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dilemmaontwolegs · 8 months

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Hiiii I absolutely loved you Max fics I don’t know if you ever would want to do that but if your interested please do a mafia storyline with Max or Mick! ❤️

Little Lion Man || MV1 & CH16

Pairings: dark!Charles Leclerc x fem!reader, Max Verstappen x fem!reader Summary: you find yourself caught in a war between the mafia families that ruled Monaco. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, guns, murder, pregnancy, slight non con/reluctant vibes, forced marriage WC: 3.5k

For a nation so small it was hard to believe that Monaco could be home to not one but three mafia families. There was the Leclerc famile, Verstsppen familie and the Sainz familia. The Leclerc’s had always called Monaco home but the Dutch and Spanish families had made their arrival known in the 90’s, almost burning the city in the war that broke out.

Just over 30 years later, it looked like history was going to repeat itself as the prodigal sons took over the family businesses.

“You are my daughter, if I say you will marry Charles then you will marry him. End of argument.” You would hardly call it an argument when you weren’t even given an opportunity to say your piece but your father left no room for a rebuttal as he slammed the door closed behind him. There was a reason the Sainz’s called him the Peacemaker.

You were a bargaining chip, a pawn in your father’s arsenal to end the war between the Leclerc’s and the Sainz’s before it could spill out into the street and affect everyone’s bottom line. The last thing anyone wanted was to lose their men, their money and their product.

Two weeks later you were shoved into a wedding dress that could have been a film prop for any 80’s rom-com, puffy sleeves and all. It was hideous.

“You are quite beautiful,” Charles said as you reached the dais where the priest waited. “I suppose that will make this easier.”

By ‘this’ you assumed he meant the moment the reception was over and you found yourself stepping into his bedroom, your bedroom too now. Charles had been quiet for most of the evening, indulging in a handful of whiskeys over ice as he mulled over what his life had become, but he found his voice as he tugged his tie off. “On the bed.”

Your fingers tightened around your waist as you hugged yourself, trying to fight back the tears you thought you had finished shedding when you resigned yourself to your fate. “You don’t have to do this, we can come to an arrangement.”

Charles scoffed and continued to unbutton his dress shirt. “This is the arrangement.”

You swallowed as he shucked the shirt over a leather armrest and you saw the dark tattoos that curled over his biceps and down his forearms. A snake moved with his muscles and entwined around a gothic cross. Beneath it, thorny roses with blood drops splattered over the petals decorated the otherwise sun kissed skin.

“I don’t know what my father told you but I-”

“Your father said you would be an obedient wife,” he interrupted as he pointed a ringed finger to the bed. “I’m only as terrible as you make me.”

You took a step back as he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your face. It was reflex to flinch from his touch, knowing the violence his hands were capable of dealing to those who displeased him. You couldn’t help shivering as his cold wedding band touched your cheek and his other arm snaked around your waist, dragging the zip of your dress down your spine.

“What does that even mean?” you whispered. You took a breath and grew the courage to tip your head back and met his uniquely green eyes - the colour brighter than the soul behind them.

He pushed the puffed sleeves from your shoulders until the dress fell to the floor and inhaled at the sight of your body being bared to him. Biting his lip, he stepped back and ran a hand over his shadow of a beard. “Behave yourself, and I will too. Push me, and I’ll push you back harder.”

You felt the colour drain from your face at the threat and he chuckled as he closed the distance between you, forcing your lips apart with a demanding kiss. His palms ran down your spine and over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against the hard expanse of his body.

“One other thing,” he murmured against your lips. “Disappoint me or my family and, well…it will be the last thing you do, chérie.”

You collapsed into Max’s arms the moment he opened the door, your fingers digging into the straps of muscle along his back as you clung to him like a lifeline. The penthouse apartment was quiet except for the tv playing in the master bedroom and your sobs filled the foyer before he could even close the door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Max said, despite holding you just as tight. “He probably has Arthur or Lorenzo following you.”

You started to pull back but his arms caged you in his embrace so you settled for talking into his chest. “I know how to lose a tail. I was careful.”

He sighed and rested his cheek on your head, inhaling the floral scent of your shampoo he had missed. “I know, liefje. How long is he gone for?”

You screwed your eyes closed and wished he had never brought Charles up, but you knew Max wanted to know how long he could have with you. “He’s in Nice for a meeting. A few hours at least.”

The hatred for your husband had led you into the arms of Max, his rival and head of the Verstappen familie. The three families would meet each quarter for negotiations and settle disputes, or at least that was what it was meant for, but they just used it as a way to flaunt their wealth and success over each other.

It was after the wedding when you went to your first one that Max had caught your lifeless eyes as you sat beside Charles, decked out in a custom designer dress with diamonds strung around your neck, slowly choking you. He had been struck down by the vision before him and had never wanted something for himself so much in his life. He had been willing to go to war for you and he didn’t even know your name. He had learned it soon enough.

“Do you know who he’s meeting?” Max asked. Even when he wasn’t meaning to he was phishing for information, a reflex he couldn’t seem to stop with a mind as sharp as his.

“Please, mijn leeuw, not tonight,” you whined as you buried your face in his neck. (My lion)

“I’m sorry,” he said with a kiss to your forehead before he tipped your chin back to meet his ice-blue eyes. “What do you need from me, liefje?”

“I need to forget. Please, help me forget.”

Max closed his eyes as rage hardened his features and you knew he was rueing the day he let Charles live. The solution to your problem couldn’t be solved with a bullet and although Max knew that, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. He wanted nothing more than to bathe in Charles’ blood for what he had done to you, but the retaliation would be catastrophic. He had too many people relying on him, friends and family alike.

All Max could give you was a few short hours of his time to show you how he would treat you if the circumstances had been kinder. For a few short hours of stolen time he could erase the touch of Charles from your mind.

Max took your hand, his fingers easing your wedding ring off before placing it on the hall table with your handbag. You relished the freedom that came without the constricting band and flexed your fingers like it had been physically painful to wear the gold jewellery. In a way, it had.

Linking his fingers with yours, Max led the way through the apartment and into the bedroom you found comfort in. This should have been the place you called home, the solace you returned to at the day’s end. It was the one place you felt safe, even though just being here put your life in danger. If Charles ever found out you knew you would be dead, your body left somewhere it would never be found.

“Max…do you believe in God?” you asked in the quiet afterwards. Your arm was curled around his waist, fingers tracing the lion tattoo that covered his rib cage. You could feel the time ticking away with each heartbeat in his chest that you rested your head upon.

“No,” he said honestly, his accent thickening with his amusement. “Do you?”

You looked at the slight change in skin tone where your wedding band usually sat and slipped out of his embrace to find your clothes. “I have to,” you whispered as your throat began to tighten at the thought of returning to the cold mansion Charles owned. “There’s got to be something more than this hell. Maybe one day he will answer my prayers.”

Max could remember the feeling of taking over the family business, how he thought he was invincible - godlike even. Now he felt powerless to the situation. He didn’t like the feeling. He wanted to be the one to answer your prayer.

“One day…” he promised himself aloud, missing the way your spine stiffened at the words. There was no guarantee you would survive long enough for him to keep it.

You stared dumbly at the two pink lines and felt the walls of the bathroom constricting around you. You couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world you were imprisoned in, it was unfair and deadly. What if the babe had dirty blond hair and ice blue eyes? A new fear sent a shudder down your body and you looked at your stomach, nothing to show - yet.

The door crashed off its hinges as Charles busted it in and you screamed at the surprise, cradling your abdomen on reflex.

“I called you ten fucking times!” Charles growled. His eyes narrowed as they scanned the room before settling on the pregnancy tests lined up. For the first time since you had wed him, Charles looked lost for words, and after a moment his hard stare softened. “We are having a baby?”

You couldn’t remember when he ever addressed anything as ‘we’, it was always you and him - separate, not together. You didn’t know how to react to the instant change in him but you nodded stiffly as he waited for an answer.

A smile grew on his face as he stepped forward and pulled your hands away from your stomach to place his own beneath your camisole. “My son, my heir,” he chuckled, the warmth of his palms almost blistering your skin.

“It might be a girl.” You flinch at the look he gave you and muttered an apology. Just because he was suddenly being gentle didn’t mean he would stay that way, especially if he ever found out the child wasn’t his. Nausea rolled through you and you pushed away to hurdle yourself at the toilet before you emptied your stomach.

It wasn’t morning sickness.

It was a sickness of the heart.

You knew if Max were to believe the child was his then he would have no choice but to go to war, it was a matter of pride and family. On the other hand, Charles would never let the child live if it wasn’t his and despite just learning of its existence, you were willing to do anything to protect it. You needed to tread carefully and that meant no more escaping your guards to see Max. It meant playing the good wife, at least for the next eight months.

You could feel his intense stare from across the table, willing you to meet his eyes. Too many times you felt them drifting up from your husband’s hand clasped on your lap only to snap them back down before you could give in. It would do no good to look at Max. You hadn’t seen him since the night before you took the pregnancy test and you had dreaded going to the quarterly meeting.

There was no hiding the bump in the tight dress Charles had chosen for you. There was no way that Max had missed it when you walked in on your husband’s arm. He had seen it and he had questions.

“I’m going to the ladies room,” you excused yourself after the meal, while the men talked business.

“Arthur will go with you,” Charles said with a nod to his younger brother sitting at his other side. “I don’t trust any of these assholes.”

His hand lingered on the small of your back as you stepped out and you glanced across to see Max’s eyes fixated on that touch. Though you did not welcome the hands of your husband, you no longer feared them the way you used to. Charles was far gentler now that you were, potentially, carrying his heir. It could also be Max’s.

A hand clasped over your mouth and silenced the scream that rose in your throat. “It’s me,” Max whispered, soothing your racing heart.

You looked around the powder room wondering how he had made it past Arthur and saw a narrow cleaner’s entrance left open a crack. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You never came back, never answered my messages.” The hurt in Max’s voice made your chest ache and your hands dropped to the growing swell of your abdomen. He followed that movement, his chest filling with the deep breath he took and the pearl buttons on his shirt started to strain until he exhaled. “I didn’t believe the rumours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, the biting tone wanting detailed explanations like you were one of his men answering for your actions.

Your lips parted, ready to tell him exactly what you were sorry for, before they slammed shut. “I should go.”

He caught your arm as you moved past and he pulled you flush against his body to bury his face in your neck. “Tell me, please. I’ll make it happen, I’ll answer your prayers, I’ll go to war for you - for both of you. Just tell me, is it mine?”

The confession threatened to slip past your lips, the truth that you didn’t know, that he very likely could be. The confession threatened to eat you alive like it had done every time you saw one of Max’s men around Monaco. They always managed to get a message to you, but you never had a response to send.

“No,” you muttered as you pushed him away.

He rocked back on his heels but remained steady as he watched you retreat to the exit. “No, it isn’t mine or no, you won’t tell me?”

Your back hit the door and you blindly reached for the handle, sparing one last look at his shimmering eyes so you could remember them a little longer. “Whatever helps you to sleep at night.”

“Dammit, liefje, just tell me. I need to know.”

You broke away at the endearment that weakened your resolve and your shoulders curled in on themselves. “I can’t tell you, Max, because I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know.” Your voice cracked and the weight of those words fell tenfold on your shoulders as your hand slipped from the doorknob. “I don’t know who the father is, Max. I-I’m sorry.”

His strong arms grappled you into a tight embrace as you broke down in them, your knees giving out as you felt his lips on your forehead, smelt his cologne on his neck. “It’s okay, liefje, I'm going to fix this.”

You pulled back with eyes and blinked away the tears as you placed your hand on your belly. “How? What if it’s not yours?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he promised as he tipped your chin back. “Mine or not, this baby is yours and that’s enough.”

A knock sounded at the door and you panicked as Arthur asked if everything was alright. Your reply was muffled as Max stole a kiss and quietly repeated his promise before disappearing back into the cleaner’s room. Wiping your eyes, you unlocked the door and met your brother-in-law’s narrowed eyes before they searched the room behind you. “You’ve been crying.”

“Pregnancy,” you said with a wave of your hand. “It’s called hormones, Tur. Happens all the time, just ask your brother.”

Max’s chair was still empty when you reached the table but he entered from the main door a few minutes later. The mask he often wore in front of those outside the familie was firmly in place as he unbuttoned his suit with one hand and dropped back into his seat, apologising for taking an important call.

“Your men can't handle one evening on their own?” Charles baited over the rim of his wine glass with an antagonising smile.

Max returned the grin with his own as he slipped his phone into his suit jacket. “You have no idea what my men are capable of.”

You could feel the ripples of those words across the table, the feel of a threat in the air. It not only set Charles on edge but Carlos too - the two sharing a look of concern before facing the Dutchman once more.

Max took a mouthful of his gin and tonic and bit into the lime wedge without reacting to the strong citrus taste. Taking his time, he picked up his napkin and cleaned the drops of juice from his fingers before laying it over his lap as everyone watched closely.

It looked as if he were nervously fiddling with his rings under the napkin and Carlos snickered, relaxing back into his chair until your lion spoke again. “But you will…”

The air stilled for a moment as the napkin drifted to the floor and warmth splattered your cheek. You couldn’t think fast enough to process what had happened or why the wetness on your cheek was red. It could have been minutes but it felt like hours before your brain connected the dots and you saw your husband's body slumped in his chair before you, his green eyes open but unseeing.

Across the table, Max had risen to his feet, the fidgeting revealing a silencer he had been screwing onto his gun. He was cold and precise as he took out Carlos next, his accuracy unmatched. Around the seats he went, faster than they could react as the doors were busted open and his second in command arrived. Danny was ready to die protecting Max’s back while you dropped to the floor and prayed for protection of your own.

“We have to get out of here,” Arthur growled as he caught your ankle and dragged you back where he was kneeling, his white chinos turning red as they absorbed his brother’s blood. “Stay low, protect my nephew.”

“Do you have a gun?” you asked with a shaking voice.

“Of course not,” he spat angrily. No one was meant to have weapons at these meetings and you were assuming Max had retrieved his from the reception area before returning.

“Then you’re fucked.” You kicked your Louboutin into his face and scrambled away as he howled in pain, reaching the edge of the table close to Max.

“Liefje, are you alright?”

“Arthur, under there,” you rushed as you pointed behind you, closing your eyes as he lifted the cloth and the muffled gunshot rang out.

“Not anymore.”

“Time to go,” Danny suggested, reloading his magazine and kicking a few bodies to check they were truly dead.

“Is that it?” You asked, hope filling your voice despite the devastation in the room surrounding you.

Daniel threw his head back and laughed but Max just shook his head and said, “This is just the beginning. We just declared war.”

“But they’re dead.”

“Someone will take over, and when they do - we will need to be ready.” Max reached out and wiped the blood from your cheek. “You’re free of him now, you both are.”

Your breath rattled out of you as you felt the weight lift from your shoulders and as the sirens grew in the distance you managed to smile, the first genuine smile in months. Your prayers had finally been answered. “Thank you, mijn leeuw.”

Five Months Later

Ice blue eyes met yours before a piercing cry erupted and Max’s laugh was one of pure joy. “Mijn zoon,” he cooed softly as he rested his cheek on your head and you watched the midwife gently bring your son to your waiting arms.

Tears blurred your vision at the warm comforting weight of his tiny body lying chest to chest with you. You had never felt anything more precious, never held anything more delicate. He was perfect.

“My little lion man,” you whispered, brushing a kiss over the tufts of dark hair he already had. “We love you so much.”

As if he knew what the words meant, his eyelashes fluttered and he peeked them open to bear twin green irises. He would be an heir. He could unite the families. Or, he could tear it all apart.

Only time would tell.

#max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #f #mafia au #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

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This 1889 home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is the consummate Gothic Victorian. A lot of the decor is uniquely DIY, which makes it interesting, to say the least. 3bds, 3ba, $439,900.

The original doors in the entrance hall were given a couple of coats of shiny black paint.

The stairs were trimmed in gray and it looks like they stripped and refinished the railings.

This reception room has an original fireplace and pocket doors.

I can't say that the built-in cabinet it original, b/c it's a very different style. It looks like an old farm piece and the owners used a crackle paint finish to make it look chippy.

This middle room is 2 stories high, has a balcony, and the owners added some architectural salvage molding pieces. It also appears that the stone on the corner fireplace was replaced.

This is the ceiling in the room.

Old pocket doors missing hardware were given a distressed finish and the dining room ceiling is like a bronze/brown.

The kitchen reno is completely DIY, made with architectural salvage pieces.

Look at all the things.

It's very creative and look at how they fit the ovens into that green piece.

In the powder room they found a very different style door to fit the pocket.

On the 2nd floor, I'm not sure if this open room is supposed to be a bedroom, but it does look like one.

The hole in the ceiling exposing the window above may be the result of a new ceiling. That gives it a very unique feature.

There's a washer/dryer up here, and a kitchenette unit. Notice all the ceiling light fixtures.

I like the color scheme of this bedroom and the wall was taken down to make an open en-suite.

Interesting arched ceiling in the bath and that's some piece they chose for the sink.

So much in this home has been reconfigured. You can tell that the walls are new. So, this is the turret.

At the base of the rear stairs there's a newly configured nook.

This open room has been turned into a bath with a sauna.

This is quite the large bath.

It actually looks like most of the attic is bathroom.

At first glance I thought that this was a hot tub, but it appears to be some sort of platform or stage.

The basement's very big, has some creepy-ish gray stone walls, and lots of fun potential.

The exterior gothic architecture on this house is stunning.

The yard is fenced, but it needs landscaping. 4,791 sq. ft. lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3402-W-Saint-Paul-Ave-Milwaukee-WI-53208/40470662_zpid/?

#gothic victorian #DIY house #houses #house tours #home tour

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princessanonymous · 5 months

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When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

5. 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓽𝓱

The estate gave off an aura of cold, darkness, and grandeur. Its many rooms and labyrinth-like pathways created an intricate and intimidating structure. The ground floor, beyond the imposing entry hall, boasted a dining room, a resplendent ballroom, lavish bathrooms, and the kitchen, which was connected to the quarters where the servants resided. On the second floor, there was a grand living room, and the master bedroom, along with an opulent bathroom and a study, was adjacent to (Y/n)'s room, which also had its own bathroom. Guest bedrooms adorned the opposite side of the second floor. The estate was equipped with a grand library, another ballroom that opened onto a balcony overlooking the entrance, more bathrooms, and a small reception room. An unassuming door on the ground floor led to a cellar.

The mansion was encircled by imposing fences and gates that remained perpetually closed, effectively isolating it from the outside world. By the same logic, it kept her in. The verdant gardens that stretched around the estate, bathed in the moonlight, held an eerie beauty. A nearby stable housed a few horses.

(Y/n) had to concede that the estate was undeniably magnificent, but her nocturnal existence within its gloomy halls only served to accentuate its gothic allure. It was a place of solitude and coldness, where even the servants, who were, like her, human, would cast fearful glances her way. Their wary gazes made her feel even more isolated. She often wondered what compelled them to stay in a household where they had at least some inkling of the master's unnatural nature. Yet, they remained, and they didn't seem to like it. They didn’t seem to like her either. Anyone capable of catching this monster’s attention must be as dang as him in their mind. She could not muster any form of bitterness towards them, since she understood their resonance.

It took her a while to get accustomed to her new sleep schedule. Sleeping in the day and living throughout the night was certainly not something she was used to. She had not glimpsed the light of day in weeks, as the heavy curtains remained perpetually drawn. She spent her nights trying to stave off the loneliness that haunted her. The absence of anyone her age to converse with was not entirely novel, but during her life with her parents, there had been opportunities to socialize when they ventured into town to sell their harvested produce.

She clenched her jaw and fought back tears, resolute in her decision not to cry. Mourning her parents would serve no purpose, and their murderer would respond to her grief with cold indifference. In this foreboding place, no one would offer her solace. No one would care.

The vampire continued to spend a significant amount of time with her. Their interactions were not always filled with conversation; sometimes, they simply coexisted in silence, as he engrossed himself in reading while she sought to fill the empty hours with activities. Her loathing for him remained unwavering, and resentment festered within her, burning brightly. Yet, her loneliness drove her to accept the limited interaction he offered. The girl took whatever she could get.

Tonight was one such instance. They sat in the study, where the vampire occupied a red velvet armchair, engrossed in a book. (Y/n) reclined on a plush sofa of the same pattern, her fingers idly fidgeting with a porcelain doll, arranging and rearranging its dress. It didn't really interest her much, but it helped to keep her occupied.

As she gazed upon the doll’s neck, the sudden recollection of that fateful night prompted (Y/n) to place her hand on her own neck, as if searching for a mark that should have been there but never was. She couldn't fathom how she had managed to forget that detail. The memory returned vividly now – the bite, the paralyzing sensation, the drowsiness that followed. She knew she wasn't a vampire; her pulse still throbbed, and her canines were just as they had always been.

"You bit me," she voiced her realization, her hand still lingering on her neck, even though she knew the wound was no longer there.

The vampire, his attention momentarily diverted from his book, nonchalantly acknowledged, "I did."

A surge of curiosity and confusion led (Y/n) to question further. "I'm not a vampire," she stated, running her tongue over her normal-sized canines. Her heart continued to beat steadily, and there was no insatiable thirst for blood. "How?"

He put the book down, seemingly willing to indulge her curiosity. "Becoming a vampire isn't a random occurrence, doll," he explained patiently. "The process begins with the vampire drinking the blood of a human, allowing the venom from the bite to spread through the mortal's body. The human must then die shortly after from the poison from the bite. They will eventually return to life, but to complete the transformation, they must drink the blood of their sire. And all of this must occur during a Blood Moon."

She tensed upon hearing about the Blood Moon. "What's a Blood Moon?" (Y/n) inquired, a hint of fear in her voice. She needed to understand the vampire's plans for her and how to avoid them.

"It's a phenomenon that occurs only once every three months," he explained. "During a Blood Moon, the moon takes on a red hue, which not only strengthens a vampire's powers but also turns their bite venomous, capable of transforming others. The paralysis and drowsiness you felt on the night I brought you home were the effects of a typical vampire's bite when its powers aren’t strengthened by the moon."

Her face displayed her discomfort as she recalled the night she had felt powerless and vulnerable, completely at the mercy of a killer. She couldn't hide her unease any longer and sought further clarification. "And is the ice power something common among vampires?" She remembered the eerie sight of ice forming on the vampire's hands.

"Each vampire possesses a unique gift," he replied cryptically. To illustrate, he picked up a glass of water from the table beside her. As he touched it, the water gradually transformed into ice, right before her eyes. Her expression shifted from unease to genuine astonishment. "You will have one too."

Her smile dropped, fear settling in once again. She had allowed herself to forget about that part for a fraction of a second. She chastised herself mentally for that mistake. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down here.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #kidnapping #tw kidnapping

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emmylous-world · 1 year

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TF141 and their wedding

AN: I was bored and don’t have a laptop so I’ll feed you guys this, what I think their weddings would be like, lemme know if I should do something else, like engagement rings and wedding bands, types of houses etc. enjoy heheh

TF141 x f!reader

TW: mentions of sex,

Ghost💀

He’s gonna be very generic, basic and plain. It would be in the fall, beginning of October. He’s not much of the designer so he’ll definitely let you do the picking and choosing, happy with whatever. But it’s gonna be on the ghost theme, everything black and red with roses and skull’s. it’s not gothic or grungey, just black, red and a little white in there. His suit is black with a red tie. It’s probably held on a field in the country in England, idk won’t go into detail. Would only focus on you the whole night, he touches you more and gives you more kisses then normal. Will not stop touching, always has a hand on you, I mean it’s his wedding day. But doesn’t talk much, just watches you. Got teary eyes at Prices speech. When his tired of everyone, he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the cabin and consummate the wedding💀😏

Soap 🧼

Somewhat of Scottish wedding, definitely wears a kilt and the Mactavish brooch, thistle everywhere, the bouquet, cake, table decorations. It also be in august. Also I’m not sure if he would do a handfast first, but the wedding would definitely held in a castle in the highlands, and is sworn under God to be with you till the end of time. He cries when you walk down the aisle, can’t take his eyes off you, But after the wedding, the reception part, expect him to get pissed drunk. Plays some wedding games definitely, looses every time, cry’s at the speeches, every single one, he’s drunk so it’s a given. Eventually gets horny, takes you away to show you how much he really loves you😌

Gaz ☕️

Gaz would be basic like Ghost, it’s gonna be in the summer, in a tent. Pastel colours, and lots of eucalyptus. His suit would either be black or blue, I don’t know much about Gaz sorry, so I don’t know exactly what he would be like but would get drunk with soap and you, definitely would smoke a blunt later, get high and have the bestest sex ever. 😩🥵

Price🥃

This is literally based off of what I want for my wedding, bc I wanna marry this man’s and Ik it’s very much him, ferns and outdoorsy vibes, it’s when the daisy are in bloom (June, I think) or spring I can’t decide. It’s on he’s dad’s property, surrounded by forest. He’s an old man, so he’ll keep it traditional, your wedding band was his mother’s. his suit is a 3 piece navy blue tweed. Hands never leave you, and always looking at you with pure adoration also can’t stop kissing you. When the sunsets, he takes you to the horses on the property and y’all ride over to the hunting cabin in the woods, and he worships you all night. 🤭😏

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mxnsterbabe · 4 months

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Male Orc/Male Reader SFW Wordcount: 4,047 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist | Commission for @doomfisthero

You've only just started work at Ink Envy, but the gorgeous orc receptionist has caught your eye. When he asks you to tattoo him, things go even better than you could have imagined.

You arrived at Ink Envy on a brisk morning, the kind where your breath formed clouds in the air, mingling with the faint buzz of the city waking up. The shop front was beautiful with its bold, gothic lettering and windows adorned with intricate flowering designs. Your heart thrummed with nerves; this was the beginning of… well, you’re whole career.

Pushing open the door, the chime above announced your entrance, slicing through the hum of anticipation that filled your chest. The walls were decked in a myriad of designs, from the delicate to the daring. Your eyes, however, were drawn to the figure behind the reception desk.

The receptionist stood there, an imposing presence with his broad shoulders and long, messy black hair. Two enormous tusks jutted from his lower jaw. Yet, it was the warmth in his eyes, a soft, mossy green that truly caught your attention. He looked up from his paperwork, a hint of surprise in his expression before it melted into a welcoming smile.

"Morning," he greeted, his voice deep and resonant, the sort that filled the space and made you feel oddly at home. "You must be the new artist. Andromeda mentioned someone was starting today, but she's not in until the afternoon. I'm Ceth, receptionist and piercer."

A flicker of confusion crossed your mind, realising the slight mix-up, but Ceth's calm demeanor eased your worries. He rounded the desk, his movements surprisingly graceful for his size, and gestured for you to follow him.

"Let me show you to your space," he said, leading you through the parlour, past stations that showcased an array of artistic talent.

Your station was a cosy nook by a large window, blinds half closed to offer ample natural light that danced across the clean, inviting setup.

“Need help setting up?” Ceth asked, and his dark eyes sparkled.

There was a lump in your throat as you stammered to reply, “s-sure, sounds great. Thanks.”

He grinned wide, and it lit up his entire face so beautifully. Your cheeks warmed at the thought. First day, and you were already flushed scarlet?

As Ceth helped you set up your station, though, his calmness soothed your jittering nerves. Every time he passed you something, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a tiny thrill through you. It was surprising, this little spark, but not unwelcome.

He adjusted the lamp for you, making sure the light was just right. "Good lighting's crucial," he said, his deep voice making the words feel more like a promise. “Though I’m no tattoo artist myself.”

The light fell across his face, and showed off off the maze of tattoos that wrapped around his arms and peeked from under his shirt. They were a mix of the old, the kind of designs you'd imagine on ancient orc warriors, and the new, with some twists that felt modern and bold.

Ceth noticed you staring and gave a small, proud smile. "Each one's got its own story," he shared, pointing to a thick band of ink on his arm. "This one's for strength," he explained. It felt intimate, him sharing these bits of his life with you, like he was letting you in on secret chapters of his story.

“And this one?” you asked. In a sudden rush of boldness, you reached out to trace a thick, curving line that vanished around the back of his neck.

Ceth hummed, and the vibration went right through your arm and all the way to your chest in a delightful shiver.

“That one’s for love.”

Your mood dropped. Of course somebody so handsome was already taken.

Maybe he sensed it, too, because his enormous hand skimmed across yours, the warmth of him seeping into you. “I’m not married or anything,” he said gruffly, “it’s more like… the idea of love. Us orcs can be romantic.”

You snorted in disbelief, but his gaze had captured yours.

“Some of us anyway,” Ceth corrected. “Anyway, do you need a hand with anything else?"

You swallowed thickly, hating how your whole body tingled with such a simple touch. "Just this last bit," you said, pointing to a tricky piece of equipment and trying not to think about his hand on yours.

With the last piece of equipment finally in place, thanks to Ceth's steady hands, you took a step back to admire your new station. It was more than just a workspace; it felt like a small piece of you, a little piece of Ink Envy that belonged to you.

Just as you were soaking in the moment, the entrance door chimed, heralding Andromeda's arrival. She was a vision, her tall and curvy frame accentuated by a vintage fifties dress that hugged her in all the right places. You weren’t into women, but between her and Ceth’s rippling muscles, it was easy to imagine why they were both so popular.

The single eye in the middle of her forehead sparkled with a mischievous glint as she stepped into the tattoo room and saw you standing there.

"Making yourself at home, I see," she teased, her voice rich and full of warmth. Her gaze shifted between you and Ceth, a playful smirk curling her lips. "It looks like you've already taken a liking to Ceth. Can't say I blame you; he's one of our best."

You felt a flush of warmth at her words, glancing at Ceth to find a hint of a blush on his cheeks too.

“Come off it Andromeda,” Ceth scolded. There was warmth in his eyes despite his rough voice.

Andromeda, ever the gracious host, didn't dwell on the moment. She clapped her hands together, her single eye gleaming with excitement. "Right, let's give you a quick refresher before we open up. I know we did the grand tour last week, but it never hurts to double-check.”

You smiled. “Sure.”

“You’re not really an apprentice, just new to Ink Envy, but I’d like you to check in with me at the end of each day for a little bit. Any problems or questions, come right over to me. While you’re waiting on the clients coming in, work on your portfolio a bit, shadow some of the other artists if you want some inspiration."

She whisked you around the parlour, her energy infectious. Despite having seen it all before, her enthusiasm made everything feel new and exciting again. Andromeda's pride in Ink Envy was palpable, from the carefully curated art on the walls to the spotless workstations, each reflecting the unique spirit of the artist who occupied it.

As the tour wrapped up, Andromeda leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't have any bookings yet, but the buzz is already building. People are curious about the new talent we've snagged. Give it a bit of time, and you'll be as in-demand as the rest of us."

Her confidence was reassuring. With a final, encouraging pat on your shoulder, she sauntered off to attend to her own preparations, leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the day might bring.

Ceth, who had been a quiet presence during Andromeda's whirlwind tour, now turned to you with a soft smile. "Looks like you're all set. If you need anything, though, I'm right up front."

There was something in the way he said it that made you believe he truly meant it. It wasn't just about being colleagues; there was a genuine offer of support there, a foundation for something more.

As the first customers began to trickle in, curiosity alight in their eyes as they glanced your way, you felt a surge of gratitude for the warm welcome you'd received. Ink Envy was more than just a tattoo parlour; it was a community, a family of sorts, and you were starting to feel like you belonged.

As the day unfolded, Ink Envy became a hive of activity, the air thick with the buzz of machines and the murmur of voices. Customers filtered in and out, their eyes bright with the anticipation of new ink. You found yourself swept up in the energy, fielding inquiries with a growing confidence that surprised even you. By midday, you had your first two bookings—a collection of small, intricate designs and a sprawling back piece.

In the lulls between consultations, you sketched up ideas, your mind whirring with creativity. The vibrant, geometric patterns flowed from your pen, and you wondered if you could ask to put a piece of your own on the wall. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice Ceth approach until he was right beside you.

"That's quite something," he remarked, his voice tinged with intrigue as he peered over your shoulder at the designs spread out before you. His proximity sent a subtle shiver down your spine, the warmth of him so close - but never quite touching.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "It's a bit different from the usual stuff here."

Ceth hummed in agreement, his gaze still fixed on your sketches. "It's nothing like any of my tattoos, but... I like it. A lot, actually." There was a pause, a moment charged with something unspoken before he added, "Would you design one for me? Something in your style?"

The request took you aback, a mix of honour and excitement bubbling up inside you. "I'd love to, Ceth. Do you have anything in mind?"

His response was a thoughtful look, his eyes scanning the sketches before settling back on you. "I trust your vision. Maybe something in blue."

The thought of leaving your mark on him, in the form of a tattoo, felt intimate, a tangible sign of the attraction that had been simmering between you all day.

"You sure you're ready for something this bold?" you teased, gesturing to the most vibrant of your sketches.

Ceth's reply was a grin, his confidence unwavering. "I think I can handle it. Besides, it's not every day I find an artist who can make me see colours quite like you do."

Despite his usually reserved nature, Ceth seemed to find comfort in your presence, allowing his words to carry a lighter, more teasing edge. "You know," he mused, leaning casually against the edge of your station, "I never took myself for someone who'd go for something so... vivid. There's a first time for everything, especially when the artist has such... compelling persuasion."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily lost for words. The way he held your gaze, a soft challenge in his eyes, made your heart skip a beat. Yet, before you could muster a response, he was called away to the reception desk, his duty pulling him back to the front of the shop.

You found yourself watching him as he moved, the ease with which he interacted with clients and managed the bustling front desk a testament to his skill and dedication. Even from a distance, you could see the way his presence put people at ease, his quiet confidence a steady anchor in the lively environment of the parlour.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, marking the end of your first day, you turned your attention back to the design you'd been sketching for Ceth. The lines flowed freely, inspired by the interplay of light and shadow, and the vibrant, geometric patterns took on a life of their own under your pen.

When Ceth returned, his shift at the reception desk over, you presented the design with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. His reaction, however, was nothing short of admiring, his praise genuine and effusive. "This is incredible," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to colour his words with a deeper meaning. "I can't believe you came up with something this perfect so quickly."

Those words sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the flattery leaving you flustered yet elated. The connection between you, already sparking with potential, seemed to deepen in that moment, the shared excitement over the design a bridge between your worlds.

"We should set a date for this," Ceth suggested, his gaze lingering on the sketch before meeting yours again. "I can't wait to see this come to life."

The realisation that Ceth would be your first client brought with it a surge of both pride and nerves. To mark his skin with your art, to leave a piece of yourself with him, felt like an intimate exchange, one that transcended the usual artist-client relationship.

As you agreed on a date, the significance of the moment wasn't lost on you. The third of February - Ceth would be your first proper client.

***

Over the next few days, the rhythm of life at Ink Envy became more familiar, and you settled into routine. Clients came and went, and the designs you had to prepare began stacking up. Your portfolio of sketches grew, vibrant geometric patterns mingling with the softer, more organic designs requested by your clients.

Yet despite how busy you were, your thoughts often drifted to Ceth. You'd catch glimpses of him throughout the day, his presence a constant in the back of your mind. Whether he was greeting clients with his quiet confidence or organising the front desk, you found your gaze lingering a moment too long, a distraction that was both welcome and unnerving.

His laughter, rare but rich, would send a warmth cascading through you, and the briefest touch—a brush of hands as you passed him a pen or the momentary press of shoulders as you navigated the busy space—left a lingering heat on your skin.

Finally, the day arrived for Ceth's tattoo, a day that had been marked on your calendar since the first day. As you prepared your station, the usual calm that accompanied your routine was tinged with an electric charge, the air around you thick with the weight of the moment.

When Ceth approached, you smiled. “Come on over,” you chirped, “I’ve got the stencil ready and everything is good to go.”

Ceth’s smile brought a familiar flicker rising inside of you. He sat down heavily, broad body making the chair creak.

You grinned, holding out the stencil. “You’ll, uh, need to remove your shirt. We decided on the ribs, right?”

“Mm,” Ceth hummed. “It’s one of the few spots I still haven’t been inked yet.”

You took a moment to mentally prepare yourself, focusing on the stencil in your gloved hand instead of the way Ceth’s massive body shifted, so close your knees almost touched. “All right,” you said finally, “take it off, then.”

The moment Ceth removed his shirt to allow for the stencil application, the air in the room seemed to shift. The expanse of his skin, already marked with dozens of sprawling tattoos, now laid bare before you, sent a flush of heat to your cheeks. The sight of him stirred something deep within you, a flicker of something you couldn’t place.

Carefully, you positioned the stencil, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. Ceth's steady breathing, the rise and fall of his bare torso beneath your hands, was a grounding rhythm in the charged silence of the room.

The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space between you and Ceth. As you began, the needle dancing across the stencil, Ceth's composure remained unflinching. It was impressive, really, how he stayed so stoic.

"Doesn't that hurt?" you ventured, breaking the silence, your focus unwavering from the task at hand. You thought of your own multiple tattoos, years and years of work, and how even you had flinched once or twice in the past.

Ceth chuckled, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. "I've had worse scrapes from a day in the garden," he quipped, his tone light. "Your hand is steady. It's comforting, in a way."

“You garden?” you asked without thinking.

When you paused to glance up at Ceth, he was smiling amiably. “Sure, sometimes. I’m no landscaper, but I’m good with a shovel and a watering can.”

It was easy to picture him, massive shoulders straining a tight t-shirt, dusted with dirt as he worked the garden. Or did he work without any shirt on at all? You had to steady your hand at the thought, suddenly flustered.

Thankfully, Ceth broke through your thoughts before you could embarrass yourself. "So, do all your clients get this level of service, or am I just special?" he teased, a hint of a smile in his voice, even as he remained perfectly still under your hand.

"You might just be topping the charts," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The hours slipped by, marked not by the clock but by the progress of ink on skin, the design coming to life with each stroke. Ceth's resilience was impressive; he hardly seemed to notice the discomfort, his attention instead caught up in the exchange between you.

Yet, as the tattoo neared completion, the air between you grew charged. You had to lean right over him to finish the last dots of colour, free hand pulling the thick muscles taught. The proximity, the intimate touch necessary for the art, seemed to amplify everything and it left you sweating nervously.

Finally, you reached a natural pause, the majority of the design laid down in bold, vibrant lines against Ceth's skin. You found yourself hesitating, staring at the tattoo to avoid meeting his gaze.

"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested, your voice steadier than you felt. The words were an excuse, a chance to step back and breathe, to regain some semblance of control over the racing of your heart.

Ceth agreed, a knowing look in his eyes as he rose from the chair. The break was necessary, a brief respite from… whatever was going on between you.

As you stepped away to gather your thoughts, the reality of it all finally settled in.

Taking a moment for yourself, you stepped into the back room, the cool air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the tattoo room. The buzz of the tattoo machines faded into a distant hum, allowing you a moment of quiet to collect your thoughts.

When you returned, something in the air had shifted. Ceth was waiting, his usual composed self, yet there was a tension in his posture, a hesitancy that you hadn't seen before. His eyes met yours, and there was something there, a warmth, that made your stomach flip.

The room seemed to grow smaller around you. The gentle hum of the place faded into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

Ceth broke the silence, his voice low, each word measured. "There's something I need to say," he began, the words hanging between you, heavy.

The anticipation was a tangible thing, a thread pulled taut, ready to snap. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue, the air between you thick with the unsaid.

Words failed him, and in a moment that seemed to suspend time, Ceth stepped closer. The space between you evaporated, and with a gentle certainty, he kissed you.

You felt a rush of warmth and softness as his lips crushed yours. The world tilted slightly, and in that instant, everything else fell away, leaving only the sensation of his insistent lips on yours, the sweet musk of his cologne, the tickle of his tusks as Ceth drew you ever closer.

Your initial shock melted into the kiss, a soft sigh escaping you as you leaned into the moment, head whirling. Ceth's hands found their way to your waist, grounding you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the world outside the embrace fading to a distant murmur.

When you finally parted, the world came rushing back, the sounds of the parlour returning to fill the silence. You flushed, remembering that there was only a thin curtain between you and the rest of the shop.

In the aftermath of the kiss, a silence enveloped the room. Not awkward, but heavy with the significance of… everything. Ceth was the first to break it, his voice softer than usua;. "I don't usually do things like this," he confessed, his gaze locked with yours, searching, as if trying to gauge your reaction.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, fear prickled at the edges of your mind, the worry that maybe this moment, this connection, was something he regretted.

Then Ceth continued, his voice firmer, laced with a conviction that chased away any doubts. "Kissing you? That might just be the best decision I've ever made."

The honesty in his words, the open admission, brought a warmth that flooded through you, chasing away the last remnants of uncertainty.

"I asked for the tattoo because I wanted to get closer to you," he admitted, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.. "Seems like it worked better than I hoped."

The confession drew a laugh from you, a sound of pure joy that filled the room.

Leaning in, Ceth captured your lips in another kiss, this one softer, his tusks barely brushing across your lips, feather-light. Even that was enough to make you sigh, melting against him.

As you pulled away, the reality of the situation settled back in, the reminder of the unfinished tattoo rushing back to you.

"We should probably finish the tattoo," you murmured. “tt's not good to leave it exposed for too long."

Ceth's chuckle was warm, his gaze softening with affection. "Your concern is sweet," he said, his hand reaching out to gently brush against yours.. "Let's finish it then. Maybe after, we could go for dinner?”

The invitation was unexpected but immensely welcome, stirring a flurry of excitement within you. "I'd like that," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of eagerness you couldn't quite mask. The prospect of spending more time with Ceth, outside the walls of Ink Envy, made you shiver in anticipation.

As you slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and prepared to resume your work, the atmosphere between you shifted. There was a lightness now, a sense of openness that hadn't been there before. Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach, your hands remained steady.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Ceth said, a note of wonder in his voice that mirrored your own feelings. "Can’t say I’ve ever gotten myself a date this way before."

"It's not the most conventional start, I'll give you that," you admitted, the needle buzzing as you resumed your work. The lines flowed smoothly, the design coming to life under your careful touch. "I'm not complaining."

"Neither am I," Ceth replied, his voice steady despite the sensation of the tattoo.

As you worked, your mind buzzed. The excitement of seeing the tattoo completed, of witnessing your art permanently etched onto Ceth's skin, was thrilling. Yet, it was the anticipation of dinner that really had you on edge.

"Any preferences for dinner?" you asked, glancing up to meet his dark gaze.

Ceth considered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Surprise me. You seem to be good at that."

You hummed in agreement, smiling to yourself.

It wasn’t long before you were finishing up, thoughts of dinner still on your mind. As the final lines of the tattoo were laid down, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. It was beautiful - a splash of colour amongst Ceth’s otherwise heavy, black tattoos.

"There," you announced, a smile tugging at your lips as you wiped away the last of the ink. "All done."

Ceth rose, examining the tattoo with a mix of admiration and awe. "It's perfect," he said, and there was something wistful in his voice.

Ceth barely gave you time to wrap the tattoo before his hand found yours, an electric spark running through you at the touch. He pulled you gently into an embrace, his strength enveloping you in a comfort that felt like coming home. ns.

Breaking away, he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Dinner's just the beginning, you know. I've got plans for dessert."

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. How could you say no to that?

#exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #tag: mxm #tag: male reader #tag:#tag: male monster #tag: orc #tag: sfw

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sebastiancats · 1 year

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Probably a clue to the cult that kidnapped the twins

Ok, this is my first post here and I don't know much about English so I'll use the translator.I hope that a part of kurofandom can see this and tell me what they think.

A few days ago I started rereading the twin reveal arc manga, and since lately I've been doing research on gothic/medieval architecture, I saw this panel from chapter 135 and thought "this castle seems to be medieval".

then the idea of looking for information on satanic sects during the Victorian era occurred to me, and although in reality there was very little information about it, after searching for a while I finally found a page that told me about what I was looking for.

Well this information is about a man named Sir Francis Dashwood, like many of the young people of Victorian England who prided themselves on being part of blue blood families, he was an inexhaustible traveler. He toured almost all of Europe as part of his training, but he always expressed a very marked passion for Italy. Dashwood was a man of the world, surrounded by powerful friends in politics, banking and the art world. He held important positions in the civil service of England. He was also a notable lover of parties, music, food, drink and women in large quantities, in addition to art and Greco-Roman cultures. Quite a character with notable influences that he had access to practically what he wanted. He lived near the River Thames, in Buckinghamshire, in a huge mansion in West Wycombe, surrounded by luxuries and servants who fulfilled any mandate 24 hours a day. In it he held meetings with notable friends of his and members of Masonic lodges in which his vices surfaced permanently.

However, he had in mind the creation of a select secret group in which he could discuss freely about political and philosophical issues exclusively, made up of elegant and influential gentlemen from English high society. This is how he found the ideal place to carry out these meetings: Medmenham Abbey, whose owners were members of the Duffield family, and which was about five kilometers away from his mansion. The Duffields agreed to rent the property, erected around 1200 by a congregation of Cistercian monks. The place was perfect in every way: away from prying eyes and with an atmosphere of mysticism, thanks to its medieval air that enchanted Sir Francis.

He had a good number of statues of pagan gods moved to the property and decorated the walls with mocking phrases such as: Peni tento, non penitenti ("a stiff penis, no penance"). On the reception door he had the following legend engraved: Fay ce que voudras (<< Do what you want »), which would later be adopted by the magician Aleister Crowley as his personal phrase. The place was ready to receive Dashwood's guests and start the meetings of the new Hell-Fire Club. From this moment is where the myths and legends are born around the dark activities of this sinister cult where its members arrive at the abbey aboard small boats, dressed as monks, carrying candles in their hands and singing Gregorian chants.

It should be clarified that in reality the cult called themselves "The Monks of Medmenham". The name "Hell-Fire" club was more of a derogatory nickname.

So reading all this information I realized something, the phrase that this cult used was "fray ce que voudras" which means "Do what you want" or "Do your will" and this same phrase is used by the members of the cult that kidnapped to the twins.

In this part of chapter 135.

here I realized that when they arrive at that castle the receptionist asks "are you a monk?" To which the other responds with "Fay ce que voudras" (Do what you want). The same phrase used by members of the cult The Monks of Medmenham.

So I would assume that this is a hint that Yana left us and I don't see anyone else talking about it. I don't know if so many people from kurofandom follow me but tell me what you think about this, we should investigate further but I think this is a very obvious clue. 😸

#black butler #Kuroshitsuji #ciel phamtonhive #sebastian michaelis #No sé qué más agregar pero porfavor leanlo #kuroshitsuji theory

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ask-the-hws-immigrants · 5 months

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Not to be rude or invasive or make y'all uncomfortable or anything, but where do y'all sleep? It's just that I know that Lithuania and America have slept in the same bed before.

Tolys: I'm used to sharing a space anyway, so I didn't mind when I moved in! It's convenient for everyone I suppose.

**Historical Note: Alfred has kept this home since the 1840s-1850s, a little before Molly came to the United States again. He did this because of the upheaval at the time near Washington D.C. and the personal convenience of living in New York. If D.C. is America's head, New York City is its heart after all.

There were a variety of architectural styles becoming popular at this time such as Italianate, Neoclassical, Georgian Revival, Beaux-Arts, and Gothic Revival. Many of the large homes built in New York City by the newly wealthy around this period were in the Beaux-Arts and Georgian Revival styles. I picture Alfred's home being in the Georgian Revival style like the Carnegie Mansion or the Willard D. Straight House.

Alfred's home is certainly downsized from the scale of these mansions, but has many of the rooms typical of an upper-class home of the late 19th-early 20th century. These homes were typically three to four floors, with the first floor being for entertaining company and for leisure. The reception room was for receiving guests and leaving calling cards if the homeowner was not available, while the drawing room was for entertaining guests or for the family to relax in. It was also typical for these homes to have a small-scale dining room for less formal family meals such as breakfast and a more formal dining room for entertaining guests in the evening. This smaller scale dining area was also typically where children ate when these evening events were held, and they were usually not permitted at the formal table until they reached their late teens.

Floors for guests to sleep and for the family were often separated, and in many cases the children slept on a separate floor from the adults. In very wealthy homes, there was usually a floor or space reserved for servants' quarters and passages for staff to move around the house in without being seen. In upper-class households, the husband and wife often had separate but connected rooms. This wasn't necessarily out of personal modesty, but more for the modesty of the servants who might be helping them dress. Here, Alfred and Tolys use it more for convenience. In lower-class households, it was still perfectly common and acceptable for a couple to share a room and bed.

There's certainly more that could be said about the layout of these homes, and I based these floor plans off of several historic homes I've visited and floor plans I researched online. Therefore, if there are inaccuracies or if there's anything I overlooked, my apologies!

#hetalia #ask #historical hetalia #hws america #hws lithuania #hws romano #hws ireland #nyo!ireland #ameliet #iremano #aph america #aph lithuania #aph romano #aph ireland #hetalia ask blog #and they were roommates... oh my god they were roommates

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egrets-not-regrets · 3 months

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Finally Found You. (You Survived.)

Erriox finds the voice in the darkness: Erriox (Iron Warrior OC) meets Lenora (OC) again. From Erriox’s perspective.

Author’s note: I finally finished this! There’s another piece for Erriox and Lenora that I have written and I really wanted to post, but I really needed to get this piece done first since it makes more sense to follow behind Lenora’s perspective of this encounter. Just for fun, here’s the music I listened to while writing this: Yoriichi’s theme from Demon Slayer by Samuel Kim, Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé, and Lend Me Your Voice from the movie, Belle.

Also, dialogue spoken in the Gothic language is in italics.

Tagged: @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts Anyone also interested in being tagged for these stories, please let me know in messages or your comments.

While he was in recovery, Erriox learned many things about this world he ended up in. This was Terra, ancient Terra. He was currently in what the humans called a hospital. His injuries were extensive enough such that he was sent to another facility farther away which was better equipped to handle his wounds. It would only take longer for him to heal enough before so that his body can take care of the rest. Their own body system still worked the same as before and while they still had superhuman recovery from injuries and diseases compared to normal mortals, it’s just that the medical technology at this time was a mix of ancient and modern technology. Diagnoses and treatments for injured Astartes as well as information on Astartes biology were still in development. Interestingly enough, apothecaries from different legions worked alongside each other and their human companions at these hospitals, observing and learning from each other.

It was also in this hospital where he started to gain a basic understanding of the English language, the language mostly spoken in the current region he was in. He was thankful that one of the apothecaries suggested that. It gave him something to do while in the hospital and a kind medical worker gave him some materials to get started. He managed to get the mere basic grasp of the language. It wasn’t easy to say the least, but it was enough to somewhat communicate with the mortals he encountered.

Astartes warriors from different factions and legions started appearing in this world many terran decades ago. The circumstances of how each warrior got there differed, but the feeling that this was some fevered dream that they haven’t woken up from seemed common across the board. The Thousand Sons of Magnus and Lorgar’s Word-Bearers suspected that warp magic was involved and were delving deeply to research this phenomenon. He wondered if this also happened to any of his battle brothers as well. Not that he was particularly enthused about meeting some of them any time soon.

Many of the Astartes were also bonded to mortals of this world as evidenced by the humans passing through the halls of hospital, some accompanied by their bonded Astartes warrior. Unsurprisingly, a number of apothecaries were bonded to human medical workers there as well. Erriox noticed more occurrences of bonded Astartes warriors as he started his journey to find his human once he was discharged. It was a strange phenomenon, something they had very little control over. The Iron Warrior suspected that the owner of that gentle voice that he kept repeating in his mind was his bonded one. He wasn’t sure if it was a true bond with a mortal or rather some obsession that he hung onto in order to mentally move forward during his recovery, but he strongly felt it was the former rather than latter. It was as if instinct was drawing him to where he needed to go. Otherwise, there was little reason why he would attempt to find this voice in the darkness after he recovered. Despite his doubts, Erriox hoped his human would be receptive to their bond once he found them.

Erriox had joined several roaming warbands as he passed through their territories in his travels. Some Astartes of the same legion or chapter tend to group together, forming their own bases. However, because of the strange circumstances and with how randomly the locations each space marine were transported to, it was more common than not that different Astartes of different legions, Chaos and Loyalist, created warbands and worked together. He was slightly concerned about the chaos-tainted Astartes being among the ranks, but outside of the occasional posturing or disagreements, they tend to stick to themselves and cooperate when needed.

It was in the dimming sunset that he finally came across his human’s home. He wasn’t sure what led him there, but he had an inkling that he was at the correct location. A canid came running from the back to the front of the house, growling and barking loudly at him. He continued towards the house unworried, as he knew there was little the canid could do to stop him. It stood its ground, not stopping the incessant barking. That canid had quite the gumption and Erriox approved of the iron that little creature had. Then the door opened and she came out. It was her. Her voice was the one that called to him in the darkness of his unconsciousness. It was her, his bonded one. He knew at that moment, she was his human. In the depths of his beating hearts, his soul roared out to complete the bond. Iron called for it. Iron demanded for its completion.

Erriox watched with some amusement as his human commanded the reluctant canid to go into the house, leaving her vulnerable against him. Somewhat foolish, but brave, he’ll give her that. Not that she needed to fear any harm from him nor worry about being unprotected anymore now that he was here. Three strides was all it took to get close to his human and with a hiss and click, his helmet came off. He watched her eyes widen with recognition. Not giving her a chance to run, Erriox unceremoniously dropped to one knee and roughly pulled her into his arms. He felt her stiffen, and for a brief moment, he thought she would try to leave. She relaxed and pulled back slightly, smiling at him as if welcoming an old friend, bringing up a hand to gently stroke the scars at the side of his face. Erriox closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He couldn’t even remember when was the last time he received such warmth. She let out a contented sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck, fully relaxing into his embrace. Something felt complete then, like two parts of their bond finally clicking into place.

He pulled her tightly to himself, saying fervently in Gothic not caring if she understood or not, “It is you, my Iron. When I was lost and weak, it was you who kept away the rust. I finally found you.”

His expression softened when he felt her nuzzle back, catching the words “you” and “survived” in her murmur.

She patted his cheek gently with a quiet laugh, “You came just in time. Would you like to have dinner?”

Erriox started, staring at her in surprise. Did she just speak Gothic?

She laughed again, gesturing to follow her into her (their) home, “Come have dinner.”

The Iron Warrior got up, huffed in amusement, and followed her in. He wondered how much of the Gothic language she understood. What a clever human he had!

#space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #oc: lenora #oc: erriox #iron warrior #my writing

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abzgaming · 8 months

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Why not have a gothic wedding venue this October? GALLERY ID Absgaming

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gothicmatter · 15 days

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man how did akutagawa get into goth. my hc is that chuuya introduced him to alternative music. all kinds. he wanted to help akutagawa develop some sense of identity, to give him a comfort in life, something he can always count on, go back to when there's no one he can turn to, a way for him to process his emotions in a healthy manner, without violence, something that can make him feel like a human being for once and provide a space where he can exist not as "the hellhound of the port mafia" but as ryuunosuke akutagawa, the teenager.

and chuuya finds all of that in music. that's why he wanted to get akutagawa into it. he tried showing akutagawa his stuff but akutagawa was absolutely non-receptive, didn't care for chuuya's efforts to share this part of himself with akutagawa (bc akutagawa just can't fucking stand chuuya's taste lmao). but chuuya didn't give up bc he saw how much akutagawa needed this. bc really how can a person live without music; with just the thunder of their punishing thoughts or the sound of absolute silence bc there's just fucking no one there for them. if he himself can't reach akutagawa, he can help him finally discover something that can pass through his impenetrable walls of isolation and touch him. because that's an invaluable experience that everybody deserves to have. he was glad akutagawa at least continued to let him keep trying.

chuuya wasn't super familiar with goth music but he was at least aware of its existence. that's why, among other records of various genres, he got floodland by sisters of mercy.

akutagawa loved it. with the first song (dominion/mother russia) he went completely still and his full attention was on the record player. it was one of those clear top cd players where you can see the cd when it's in. imagine his little bug eyes following the spinning cd in complete awe. he was like that for the whole duration of the album. after it was over he immediately asked chuuya to play it again. and again. and aga-- then chuuya told him to just take it home with him. akutagawa was too embarrassed to agree. chuuya was very glad they had finally discovered something that really clicked so he wasn't letting this go. he told akutagawa he was not taking no for an answer and just shoved the cd into akutagawa's hands, storming out before akutagawa had a chance to protest any further.

from then on akutagawa secretly started buying himself more cds by various goth bands and slowly introducing goth clothes into his wardrobe. later on he transitioned to vinyl. now he has dozens of discographies on vinyl. he listens to them while he does calligraphy on his days off.

he still keeps his cds for during car rides on shared missions with chuuya. he still can't stand most of chuuya's music. chuuya is okay with gothic rock and dark wave but he needs his daily dose of metal to function. that's why they sometimes compromise by listening to gothic metal.

#bonding over music is very very important to me #i could go on and on and on and on about this #i chose floodland bc that's what got me into goth #chuuaku #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd #bungou stray dogs #music hcs #goth akutagawa

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iamamythologicalcreature · 9 days

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Pitch Manor Progress (which is sort of like Six Sentence Sunday but also not)

It's still Sunday for five more minutes, here. SO....

Okay, I haven't written anything on the Haunting of Simon Snow in awhile. But I have been working on my floor plan for Pitch Manor, which is more than tangentially related to the potential progress of that fic. And today's a rough one for me, so I'm going to post about it like it's progress so I might feel a tad better. Ahem.

OKAY. SO. I've been working on a floor plan for Pitch Manor for... pretty much forever and a day. I ran into trouble when I was writing chapter 2 of Haunting and Simon (Construction Worker!Simon) began to describe the house. I realized... I had no idea what he was describing.

(Warning, there is a long winded geeky ramble ahead. It's just how I do things. Ahem.)

What was supposed to be a quick "let's find a floor plan that I can just copy with some minor adjustments" project has since turned into my special interest project. As a history nerd, that means a lot of research, looking at dozens of floor plans for other houses ranging in origination from the 16th century to the 20th (and probably a few older than even that, since a ton of religious buildings were repurposed into estates. Think Downton *Abbey*.)

But this past week, I feel I've really pushed through a lot of the issues I kept running into. (I've ridiculously been trying to make it as true to the descriptions in Carry On as possible, and something that fits the purposes of my fic, which of course I have envisioned in many, sometimes incompatible, ways.) I've had to make some "this or that, you can't have both" choices, but I'm finally happy with the basic shape and layout.

Whew.

Just for funsies, here's a cross section snippet of my floor plan WIP. It's pretty messy still, but I'm still excited LOL

And (finally), instead of six sentences, I will instead offer you all six tidbits of information about Pitch Manor, as I've envisioned it:

There are four (4!) different sitting rooms. Because the aristocracy just loved their sitting rooms. (Parlor, Withdrawing room, Drawing room, and Reception/Receiving room.)

There is a ballroom. Try and stop me.

The original manor house was built in the 17th century, and has been refurbished and updated a few times.

The most extensive refurbishment happened in the 19th century, which is how it gained its current stylings. (Baz is a freaking troll and I love him for it. The most popular architectural style in the Victorian era was "Gothic Revival." "It's not Gothic; it's Victorian." Hah.)

Some rooms were added on during the Victorian refurbishment, including a Smoking room. They were very popular at that time.

The largest room in the house isn't the ballroom. It's the library. (It's two stories. Try and stop me.)

(I do hope to release the floorplans into the fandom wild after they're complete, in case anyone else wants to make use of them.)

I want to ramble more. But it's almost midnight. Sooo.... Gratitude and hellos under the cut!

Thank you to @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @monbons,

and @cutestkilla for the tags. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on!

Thank you also to those of you who have willingly (I hope) listened to me ramble on about this damned project of mine for ages. Because boy howdy, do I ramble. @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ic3-que3n,

@best--dress, @monbons, and @mooncello. It's good there are a few of you, that way no single poor soul has to bear the full weight of my obsession special interest. (If anyone reading this actually wants to join these ranks, hit me up on Discord XD)

Thanks also to everyone that has tagged me even when it's been ages in between progress posts from me. I appreciate being kept in the loop on what you all are up to creatively!

Hellos and howdies to @noblecorgi @bookish-bogwitch @that-disabled-princess @bazzybelle @messofthejess

@imagineacoolusername @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife

@valeffelees @fiend-for-culture @bubble-gumhead @brilla-brilla-estrellita @aristocratic-otter

@j-nipper-95 @whatevertheweather @ivelovedhimthroughworse @drowninginships @alexalexinii

@facewithoutheart @angelsfalling16

#six sentence sunday #pitch manor #estate houses #floor plan #simon snow trilogy #baz pitch is a troll and I adore him for it #tbf I adore him pretty easily #it's not gothic it's victorian #gothic revival #I have so many other things I'm supposed to be working on #but also I'm super excited about this #and it's given me ideas #which is the best thing #the haunting of simon snow #I ramble a lot #sorry not sorry #okay it's technically monday now but posting this anyway #jodofic

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