hide away, for lustful the witchman is above all measure--"

"Quite correct, spot on," laughed the poet, and Lille, so it seemed to Geralt, smiled almost imperceptibly.

Before you feel too bad for Geralt, trust me that he roasts Dandelion with just as much accuracy and with even more frequency. Their love language is bickering + roasting each other ruthlessly + publicly and loudly declaring that they will never forsake or leave the other + sharing beds and clothing + the occasional hug or kiss.

It’s love and loyalty but it’s a different flavor and I think has its own appeal.

Again, I love tv Jaskier's yearning and awe for Geralt. (It's what made me write Geraskier!) Pair that with his pettiness and impulsivity, and I accept the fanon. Also, it's so infuriating when people treat Geralt like crap that it feels nice to use a character to stab them for it.

But Dandelion is a different animal. The idea, for example, that he would ask to prove himself a worthy travel companion for Geralt, the witcher who so clearly needs him, is absolutely laughable. It's almost as funny as anyone being afraid of Geralt.

[poledancingdinos]

It Was Never About That With You

Pairing: August Walker X OFC (1st person POV)

Word Count: 1443

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, stripper OFC, attempted non-con (not by August), panic attack, minor injuries, past injuries, angst, implied punishment, implied spanking, argument

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67​ @littleone65​ @omgkatinka​

Story Masterlist​​

Masterlist

I didn’t expect August home for another week. Maybe that’s why I didn’t bother changing after work, or hiding the marks that guy had left on my skin. Not that I can hide anything from August. He can read me like a book, my body has no secrets for him. It is too damn late — or early — to worry about how I look while heating my hot pockets in the microwave.

The deadbolt unlocks with a click and I know immediately that it can only be August. There are armed security guards in the lobby fifteen floors below us and there are two locked doors between them and the outside. When this all started, August said that if I was to be his submissive, I would have to accept his standards of safety. 

The lights turn on and I have to squint while I adjust but when I turn to August he seems completely unaffected. His eyes roam over my body, frowning at the barely there skirt and cropped blouse tied in a knot right below my breasts. We have a rule about me wearing these out of the house. I can wear them while I work in the club or while I’m in the apartment but I can’t wear them on the way from one to the other.

I would normally be over his knee already — or possibly bent over the counter — but his eyes stay fixed on my legs. The knee high socks I put on after taking off my pleasers hide most of my bruises but they don’t fully hide what he did to me.

The microwave beeps three times but I can’t look away from August’s face. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him disappointed. I’ve seen him jealous. None of those times prepared me for what I see in his face right now. He is clenching his jaw so hard, that I’m afraid he might actually chip his teeth. The crow’s feet starting to appear in the corner of his eyes are more apparent as he frowns at me but he is still fiercely handsome.

“What happened?”

“Aug—”

“Sir,” he corrects. “What. Happened.”

I know I’m not supposed to hide from him but the energy he’s exuding makes me want to cower at his feet and my head bows of its own accord. Not because I think he would hurt me but because I’ve never seen him like this before.

“One of the security guards snuck out for a smoke while I was in VIP,” I explain, staring down at my sock-covered feet. My skirt suddenly feels way too short and I fiddle with the hem, wishing it covered more of my thigh. “The two guys I was dancing for had paid enough that no one questioned why I didn’t come back after three minutes.”

I’d be lying if I said that I’m not shaken up by what happened. In my typical bratty manner, I kept my chin up high and pretended in front of the manager that it was no big deal and finished off the night as usual. To him, I must have looked like a tough girl but August won’t be fooled by fake bravado.

“Did they…” His voice shakes and I realize that, at the moment, he feels just as vulnerable as I do. I meet his gaze again, studying his face. Fear. That’s what I see in August’s eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat, looking away as I shake my head in response. He takes a step closer to me, holding my chin between his thumb and his index and forcing me to look back at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. It’s just the bruises.”

“You aren’t going back to that club,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. I turn away from him, moving to retrieve my almost forgotten dinner from the microwave. At least the cheese won’t burn my palate.

“I’m not giving up my job.” I almost started to believe that this conversation would never come up — that August would be different despite his controlling ways. He follows me deeper into the kitchen.

"I make more than enough money for the both of us, you don't need that job. You're always coming home with new burns and bruises and you're always sore for days after the weekend is over."

"You're saying that I should quit the club over a few minor injuries, over a few bad people trying to hurt me. By that logic you should quit your job."

"It's not the same."

I slam my hand onto the counter and spin to face him.

"Isn't it? How many times have you come home black and blue, wheezing from broken ribs? Or with a fresh stab wound or a new bullet hole? You worry so much about what happens while I am at work but have you ever stopped to think about how it makes me feel when you stumble back through my door? I'm almost relieved to see you're hurt because it means that you aren't dead. How dare you ask me to leave my job because of a few scrapes and bruises!"

I rush towards my bedroom, overcome with a desperate need to get away. He’s never seen me cry. He’s seen me in tears, sure. When he fucks me he doesn’t stop until I feel so much pleasure that I can’t do anything but shed a few tears. But these aren’t from overwhelming pleasure, they are from overwhelming pain. All the pain I kept hidden from him to be his good little submissive — or as good as a brat can be, really. 

"It's not the same," he repeats, chasing after me.

"Why not? Because you wear a suit? Because you work for the government? Because you have a real job? News flash August, I also make enough to support us both and I only work four nights a week! So what if I do most of my work half naked? At least I get to perform. That's what I love to do and I'm not giving that up because the rush you got from dating a stripper has finally faded. I am not quitting my job for you!"

Suddenly August is right there in front of me, caging me against the wall with his hard body. You’d think I’d be intimidated by his stare or scared of his hand snaked around my throat but none of it even phases me. What breaks me is the pain in his own voice when he answers me.

“You think that’s all this is to me? I’ve fucked strippers before, in fact, they begged me to fuck them not the other way around. It was never about that with you.” His other hand comes up to brush a tear from my cheek. “I wanted you because there was a fire in you that I knew I couldn’t tame but would enjoy every second that I tried. You choose to submit to me and I am honored every day that you continue to do so.”

I have to tilt my head up completely to look at him. I am by no means an imposing woman. Realistically, I would be unable to fend off any man who was determined to hurt me. That fact became painfully obvious just a few hours ago when the guy who’s lap I was straddling dropped me on my back on the VIP room floor, holding my thighs open with such a harsh grip that it left hand print sized bruises while his buddy pinned both my arms over my head with one hand and smothered my screams with the other. If it hadn’t been for the chair I managed to kick over in my struggle, no one would have stopped them from going all the way.

August’s forehead touches mine, pulling me back to the present. His hand is still wrapped around my throat but the other is settled over my heart, calling my attention to my racing pulse and labored breathing.

“I’m not asking this as your dom, I’m asking this as the selfish prick who knows he doesn’t deserve you. I know you can handle physical pain but that won’t be all you’re left with if one of those fuckers manages to get his hands on you while there’s no one around to stop them.”

“You can’t control the whole world, August. That’s why you settle for controlling me.”

His hands move to cup my face, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. “Nothing about being with you is settling. You are everything I don’t deserve.”

Part 1 (previous)

Part 3 (next)

Part 4