#jean marie donat

[ortodelmondo]

NE M’OUBLIE PAS Belsunce, Marseille 1965-1980 Jean-Marie Donat Texts: Souâd Belhaddad

[oldtvlover]

Another day, another movie. Tonight we've got Golden Gate from 1981. Cast (with many familiar faces): Perry King - Jordan Kingsley Jean Simmons - Jane Kingsley Richard Kiley - Thomas J. Kingsley Robyn Douglass - Candy Martin Mary Crosby - Natalie Kingsley John Saxon - Monty Sager Melanie Griffith - Karen Peter Donat - Richard Bryne and many more

Story: A prodigal son comes finally home after a distressed call from his mother. However, eight years have changed a boy into a man and father. Jordan returns in the arms of his Mom and sister with his young son, only to find out that the newspaper run by his family is about to take over by a man named Sager. Even his own father is not happy to see him, not letting go of the past when the son walked out from San Francisco to go to New York. Thomas J. uses anyone to get his son committed. After some trouble with his wife who left him, he comes back and tries his best to please everyone. The only help he has is his old love Candy who is about to marry, and a young lady named Claire. Finding a good story about natural fuel and Sager's involvement here, the family disput grows and Sager does everything to get Natalie in his core but she remains loyal to her brother. At the last board meeting, father and son are ready to disput when the mother Jane uses her power to get all to her son. Now the father walks out. 

There’s a trailer on Youtube from my source (truetvmovies.net). The movie is not bad and well, the main reason can be seen!

[dvanw]

Exposition “Tout doit disparaître” @ Le 104

[loeilenchambre]

Paris Photo, les images anonymes sortent de l’ombre Le Monde 10/11/2022

« La photo vernaculaire, c’est toute la photo qui n’est pas de l’art, et c’est donc la majorité de la photographie en termes de production » (Clément Chéroux)

http://lumieredesroses.com/

http://jeanmariedonat.com/

https://danielblau.com/

https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3%A7ois_Cheval

[colormepurplex2]

Now I'm Yours | Feel It In Your Soul

↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ A/B/O, Established Relationship/Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,697 ⚠️ Vulgar language, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking/oral, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy

A/N: Read Make You Mine, the first installment of this series, here!

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

When you meet Jungkook’s family in the garage the next morning, the sun isn't even up yet. His parents are waiting next to the large SUV that’s idling by the open door when you enter through the side entrance from the laundry room.

After a hasty shower, you threw on jeans and a t-shirt and are now helping Junghyun load the back of the vehicle with a few boxes from the storage room. The tops of the boxes are labeled with various things, mostly boasting medical supplies or nonperishable foodstuffs.

“Did Jungkook say why he wanted us to bring all of this stuff?"

Junghyun looks up at you from under his brow as he bends over to retrieve the next box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Donations. We’re going to be close to The Sanctuary, and we try to donate once a quarter if we’re able.”

This is the first you’ve heard of the Jeons donating to The Sanctuary. You’re intimately familiar with the place. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a sanctuary for abused or neglected omegas and their children. Mari was one such omega, cast aside by her original pack when she didn’t match with any of the alphas within it. It wasn’t until Roland, having just taken over as pack Alpha of your old pack, started up his own annual donations to The Sanctuary that he met Mari. Your old pack made at least a donation every six months after that, helping as many omegas and children as possible.

It’s not that you wouldn’t think the Jeons are a pack that would help those less fortunate; you’d just not given it much thought, considering you grew up thinking they were run by power-hunger alphaholes. Not that Jungkook isn’t an alphahole, he’s just…maybe not as bad as you once thought—even without the rose-tinged view you have of him now from being your mate.

The duel is taking place on neutral territory, which happens to be an old warehouse that’s been converted into a performance theatre in the entertainment district of the central city. The warehouse was renovated a few decades ago by the council when enough of the surrounding packs hounded them for a space to meet en masse.

It’s about three hour's drive, the view filled with the sun peeking over the mountains and trees with their leaves changing in preparation for winter. You sit in the passenger seat, head resting against the window while you try not to stress too much over the events of the next twenty-four hours.

“Come on, dear,” the soft voice of Jungkook’s mother drags you from your rumination. She’s leaning through the gap between the front seats, her hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. “We’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the vehicle had stopped and that Junghyun and Jungkook’s father had gotten out already. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, popping open the door and sliding out.

She meets you along the side of the SUV, a concerned look pinching her brow. “Are you feeling okay?”

Now that she mentions it, you are feeling a bit off-kilter. Though, it’s probably just the nerves. “Just worried, that’s all,” you explain, pressing a hand against your stomach.

“Did you skip breakfast?” she asks, hooking her arm around your other one and slowly leading you to where Junghyun and his father stand near the elevator of the parking garage.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind this morning. “Yeah. I’ll be okay, though.”

“Nonsense,” she tuts, producing a whole-grain protein bar from the bag slung over her other shoulder. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach. Now, let’s go find my son. Being near your alpha will do you a dose of good, as well.”

You nibble on the protein bar, looking to simply placate her, but find yourself suddenly ravenous and consume the whole thing in three bites. It sits like lead in your belly, and you immediately regret wolfing it down so quickly.

“This foolish display will start at precisely noon, not long now,” Jungkook’s father states, the clip of his cane hitting the linoleum flooring of the elevator echoing the disapproval that’s evident in his voice.

Junghyun presses the button that’s labeled ‘theatre hall’ on the control panel and the cabled car begins a swift ascent up to the fifth floor. You caught sight of Jungkook's motorcycle in the parking garage, sitting next to Jimin’s red sports car. A few other familiar vehicles lined the rows, but there were dozens more you didn’t recognize.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you feel a familiar humming warmth bloom in the center of your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve learned to associate with being nearer to Jungkook. Peeking at your phone, you see it’s a message from the alpha, letting you know he’s waiting for you just on the other side of the elevator doors.

“There you are,” Jungkook exhales, not even waiting for you to get off the elevator before he’s gathering you into his arms. His scent engulfs you, immediately putting you at ease. Jungkook is all alpha, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s exactly what you need; your stomach and nerves are instantly soothed.

Jungkook’s father clears his throat, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “What news do you have?”

Jungkook sighs, releasing most of his hold on you, but keeps an arm over your shoulders and ushers you out of the elevator and into the hall. “Most all the other families have arrived. Jimin is with Daehyun now. I haven’t managed to lay my eyes on either Raiden or Demetrius. According to the council, they’re supposed to be in the eastern dressing rooms. I have seen Kiel skulking around the halls, though, creepy bastard.”

“Have you seen Hyunsoo?” Jungkook nods in answer to his father’s question. “I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Last I saw him, he was inside speaking with the council.”

“Perfect, I could do with a word for them, too,” Jungkook’s father grumbles before starting toward the entrance to the performance hall proper. Junghyun follows closely behind, after dipping his chin at Jungkook. You’ve never seen Jungkook get bent out of shape over designation deference, as some alphas do. He doesn’t force those below him to bow and scrape; he just asks for as much respect as he affords them in exchange. It’s just another tick you’ve had to add to your ‘Jungkook isn’t as bad as I once thought’ list.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly, his eyes flicking between yours.

You do feel much better now that you’re with him, which would normally grate on you, but you can’t seem to muster up the typical ire for some reason. “I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Just nerves.” That seems to satisfy him.

“Come on, let’s go before Dad causes too much of a scene.”

“Umm, I’ll be right there. I’m just going to go to the restroom real quick.”

He continues to stare at you for a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Okay. Mom, we’ll be right back—”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t have to come with—”

“Jungkook,” his mom interrupts you both, giving her son an amused smile. “She might be your omega, but I promise she doesn’t need you to hold her hand while she uses the restroom. I’ll wait here for her. You go on ahead with your father and Junghyun.”

Pink creeps up Jungkook’s neck and kisses his ears. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you inside,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before reluctantly taking his arm from across your shoulders and heading toward the door his father and brother disappeared through.

“Thank you,” you say to his mom. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve only been here a handful of times over the years for various events, but you’re able to follow the signs well enough to the restrooms located on this side of the venue. However, when you get there, the door is locked, and there is a janitorial wet-floor sign posted right outside.

It’s just your luck, right as you’re starting to feel a light wave of nausea wash over you. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your inner omega, who isn’t helping the situation at all, you turn to retreat back to where Jungkook’s mom is waiting for you a few halls over. Maybe she’ll have something that can calm your warring stomach and nerves.

“I can break the lock if you need to get in there,” a voice calls out from further down the hall just as you take a step to go back. “You look like you need it.”

You swivel toward the voice but can only make out the silhouette of someone standing in a darkened doorway a few doors down. They pull out a phone, and the blue light illuminates the ceiling for a moment before it’s plunged back into darkness. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” The words come with a chuckle that slithers over your senses and sets you on high alert. You’ve heard that voice before. “If fact, you look like a helpless little omega that’s about to sick up all over the floor.”

That’s a thought. You might just do that, considering who steps out from that doorway, the face fitting with the name screaming inside your head. Kiel Barton. He’s every inch the viperous bastard he’s known to be. Despite being not much taller than you, he’s thicker through each arm and leg than both of yours combined. His bald head glints in the overhead light, and the jagged scar on his right cheek is bright white against his red-flushed face. He swaggers into the hallway, just a few feet away, twirling a switchblade through his thick fingers.

“I’m not helpless,” you seethe through your teeth. You don’t necessarily mean for the words to come out so aggressively, but they do. Years of not taking shit from anyone don’t seem to have worn off too much from your time of being mated with Jungkook. And if it’s one thing you’ve always hated, it’s how everyone thinks omegas are weak and soft—helpless without an alpha.

Kiel grins, and it reminds you of something you might see in a horror film right before the psycho killer attacks. “Oh, sweet, sweet omega,” he crows before sucking in a deep lungful of air, “I don’t think you realize just how helpless you are right now.”

You’re about to turn on your heel and run when he leaps. It’s like a strike of lightning; he moves so fast—faster than your reflexes can keep up with. Pain thunders through you as his burly form knocks into you and sends you hurtling a few feet down the hall to land in a heap on the floor.

He’s back on you in an instant, cold steel pressed against your neck. “Get off me!” you scream, trying your best to buck him off despite the disorienting feeling still reeling inside your head.

“I promised my brother as long as he did his part, I would do mine,” Kiel sing-songs in a demented tone, his words trailing off into another one of those spine-chilling chuckles. 

“Fuck you!” You struggle under his weight, your knees and elbows trying to get any purchase along his thick-muscled body that they can. You manage to catch him along the neck with your hand, nails scoring bloody lines through the devil tattoo he has there.

An ear-splitting roar, the sound of loud banging, and running feet sound from somewhere down the hall, making Kiel’s laughter trail off. “Looks like my time to play is—” A small, sneakered foot meets the side of his ribs, turning his words into a grunt. The hit barely rocks him, but you can’t be sure of who it is, though, around his bulk.

“Get off of her, you snake!” snarls a familiar feminine voice, only it’s dripping with far more acid than you’ve ever heard before.

“FUCK! I don’t have time for this!” Kiel thunders, rearing back and bringing a fist around right into your temple, sending you careening into hazy darkness.

There is so much noise and movement that when you first come to, you think you’re dreaming. But then the very real pain lights up along your side, and you’re reminded that this is very much not a dream. You’re laying on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom, side smarting hard from the impact of hitting the floor and the memory of a meaty fist stark in your mind.

You go to sit up, only to have your hand slip through a puddle of warm, sticky liquid. The scent hits you a second later, thick and metallic. “Oh gods,” you whimper softly. Your hand is bright red when you bring it up in front of your face.

“Please,” comes an even more pitiful whimper from beside you. Adrenaline kicks in, and you flip onto your hands and knees, letting your eyes swing over the scene around you.

A dozen bodies are packed in the hall, fists flying and mouths opened in concussive bellows. It’s pandemonium. Everyone is fighting, familiar faces and those of strangers alike. All the sounds combined make you want to crawl into a corner and cover your ears, but the form lying beside you keeps you right where you are.

Jungkook’s mom lies on the floor. Her body turned at an odd angle, with her hips going one way and her torso the other as if she was flung around like a ragdoll. You realize the whimpering is coming from her. She lifts a trembling hand toward you, and you grab onto it, crawling closer to kneel beside her.

The blood covering your hand, now seeping through the knees of your jeans, is coming from her. A familiar-looking switchblade is protruding from the upper right area of her chest, between her clavicle and shoulder, and there is a cut over her left eyebrow that blood is steadily oozing from.

“No, no, no!” You quickly rip off a strip from the bottom of your t-shirt and press it around the blade, trying to staunch the wound. The cut above her brow doesn’t look deep; all the blood is a bit alarming, but you know headwounds are the worst in being deceptive; they bleed so much. You’re also scared to take your hands away from her chest. “What did you do?”

Her eyes flicker open, rolling wide until they land on you. “Had to”—she pauses, whimpering in pain as someone stumbles backward and knocks into her splayed legs—”pr-protect the baby.”

“Protect the–protect the wh—”

“NO!” The alpha roar echoes through the hall, as loud as a thunderclap.

In the same instant that your hands are moved aside and replaced by the older, more gnarled ones of her mate, arms come around you from behind and you’re lifted up off the floor. Fear grips your throat, and you flail, aiming your elbow backward at whoever grabbed you.

“Stop, calm down!” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your fight instinct, and you sag in his arms. The fighting around you has turned into pockets of isolated struggle.

You blink a few times, clearing the panicked haze from your eyes, finally able to piece everything together. There are a few busted lips and some already swelling eyes, but there are at least a handful of familiar faces around you. Each one is executing some form of hold over individuals with less familiar faces; headlocks, arm bars, and others that look just as effective, if maybe more painful.

Then there is the scene at your feet, right out of a horror movie. Jungkook’s dad and brother are kneeling beside his mom, the knife still sticking out of her chest. It looks like the blood has stopped pooling around the blade, but you can’t seem to remember if that’s a good or a bad sign.

“Jungkook! Your mom, we need a medic!” you urge, struggling in his arms again.

A sinister, wet, cackling laugh cuts through the hushed din of the hallway before it turns into a hacking cough. You can hear the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh and pained grunts.

”Shut up, you sick bastard!” The ragged cry comes from further down the hallway, where you see Seokjin with his arms wrapped around Kiel’s upper torso and Yoongi throwing fists into his stomach. “How dare you!?”

“Yoongi.” Jungkook doesn’t have to raise his voice at all. The other alpha stops, fist poised mid-punch, his shoulders heaving. “That’s enough.” The coldness in Jungkook’s tone has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You’ve never heard him sound so utterly emotionless. “For now.”

Pounding footsteps sound from the other end of the hall, and a few betas come skidding into view, medical bags in hand. “Out of the way!” one of the betas shouts, shouldering his way down the hall before dropping down beside Junghyun and beginning to work. “I need to get her stabilized before we can move her.”

Everything is still a bit cloudy for you; all you have are flits and flashes of memory, but it’s not hard to piece it together. Kiel came after you outside the bathroom, and then Jungkook’s mom tried to interfere. “Is she, is she going to be okay?” you ask, voice soft, your lips trembling around the question.

Jungkook hooks an arm under the backs of your legs and hoists you up against his chest, and you get your first good look at his face. There is a dribble of blood coming from the corner of his mouth and mild swelling coming up around his left eye.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something when a group of grey-haired alphas cut around the corner at the end of the hall, and the one in the front gasps dramatically, “Good gods! What has happened?” You groan at the loud sound, burying your face into Jungkook’s chest.

“This is what happens when you entertain absurd demands from a known trouble-making pack,” Jungkook’s father states with barely veiled malice.

“This is your mess,” Jungkook says, directing attention to the elders shuffling their feet at the end of the hall. His words are acerbic despite him speaking at a normal volume. It’s an alpha statement, carrying the cutting edge of an unspoken command. The entire hallway stills, the air thick with tension.

“Our mess?”

“If you had listened to me from the start about how utterly ridiculous this whole duel bullshit was, this”—he nods down at his mother, who is still being worked on by the betas—”wouldn’t have happened. I’ll have all of you off the council before the week is over, mark my words,” he seethes. “And, if she doesn’t recover fully, I’ll have more than just your titles. Yoongi, Seokjin, you know what to do.” With that, Jungkook turns and stalks down the hall, carrying you with him.

🌙🌙🌙

Jungkook

There is so much rage simmering beneath Jungkook’s skin that he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t let it out somehow. However, the only outlet he wants right now is you—to get lost in your body and your soul—but you’re in no state to take the brunt of his emotions.

“Jungkook.” Your soft voice draws his gaze down to your face. Seeing the swelling around your eye makes him want to turn around and finish what Yoongi was starting. Jungkook isn’t violent, but he could level the entire city right now if he weren’t so focused on getting you checked out. You bring a hand up and lightly trace the break in his lip. “What happened?”

“Raiden and Demetrius. I think this was their plan all along. One minute, Father and I were talking to the council while we waited, and the next, Raiden and Demetrius, along with a half dozen of their pack, came bursting into the theatre and attacked us.” Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. “I felt you, I felt the…” the trails off, not wanting to voice those feelings aloud. The pure terror he felt through his mate connection to you. The tie between the two of you has never really been an open street, he’s never been able to feel your emotions so viscerally before. It was almost enough to take him to his knees. If he didn’t need to fight off a pack of rabid alphas, it nearly might have. “I’m sorry,” Jungkook rasps.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We knew they were up to no good. I should have been more vigilant or, at least, taken you up on your offer to escort me to the restroom.” You try to laugh, but it turns into a groan as your head pounds.

“Let’s get you to the hospital so they can check you over.”

No amount of protests from you will deter Jungkook from getting you to a doctor. Junghyun texts him shortly after he places you in the backseat of the SUV, letting Jungkook know that everyone else is on their way to the hospital and an ambulance is en route to get their mother but that the betas are hopeful.

Several hours later, you’ve been released from the hospital with confirmation of no lasting damage, just a recommendation to get some rest. Jungkook’s lip is patched with a butterfly stitch, per your insistence, and it itches as he sits on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he booked before leaving the hospital. Even though you aren’t concussed or anything, Jungkook didn’t want to risk taking you all the way back to pack lands.

Besides, his mother was admitted and is still there for observation, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being too far away while she’s in recovery. She went in for surgery immediately upon arrival and woke up not too long ago. Junghyun and their father are staying at the hospital with her until she’s cleared to go home, which will hopefully not be more than a few days. Apparently, her wounds looked worse than they were, and she was fortunate Kiel didn’t get her an inch further to either side. Otherwise, it might be a very different outcome.

Jimin texted him a bit ago, letting him know the entire Barton pack is being detained at the local precinct, and the authorities are awaiting word from Jungkook about charges. The council sequestered themselves behind closed doors, but the duel was considered null due to the circumstances. Jimin feels bad about being part of the ruse, even if he was just being used as a means to get close to the Jeon pack.

It’s come to light that the Bartons decided to use their feud with the Parks because they knew the Jeons wouldn’t sit idly by. One big, elaborate plan, all to get close to Jungkook’s Luna and try to tear down the hierarchy. If Jungkook lost his Soulmate, he’d lose his foundation of power as well. Or so, that’s what the buzz was when some of the Barton betas were interrogated, according to Jimin.

Jungkook knows everything is going to be okay, that you’re going to be okay; the doctor told him as much. But, despite that assurance, he can’t seem to relax. You’re curled up in the bed, facing him, and you look so peaceful, even with the swelling on the side of your face, but all he can feel is rage when he sees that…rage and so much guilt.

He never should have let you go to the restroom on your own. If he has his way, he’s never going to let you out of his sight again. It’s such an alarming realization, going from one polar sensation to the next. The fact he could give two shits less about you just a few months ago, and now here he is wanting to murder someone for touching you, is hard to wrap his head around.

Yet, here he is, fisting the edge of one of the blankets as he battles this feeling inside himself. The fact his alpha has been mostly silent since Jungkook laid eyes on you in that hallway is just as alarming. It’s almost like his alpha is giving him space. For the first time since coming into his designation, he feels like a giant void separates him from his alpha; he doesn’t like it.

There’s also the pile of papers sitting on the desk, a few feet away, that hold another key bit of information that won’t let him relax. It was standard testing, just something to help rule other things out and see what kinds of tests they could and could not perform to assess your head.

You’re pregnant.

Now that he knows, Jungkook can tell. There is a distinct, underlying change to your scent. It’s sweeter somehow, more alluring in the sense that you now smell partly like him. He should have known before. He knows that if he hadn’t spent so much time away from you, he would have realized it sooner.

You were surprised, but your shock seemed more subdued. When questioned, you told Jungkook what his mother had said to you. Somehow, even his mother knew before he did. Jungkook feels like a failure, like he’s done nothing right by you. It had to have happened the night of your designation celebration. Neither of you had bothered with any preventative measures that night, too lost in the touch and feel of each other to care.

And now, here you are, pregnant without a bite on your neck and a knot on the side of your head. If anything were to have happened to the baby…Jungkook isn’t sure he can even think about that right now. Not without wanting to put his fist through the wall.

He’s spent weeks worried about staying away from you when all along, he was clearly concerned about all the wrong things. The doctor assured him that even the most attentive of alphas take several weeks before they can smell their own child in the womb. But that doesn’t make Jungkook feel any better.

He thinks back on all the curt and what he thought were nagging messages he had gotten from his mother the last few weeks and can see them in a different light now. She wasn’t just trying to chastise him about his duty; she was trying to coax him home so he could be there for his mate in a way he should have from the start.

Jungkook knows what he needs to do now. There is no question about it. Though, it’s not because he feels obligated…no, he truly wants to solidify that bond with you. As soon as you’re ready, he’s going to offer himself to you, finally and fully.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” your sweet voice breaks him out of his thoughts and makes him release his tight hold on the sheets.

Your eyes look so big and bright even in the dim light of the hotel room as you sleepily blink up at him. How he never wanted to give himself over to you so completely before now marks him as a sure fool.

He sighs, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah. How are you feeling?”

You stretch, wincing only slightly as your arm brushes along the side of your face. “Better, I think.”

“Can we talk?” he asks after a pause of silence.

You give him a guarded look as you slowly sit up and gather some of the blankets in your lap. The doctor told him you might start feeling the need to nest and gather comfort items, so he had specifically requested the Omega suite, which comes with complimentary brand-new fuzzy blankets and extra pillows that guests are allowed to take home when checking out.

“Sure,” you finally say.

Jungkook watches as emotions cross your face, echoing the pulse he can feel emanating from his chest. His alpha perks up, rousing for the first time in hours it feels like.

“Okay.” Now that he’s been given the go-ahead to talk, he’s suddenly feeling very self-conscious and uncertain. “I know you told me I don’t need to apologize, but I’m going to anyway.” Your lips form a thin line when he says that, so he hurries to continue, “Not for”—he gestures vaguely in your direction—”but for everything else. I want to apologize for everything before this. The way I’ve treated you and how I’ve acted. You’ve deserved better than what I’ve offered you these last few weeks—for being an asshole and a fucking dick,” Jungkook uses your own choice of words for him, and that earns him a small smile from you.

“I want to apologize, too, then. And before you can protest”—Jungkook was 100% about to—”just let me finish. Sure, you’ve not been the greatest the last few weeks, but I know I haven’t either. I should have tried harder, fought you on you being gone all the time, stood up for what I wan–er, needed, and been honest with how it was making me feel.”

Jungkook shakes his head, unable to believe how you’ve yet again turned the tables on him. “I, uh, there’s something that…there’s something I want to do,” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out as anxiety spikes at the prospect of you refusing.

“What is it?”

The look of intrigue on your face turns into pure shock as Jungkook prostrates himself on the bed in front of you, deliberately turning his head to expose the side of his neck to you, an act of submission. “I’m giving myself to you, wholly and completely. All those weeks ago, I claimed you and made you mine, and…now I’m yours.”

🌙🌙🌙

You stare at Jungkook, not sure what to say. “I-I don’t need,” you begin, reaching for Jungkook and encouraging him to sit up, “you to do that. You don’t have to bend to me…as long as you promise never to make me bend to you either.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll never force you to be something that you’re not ever again. I’m sorry I didn’t realize this sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you asked to come with me to Jimin’s. From now on, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll not dismiss your concerns or voice. I don’t want you to feel like you’re beneath me simply because you’re my mate. I want you as my equal instead.”

The truth behind Jungkook’s words is evident in the fervent way he delivers them but also in the way your omega mews in satisfaction. A bite for a bite, an equal. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving a permanent mark on his neck like he will on yours, it’s still the intention, and it’s completely unheard of in your world. There are stories, myths, really…but nothing wholly substantial.

You shift on the bed, gathering your knees underneath you. Your jeans went into the trash, and all the hospital had was a thin pair of shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear. You fluff out the blankets absently as you mull over his words. “Your equal?”

“Yes,” Jungkook resolutely declares.

“I think I would like that,” you whisper, eyeing Jungkook’s mouth with a quickly burning hunger.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, swallowing hard as you lean in closer to him. “If you need more time to think, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you counter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Jungkook responds by kissing you hard on the mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and dragging you against his chest. He tastes like home; his tongue is warm and wet against yours, and you’re certain you could drown in the sensation if he let you. But, he comes up for air, breaking the kiss for a moment before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

Even with the aches in your face and body, you respond to him. With every teasing nip of his mouth, you feel yourself growing wet. The fragrant cream of your slick blooms in the air, melding with his masculine and spicy scent to create the perfect, heady bouquet.

“I’ve never been more sure about something,” Jungkook whispers the affirmation between kisses until his warm breath ghosts over the scent mark on your neck. “You smell so damn good,” he groans.

You can feel his lips part over the skin there; his tongue laves out and swipes up the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. With trembling hands, you help each other discard your clothing, finally coming back together skin to skin. Jungkook pulls you into his lap, his thick cock sitting snugly against your ass. You can feel the bulge of his knot already as if his body is automatically responding to just your closeness.

“You can say stop at any time,” you tell him, earning a surprised grunt when you shove him back against the pillows and deliberately slide your ass slowly over his cock as you move backward.

There is a challenge in his eyes as you meet them. You move until you’re kneeling between his knees, cock sitting prettily before you. “Where, ah,” Jungkook sucks in a stilted breath when you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, “did you want to?” Pink tinges Jungkook’s ears as he looks down at you, mouth full of him. You tap the inside of his thigh and raise your brows in silent question. “O-okay, just…just be gentle.”

That makes you chuckle, the vibration coming up your throat, and you can tell it sends a shock through Jungkook; his head drops back, and his mouth opens with a loud moan. “Gentle says the man about to put a permanent bite on my neck. An act that is none too gentle, I might add,” you say, letting his cock slip out from between your lips.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he relents, his words breathy as you trace along the underside of his dick with your tongue. “Be as aggressive as you want, then.”

Feeling egged on just a little by that declaration, you plant your teeth firmly into the meat of his inner thigh and bite as hard as you dare. Your teeth pinprick his skin, and the metallic tang of blood leeches onto your tongue. Jungkook grunts; his whole body shivers against your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you ask tentatively once you’ve pulled back to admire the twin crescent impressions you left behind. There isn’t that much blood. The two small wounds from your teeth are already clotted.

Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale as his body finally relaxes back against the bed. His cock twitches beside your face, producing a thick string of pre-cum that has your mouth watering for a taste.

“That was,” he pants, “hot as fuck.”

Pride fills you, and your body kindly reminds you with an intense throb in your clit, how much it turns you on when Jungkook talks like that. “Your turn,” you urge, desperate to get his teeth on your skin and his cock in your pussy.

Jungkook growls his approval, letting his alpha strength take over, and maneuvers you easily into a kneeling position in front of him. Using a gentle hand in your hair, he pulls you up until your back is pressed against his chest, giving him unfettered access to the front of your body while being able to tease your clit with the tip of his length.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, using the hand in your hair to angle your head sideways so he can lick along the side of your neck. “Let’s see.” His other hand slides down the front of your body, tweaking your nipples on the way, until his middle finger grazes over your swollen, aching clit.

“Don’t tease me,” you say between clenched teeth. Your omega adds her indignation to your own, making your words come out laced with additional grit.

“I just want a little taste,” Jungkook whispers as he hooks his finger lower and massages it along your slit, collecting a generous amount of slick as he does so. You watch as his finger comes up and disappears beside your face.

The wet laving sound of Jungkook sucking his finger sends a shudder through you. You reach down with your hands, cupping Jungkook’s cock in one and using the other to part the lips of your pussy so you can fit him against your entrance. “Fuuuck,” you drawl out as the broad head of his cock slides in.

“I love the way your pussy tastes,” Jungkook moans, dropping his hand to your hip and using it to guide your ass back against him, forcing him deeper. “It’s almost as good as how it feels.”

His fingers prod along your hip, sliding until his palm rests over your lower belly. You whimper, rocking your hips the best you can, and place your hand over his. “How do I look?” you ask. “You once told me I’d look so pretty once I was pregnant with your pup. Do you still think that?”

“You are,” he starts, “the single most”—he emphasizes the words with long, rolling strokes of his cock that have his knot kissing your lower lips with every forward motion—”beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Even before I fucked you raw and knocked you up.” The beautiful, endearing words contrast so wildly with the dirty confession he tacks on at the end. Proving once again that Jungkook knows exactly how to wind you up and have you begging for more.

“Prove it,” you goade, intentionally dipping your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

The moment his teeth touch your skin, you both freeze. It lasts only a second, the time it takes for them to sink into the tender expanse of your scent gland. It’s like a double punch to the gut; you can feel it all the way in your soul. The bond snaps into place the same instant Jungkook fits his knot inside you, and you explode, disintegrating into a million tiny little points of pleasure.

Your body opens for him, both physically and mentally. What was once a small trickle of feeling now becomes a deluge of intensity. You’re vaguely aware of Jungkook groaning as he meets his own release, throbbing heavily within your walls. You can feel him beneath your skin, feel the way your own body is wrapped so tightly around his knot, and the infinite pleasure that’s flooding through both of your systems.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook mumbles against your neck, his teeth finally pulling free from your skin. “I can feel everything.”

It’s hard to tell where he begins, and you end. There is a sense of middling permanence, the perfect balance between alpha and omega. You once feared that submitting to him completely would change you in some cataclysmic way. And, it has…only, you don’t feel damned. In fact, it’s far more empowering than you ever thought possible.

Jungkook brushes his tongue along the fresh bite, tending to your wound in a tender way that has you slumping over. He follows you down, gently rutting his hips, which forces his knot to rub and grate inside of you, flooding you with another luscious rush of dopamine, like a second orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you ask, trying not to fall asleep as he continues to nuzzle your neck, and his knot keeps you secured so close to his warm body.

“Hmm?” he hums. Jungkook settles you both on your side, holding you against his chest with one hand and stroking and petting with soft, sensual strokes along every inch of your body that he can reach with the other.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I promise never to make you doubt me ever again. You are my soulmate, my Luna…the mother of my child. You are my everything.”

And just as Jungkook said, he made you his, and now he’s yours. Forever.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Master List ©️    2024-02-14    ColorMePurplex2  

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Scene that got cut from this fic: after Ed's top surgery, Stede packs up some clothes to donate, and Ed tosses his old binders into the pile, like you do, because he's excited for them to go to someone else who needs them.

And Stede watched a lot of Marie Kondo, and he's sentimental about clothes at the best of times, so Ed isn't surprised when he's doing chores nearby and he hears Stede thanking all those old t-shirts and jeans they don't wear anymore for the joy they'd brought them as he packs them into the donation box. But then Stede gets to Ed's binders, and he folds them up so carefully, and Ed hears him going "thank you for keeping my Ed comfortable, thank you for helping him, I hope you get to help someone else just as much." And Ed can't believe how he feels every day like he's falling in love with Stede all over again, but he sure fucking is.

[ghouljams]

Speakinggggg about the nun: say she slips up and kisses soap, does he has a meltdown because he thinks he’s responsible for corrupting a woman of the cloth? Or is super devious about it even before he knows she’s not a real sister

I'm telling you right now, Soap has a corruption kink here. He is devious about it, he doesn't know she's a fake nun but he also doesn't really care lol this got long, as Soap and his nun always get:

In order to keep up appearances you and your roommates help out at the church sometimes. It’s not too bad, the reverend is nice. Besides that they’re one of your customers so you don’t feel too pious helping them. Really does wonders for your nerves being in a house of God and feeling like you might burst into flames at any second. It would suck to die in your full nun kit, it’d be a horrible ghost outfit. 

Soap has never been one for religion, seems like a crock of shit to be beholden to some man in the sky. What’s God ever done for him? If there was a God he knows a couple people that should’ve been struck down long ago and were currently living very well. This was where Goose said you’d be though, so he was stomaching the church grounds.

“Soap?” One of your sisters catches him, fuck what is her name? “What are you doing here?” Steamin’ hell is it that obvious he isn’t a church man?

“Lookin’ to confess some things, don’t suppose you can help?” He flashes her a smile, watching her lips draw in a thin line.

"We… don't really do that, but you can talk to Moon, she's good at keeping secrets." She says, going back to what she’d been doing.

“And where might she be?”

Johnny finds you doing inventory in the church’s pantry, neatly cataloguing canned goods and recent donations. You hardly look up from your clipboard when he enters, figuring it’s one of your roommates. You turn to ask what they need just as his hand fixes itself to the shelf behind you.

“Johnny? What’re you doing here?” You blink up at him, he seems to be thinking something through. You raise a brow while you wait for his brain to kick into gear.

“I’ve come to confess,” He says finally. You smile, trying not to laugh.

“And they sent you to me,” You shake your head at his short nod, “Alright let’s hear it. Tell me your sins so you may be absolved.” You mean it as a joke, but he steps closer and the air changes. Something small and shivery in the back of your mind takes in how big, and warm, and close he is, how dangerous it is to be in close quarters with this man in particular.

"Forgive me sister for I have sinned," he says, voice low and seductive as he boxes you in, "I've been having impure thoughts." Your eyes dart to his jeans, you snap them back to his face as quick as you can.

"That's… fine, I'm- well I mean not fine in like a catholic sense," you press closer against the shelf as he leans more heavily on his arm, "Are you catholic Johnny?"

"Not even a speck," he says, tipping his head to the side, you mirror the motion swayed by the way his eyes land on your lips.

"That's your first sin I think."

"Won't be my last."

“You’re- this is-” Your brain throws up half cooked protests against having him this close. He hums, waiting for you to say something with a smile.

“Hail Marys,” He says, voice so thick and low that you have to press your legs together under your skirt, “you’re supposed to give me a number.”

“I’m-” Your eyes dart past him to the door.

“You, hen,” His fingers touch your jaw, directing your attention back to him, “just you.”

“I am-” You can feel your breathing, the way your chest rises and falls, you wet your lips with your tongue, “-a pious woman.” Are you reminding him or yourself? His smile seems to grow.

“And I’m a devoted man.”

“To the devil maybe,” Your voice whispers, letting him tip your head back, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Maybe.” He tells you, and kisses you before you can respond.

You’ve been kissed before, you’re not a real nun after all, but not like this. Not this slow and exploratory drag of his lips against yours that makes your eyes flutter closed. Indulgent, your brain purrs, he’s indulging in you in a way only a sinner can. With all the haste of molasses as his nose nudges against yours, coaxes you to open for him as his tongue swipes against your palette. He groans and your stomach drops hot in your core. You drop your clipboard in favor of pressing your hands against his firm stomach, fingers shivering against the hard muscle. Impure thoughts indeed. He pulls back and you blink your eyes open to see him smiling down at you. His thumb swiping at the wetness on your lower lip.

“Isn’t that pretty,” He tells you, you swallow, “Thank you, Hen.”

He leaves you almost as quickly as he found you, and you are absolutely fucked. Bad, very, very, bad for business.

[thousandfireworks]

Authors whose books you have to avoid because they are problematic.

Abigail Hing Wen.

Alex Aster.

Alice Hoffman.

Alice Oseman.

Alison Win Scotch. ‘Terrorism is never acceptable. Not in Israel.’

Allie Sarah.

Amber Kelly.

Amy Harmon.

Annabelle Monaghan.

Anna Akana.

Aurora Parker.

Benjamin Alire Sáenz.

Brandon Sanderson. Islamophobic.

Carissa Broadbent. Said that hamas is doing violence against innocence.

Chloe Walsh. Siding with Israel in the name of humanity.

Christina Lauren. Believe that Israel is the victim. A racist, also Islamophobic.

Colleen Hoover.

Cora Reilly. Travel to Israel despite criticism.

Danielle Bernstein. Islamophobic.

Danielle Lori.

Deke Moulton. Said hamas is terrorist.

Dian Purnomo.

Eliza Chan.

Elle Kennedy.

Elyssa Friedland.

Emily Henry.

Emily Mclntire.

Emily St. J. Mandel. Admiring Israel.

Gabrielle Zevin. Wrote a book about anti-Palestine. Mentioned Israel multiple times without context on his book.

Gregory Carlos. Israeli author. A zionist.

Hannah Whitten.

Hazel Hayes. Reposted a post about October 7th.

Heidi Shertok.

Jamie McGuire.

Jay Shetty. ‘Violence is happening in Israel.’

Jean Meltzer.

Jeffery Archer. Wrote a book with a mc Israel operative (mossad) in a positive and anti terrorist light.

Jennifer Hartman. Liked a post about pro-Israel.

Jen Calonita.

Jessa Hastings.

Jill Santopolo. Said that Israel has right to exist and fight back.

John Green.

Jojo Moyes.

J. Elle.

J. K. Rowling. Support genocide. Racist. Islamophobic.

Kate Canterbery.

Kate Stewart.

Katherine Howe.

Katherine Locke.

Kristin Hannah. Support Israel. Shared a donation link.

Laini Taylor.

Laura Thalassa. Islamophobic.

Lauren Wise. Cussed that Palestinian supporters would be raped in front of children.

Lea Geller. Thanked people who supports Israel.

Leigh Stein.

Lilian Harris. A racist. Blocking people who educates about colonialism in Palestine and call them disgusting.

Lisa Barr. A daughter of Holocaust survivor. Support Israel.

Lisa Kennedy Montgomery.

Lisa Steinke.

Liz Fenton.

Lynn Painter. Afraid of getting cancelled as a pro-Palestine and posted a template afterwards.

L. J. Shen. Her husband joins idf (Israel army).

Mariana Zapata.

Marie Lu.

Marissa Meyer.

Melissa de la Cruz.

Michelle Cohen Corasanti.

Michelle Hodkin. Spread false rumors about arab-hamas. Islamophobic.

Mitch Albom. ‘We shouldn't blame Israel for surviving attacks or defending against them.’

Monica Murphy. Siding with Israel.

Naomi Klein.

Navah Wolfe.

Neil Gaiman. Suggested Palestinians unite with Israel and become citizens.

Nicholas Sparks.

Nic Stone. Talked nonsense that children in Palestinian refugee camp are training to be martyrs for Allah because they felt it was their call in life.

Nyla K.

Olivia Wildenstein. Blocking people who disagree with Israel wrongdoing.

Pamela Becker.

Penelope Douglas.

Pierce Brown.

Rachel Lynn Solomon.

Rebecca G. Martinez.

Rebecca Yarros. ‘I despise violence’ her opinion about what's happening in Gaza. Blocking people who calls her a zionist.

Rena Rossner.

Renee Ahdieh.

Rick Riordan.

Rina Kent.

Rivka (noctem.novelle).

Rochelle Weinstein.

Romina Garber. ‘These terrorist attacks do nothing to improve the lives of Palestinians people.’

Roshani Chokshi. Encourage people to donate to Israel.

Samantha Greene Woodruff.

Sarah J. Mass. Her book contained ideology of zionism.

Stephanie Garber. Promoting books by zionist author (Sarah J. Mass)

Skye Warren.

Sonali Dev.

Talia Carner.

Tarryn Fisher. Said ‘there was terrorist attack in Israel.’

Taylor Jenkins Reid. Posted a video about genocide.

Tere Liye. Rumoured to have ghoswriters to write his books and never give credit to them.

Tillie Cole.

Tracy Deon.

Trinity Traveler (Ade Perucha Hutagaol). Rumour to wrote book about handsome Israelis.

T. J. Klune.

Uri Kurlianchik.

Veronica Roth.

Victoria Aveyard. ‘Israel has the right to exist.’ quote from her about the issue.

V. E. Schwab. Shared a donation link and video about Israel.

Yuval Noah. ‘Israel has the right to do anything to defend themselves.’

Zibby Owens.

[rrlexchange]

Ralph Lauren Takes His Line on the Road

By Stephanie Strom Sept. 23, 1993 (Originally published in the NYT)

While other retailers are taking their acts to television's home shopping networks, Ralph Lauren is taking his new line of jeans and rugged clothing on the road in an 18-wheeler.

A team of nine young salespeople yesterday started selling the designer's RRL, or Double RL collection out of a Peterbilt semitractor trailer truck parked on the campus of New York University in Manhattan. The trailer, painted with mustangs running across one side and pulled by a cherry red cab, plans to visit college campuses across the country cultivating customers who might otherwise miss the company's more traditional marketing efforts.

"It's a traveling billboard," Mr. Lauren, who looked as if he had just stepped out of one of the on-board dressing rooms in full RRL attire, said in a truckside interview at N.Y.U.

But it goes beyond that. The truck gives the designer, who is as much a savvy marketer as he is a fashion maven, and his retail empire reach beyond the fashion magazines and department store shops that feature RRL clothes. College students do not necessarily look to the ads in Esquire and Vogue for wardrobe ideas, Mr. Lauren reasons, or spend money in department and specialty stores.

Ralph had challenged us to come up with a new way of reaching young people because they don't read magazines as much," said Mary Randolph Carter, vice president of advertising for the Polo Ralph Lauren Corporation.

Peter Strom, the company's to-the-point President, explained that the traveling store was not about making a profit but, rather, about making a statement. The truck is scheduled to stop on college campuses through the first week of December, but Mr. Strom said he would be willing to finance a spring tour if the one this fall won the company exposure.

That sales are a secondary goal is not surprising, since $68 blue jeans and $78 flannel shirts may not fit into the average college student's budget. But Mr. Lauren is not worried about prices. "All the prices are very competitive," he said. "My products are really good products, high quality, and people will pay for that." Thrift-Shop Ambience.

The shop inside the truck, which has a sort of a Salvation-Army-thrift-shop-meets-general-store atmosphere, opens onto a tented area where clothes are stacked on battered industrial work tables, tossed into baskets or hung on mobile pipe racks. The collection is heavy on items like roomy barn jackets, tooled belts, faded flannel shirts and worn jeans

To handle logistics and campus politics, the company teams up at each campus it plans to visit with a student group, which then makes arrangements for the truck's arrival. In exchange, the traveling RRL shop donates 10 percent of its profits to the sponsoring organization.

Ads in campus newspapers and an "800" telephone number help herald the arrival of the truck, which stays two days at each campus. After leaving N.Y.U. it will head for the University of Connecticut at Storrs and then the University of Massachusetts at Lowell.

Said Sam Hamilton, the 29-year-old road manager who is leading the team, "I figure I can write a memoir when it's all over."

[maggiec70]

what did Louise Lannes do then for you to have such a low opinion of her?

Why I Dislike/Disapprove of/Loathe/Condemn The Lovely Louise

!800 – 1809: Greed, Pettiness, and Bargain-Basement Bourgeois Mentality

She had the intellectual curiosity of a housefly and the education of the lowest of the bourgeoisie. Not surprising since her mother home-schooled her in the basics, and she had one year only with Madame Campan.

She was greedy and overly fond of collecting trinkets, ornaments, and similar items of no particular quality or style. She demanded, with some degree of shrill relentlessness, plenty of money to pay for all her crap.

She was often unrelenting in her demands for all sorts of things: that her brother be promoted to Lannes’ premier aide-de-camp; that her brother-in-law be promoted to head of V Corps’ engineers; that her father be given a higher-paying, more prestigious position in the imperial bureaucracy. She managed to give blatant nepotism a bad name.

She refused to be social. Ever. She hated the Imperial Court functions and refused to go, using the kinds as an excuse. She didn’t want Lannes to go either, and when he went because Napoleon expected him to, she engaged in monumental pouts. The myths that she was always so lovely, graceful, and sweet on these occasions were just that—myths.

She had two close—unhealthily close—friends, the slimy Dr. Corvisart, whom her equally slimy father introduced to Napoleon, and a second-rate perennially off-duty chevalier. No women friends of any rank. Just as well, because according to almost all the extant memoirs, no woman of any rank liked her, apparently able to see through the “I’m so sweet and demur” act.

She never went to Lectoure, Lannes’ hometown, and threw a real bitch fit when he wanted to go or went without her “approval” simply because he wanted to see his father and his siblings, and a lot of friends.

She insisted if they visited anyone, carting the kids with them, it was only and always to see her family. Full stop.

1809-1822: Treachery, Treason, Malfeasance, and Suspicious Death

She had to deal with claims from Lannes’ first wife, the much-maligned Polette Meric, on behalf of her son, Jean-Claude, until Naps ended that by a sharp letter to Cambaceres.

She actually went to the Tuileries to demand that Naps grant—posthumously, of course—the title “Prince of Seviers” so she could be a for-real princess just like Mesdames Massena, Berthier, and so forth and so on. She threw a significant shit-storm when Naps refused, and he reminded her that Lannes never applied for the letters patent because he didn’t care about the title, so she shouldn’t either.

No one—literally, no one other than Naps—thought she was a suitable choice for Marie-Louise. The historical record is replete with examples from the folks surrounding Marie-Louise, who was no winner herself.

She and her partner in crime, Dr. Corvisart, worked to insinuate themselves into M-L’s life so that when 1814 arrived, they could work to keep her away from Naps.

She made sure, as her letters show, that M-L and Naps II went back to Vienna, accompanied by her soon-to-be lover, Count Neipperg.

She offered her mansion that Lannes had bought and paid for to Wellesley for his headquarters. He refused, graciously, it is said.

Her parents immediately pledged their loyalty to Louis XVIII.

She lawyered up for the next legal battle with Polette, now that Naps was out of the picture.

She went into higher gear after Waterloo, now with nothing to stop her other than Jean-Claude’s attorney, who began to show that her marriage and Lannes’ divorce from Polette were riddled with illegal points.

Jean-Claude died in mysterious circumstances in November 1817. He had never been ill, and died three days after contracting an unknown illness. This has always been suspicious for obvious reasons.

She packed up the kids and went to Lectoure in 1818—she stayed in Auch, however, about 20 miles south—and, in a large PR event, donated Lannes’ house to the town. She never returned nor allowed any of the kids to return.

To be fair, which I always try to do regarding interpreting historical facts and figures, read Regis Bob-Crepy’s bio of Louise. His family married into hers back in the day before she married Lannes, and he is remarkably talented in glorifying his view of Louise. Besides the sheer comedic value for me, the best thing about his book is the letters he uses, which were/are maintained in the family’s hands and never before shared. Of course, we cannot know if others shed a different light on the subject. Given the family’s cavalier and almost criminal way they have treated anything to do with Lannes, his possessions, or his legacy, opting instead for celebrating their ties with the de Broglies and the Berthiers, I can almost guarantee that any shred of anything detrimental about Louise disappeared ages ago.

I have often sneered at the men who wrote biographies and articles about Lannes buying the Louise myth in its totality. But then, the poor dears simply can’t see things that are very clear to us.

Hope this answers your question.

[sirenjose]

"Blue Hope" = Hope Diamond

Maybe people already knew this, but I just noticed that it seems the "Blue Hope" is based on the (blue) Hope Diamond, which was also owned by the real Marie Antoinette and is also "cursed" like the Blue Hope is said to be, as almost every owner has faced bad luck or misfortune.

The curse starts with Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, who supposedly stole the gem. He dies to a bad fever.

He sold the gem to Louis XIV, who died of gangrene. Nicholas Fouquet, who worked for him and was said to have worn it, soon falls out of favor, banished, and imprisoned for life.

We all know what happened to Marie Antoinette and her husband. Marie's friend, Princess Lamballe, also briefly wore the gem and died soon after.

It was stolen during the French revolution, and later cut by Wilhelm Fals. His son stole it, killed his dad, then killed himself.

The gem disappeared for some time but was found in a collection with the Hope London banking family.

Simon Maoncharides, who drove his car off a cliff, sold the gem to Pierre Cartier, who sold it to Evalyn Walsh McClean.

Evalyns mother-in-law died, while her son died at age 9, her husband left her for another woman then later died in a mental hospital, her daughter died of drug overdose, and she was forced to sell her newspaper due to huge debts, which is how she died.

The gem was donated to the Smithsonian Institution. The mailman who delivered the gem was involved in a truck accident, suffered a head injury in a separate accident, and his house burned down.

[koco-coko]

Silent Night, Holy Night - Jean x Vincent, Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> Jean and Vincent spend their first Christmas together, starting with Midnight Mass.

Tags/Warnings: Romantic Fluff, Religious (Catholic) Discussions and Themes, Christmas Fic, Mistletoe Kisses

Word Count: 1,523

A/N <--> I wrote this in the span of 3 hours and in a car. These two have taken over my brain please help

I think they might like this: @natimiles @weirdwriter69 @azulashengrottospiano (if anyone wants to be added/taken off the list let me know)

Midnight Mass had ended a few hours ago. A few others stayed behind with Jean, but at this time of night, Jean was the only one left. Maybe a priest or two wandered by, a nun tended to the dusty floor for a few minutes, then all was silent. A priest with electric green eyes stared at him for a while, but retreated into the cathedral halls after enough examination with a deep chuckle.

Jean could stare at the crucifix for hours on end, only interrupted by the need to fiddle with the rosary in his hands. He’d already been through it three times, but a fourth never hurt. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…

The heavy wooden doors creaked open once more, shutting softly seconds later. Jean ignored it, beading through the rosary at a breakneck pace. Then the light and careful steps reached him and there was a soft thump from the old pew when another sat down next to him.

Jean turned to his head, only to find Vincent with him. He smiled softly, though by his tense position, he was a bit nervous about being in such a holy place. Especially considering their relationship. 

Jean often wondered the same thing, but he had to repent somehow. Avoiding judgment only showed true guilt, and Jean already had enough of that on his shoulders. He looked Vincent over a few times before he leaned back onto the seat. “Is everything all right?” Jean whispered, glancing back to make sure all were gone. In such a large and empty hall, even murmurs echoed.

“You said you’d be back an hour ago,” Vincent said, scooting a bit closer, “So I came to check on you. Are you alright, sunshine?”

Sunshine? Jean’s heart went aflutter. That name sounded like a hymn for the angels, too pure to be fit for him. “I suppose,” Jean uttered slowly. 

It was a strange time for Jean. A time to celebrate the Lord, to enjoy the spoils of life and give to the poor… In the past, Jean would stay in his room most of the time, but he’d make donations to the Church with profits made from his shop. Everything else seemed frivolous to him, and the happiness floating about the air missed him completely. He was unworthy of such joy and peace. 

Vincent’s eyes thinned and his smile was pained. “You know, I was a pastor once.”

Jean almost chuckled. It was hard to tell, but Vincent had grown accustomed to the signs. “Truly?” he asked.

Vincent hummed, delighted to tell his story. “Yeah. I was a Christian, and when I was twenty-five I tried to be a preacher for a while,” he said, only to glance away nervously, “I gave up on that pretty quickly. I didn’t even show up to any Bible studies, and I got dismissed soon after.”

“Why’s that?” Jean asked calmly. After being revived, he learned to not be so critical of others and their religious choices. He wasn’t one to judge– love thy neighbor, after all. 

“Not sure. I guess I just didn’t feel a connection anymore, and it wouldn’t be right to preach what I don’t believe,” Vincent explained, resting his arms and head on the pew in front of him. “I liked painting better.”

Jean hummed in response and silence fell over them. God had strange ways of guiding his children on the right path. Often cruel, coldhearted, but ultimately for the better. Of course, now Jean had no path to follow, except the one paved by himself and his sins. There was a deep horror in being separated from the great beyond, separated with all normal functions of life…

But with Vincent here, things felt slightly normal. In the stability and mundanity came comfort. In Vincent came the yearning for more light in his life, without any guilt.

“Merry Christmas,” Vincent whispered sleepily. He grinned drowsily. “Yay.”

“Yay?” Jean asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I got to be the first person to say it to you. I’ve been wanting to do that all year,” Vincent said, digging his head into a more comfortable spot in his arms.

Jean didn’t even realize the faint pink blush growing on his cheek, let alone the soft curve of his lips. How light his chest felt when he saw the innocent wants of his lover. His impulses won over him and in a swift motion, he laid his cape over Vincent’s shoulders. He heard the painter sigh happily, his eyes beginning to close as colored light streamed from the stained glass windows.

“Merry Christmas,” Jean replied, before placing a delicate kiss on his temples. He didn’t mind if he had to carry his lover home. It was dark enough that nobody would see the two, and he was strong enough to make it back to the mansion in one piece. The real question was whether a piggyback ride would be more comfortable than bridal style for the sleepy painter.

Suddenly, Vincent groaned. Jean’s face instantly twisted in concern. He placed his hand on Vincent's back lightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

The sleepy painter grumbled in Dutch, before opening tired eyes. A frown on Vincent’s face made Jean’s heart implode on itself. It wasn’t right! Before Jean could speak, Vincent spoke in a language Jean could understand. Mostly. How late was it? How long did Jean force his boyfriend to stay up? Guilt ate Jean while Grogginess consumed Vincent.

“Ik was bijna vergeten…” Vincent started, moving to sit up, only to fail. Instead, his hand raised above Jean’s head.

He only had to catch a glimpse of green and red to know what it was. He’d seen it all around town, but he never knew what it meant. All he knew was that Arthur often carried it with him to the pub during the holidays. “When two people are under a mistletoe, it’s tradition to kiss each other. I was gonna wait until we got home, but I don’t–” Vincent yawned again, “Ik weet niet of ik zo lang op kan blijven…”

The words and accent were lost on Jean, despite how adorable it was to hear his language of origin. He didn’t need to know the words, though. He knew all he needed to. Vincent and himself were under a mistletoe, and tradition was a time honored thing. The stained glass portrait of the Virgin Mary would understand.

Before Vincent could make another move, Jean took it upon himself, as any knight (in shining armor, at least to Vincent) would do. Jean’s hand wrapped around the back of his head, his other tilting the painter’s chin up just slightly and pushed their lips into each other.

Vincent had to push down a grin. Oh, Jean… He was the true angel here. Even now he was making sure Vincent didn’t have to lift a finger, despite the fact he was holding a mistletoe above their heads. His other arm moved on its own, slowly and gently removing Jean’s eyepatch. The soldier shivered when the cold air hit the other half of his face, but no discomfort came from the fact it was revealed. It was Vincent, after all. He found beauty in everything, and it was starting to rub off on Jean.

It was a short kiss, but Vincent could taste the restrained passion on Jean’s lips. He was always shy about receiving affection, but couldn’t help but pour his passionate soul into each and every display of love he gave. Vincent’s heart swelled at the thought.

“I guess, I’ll say it again,” Vincent said, his face flushed, “Merry Christmas.”

Jean giggled softly, barely audible even to Vincent, whose nose was currently touching his. “And to you as well, mon ange. May I ask you a question?”

Vincent put his head back in his crossed arms, though after such a loving kiss, he was much more awake. “Of course, sunshine.”

“Where did you get this?” Jean asked, holding Vincent’s wrist and bringing the painter’s hand into both of their sights. The red and green plant was intertwined within his fingers.

“You’ll laugh when I tell you,” Vincent chuckled. “When I said I was waiting for you to come home, Arthur took it out of his pocket and gave it to me. He said something like: ‘Make sure you give’em a real Christmas miracle…’ or something like that.”

Jean blinked for a moment. Of course it was Arthur, but… Arthur of all people? Never in a million years did he think Arthur would want any hand in Vincent’s romantic affairs. 

Well, now that he said that, Arthur absolutely would.

“He gave me a wink, too. I think he was trying to be dirty or something.”

Ah, there it was. Jean sighed.

Vincent then chuckled at Jean’s obvious dismay at Arthur’s actions. “He had good intentions,” he said, a slight pause in-between his words. A yawn came to him once again. Jean watched his lover’s sleepiness with loving eyes. Vincent could only reciprocate for a moment, before sleep came to embrace him. “... But I think I like this ending more.”

[callsignspark]

Mar[r]y Me | part three

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, extremely brief mentions of emotionally abusive ex-bf, mentions of pregnancy and giving birth but nothing is described, hints of a raging (mutual) size kink that hasn't revealed itself yet, eventual smut, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 4.1k

previous part | main masterlist

note: happy Saturday! part three is here! (a day later than I planned and no teaser but it's here!) thank you for the love on part two! I hope you all have a great weekend!

part three - banana bread

Mary and Bradley stand side by side, staring into the trunk of her Jeep, which is bursting at the seams. The floor is covered with baked goods, a gift bag full of things she hopes Amelia will enjoy, and a hastily packed duffel bag. Two dozen helium balloons and four floral arrangements she picked up as a favor to Penny are crammed into the remaining space.

“I feel like I may have gone a tiny bit overboard.”

Bradley glances over at her and has to hold in a laugh. With her hands planted on her hips and her brow furrowed so deep that wrinkles have appeared, she reminds him of an angry kitten. An thought he keeps inside, well aware of the fierceness of the shorter woman next to him.

“It just looks like a lot because of all the balloons. Once we get those out, it’s almost nothing.”

She snorts. “You’re so sweet to lie to me. How many girls are coming to the party again?”

“I think Mav said somewhere around twenty-two.”

“Yeah, I definitely made too much.” She lets out a defeated sigh. “Oh well, I’m sure Penny will donate any leftovers to a good cause.”

“Oh, do you think she’ll force Mav to bring them to base?”

“Yes, I think you guys will get to eat the leftovers.” She correctly interprets his real question. “Alright, let’s get this stuff inside; it’s gonna take a few trips.”

“No way, I’m a master of bringing all the groceries inside in one trip.” He jokingly flexes, showing off his strong arms.

Behind her sunglasses, Mary’s eyes trace the lines of his muscles; briefly losing her train of thought when she sees how the t-shirt strains against his biceps. A beat too late, her eyes snap back up to his face, the smirk flashed back at her setting off butterflies in her stomach.

She pivots. “Can you be trusted to bring in the flower arrangements without breaking anything, or is that too much for you to handle?”

He groans, remembering his embarrassingly slippery fingers from the previous weekend when the Daggers helped Mary move into her rental house. “I told you I would pay for dropping your vase! Please let me give you money for it!”

He’s offered countless times to pay for a replacement, though he internally maintains that it wasn’t his fault the vase broke.

It had been an unseasonably warm December day, even for California. The guys had spent the morning packing the U-Haul while the girls had done a final round of cleaning at her new place. Mary had just left to pick up lunch when the full truck pulled up, a small caravan of cars following it. They had managed to get all the furniture into the one-story ranch and were working on unloading boxes when she returned with food.

Bradley was bringing a box of décor inside when he turned around to welcome Mary home. He froze before he could get the words out. His brain stopped working at the sight of jean shorts and a flowy tank top.

Bradley silently thanked whoever brought the warm weather. His eyes were glued to the slope of her calves, the thickness of her thighs, the curve of her ass, fully appreciating the olive-toned skin that appeared as she bent down to get something from the backseat. His mouth felt dry when he tried to swallow. It was the most skin he'd seen since they’d met.

He was busy trying to imagine where a tan line might exist when she turned around. Her tank top, which had already shifted from her movement, got picked up by a gust of wind and showed a flash of a pretty red bra that matched her nail polish.

He dropped the box on his foot, broke the vase inside, and cut his finger as he tried to salvage the situation. He got blood on a throw pillow but was relieved that only the vase had shattered. His weak excuse of “slippery fingers” fooled Mary and Mary alone. The only person who hadn’t seen his eyes roaming up and down her body.

“And I’ve already told you! I bought that vase at the dollar store my junior year, so I will accept nothing more than $1.08 from you.” She starts piling containers filled with baked goods into his arms. “I’m honestly surprised it even lasted that long.”

“I still feel bad.” He mutters under his breath before he gets distracted by the food. “What did you make? I thought Penny said she asked you to make cupcakes?”

“I did make cupcakes! Red velvet, as requested by Amelia Bedelia herself! I also made some sugar cookies. And some Oreo truffles. And I know it’s a lot, but I wanted her to have a great birthday, and you only turn 15 once - and that’s almost as big of a birthday as 16 because it’s the year before you really start growing up and heading towards adulthood with getting your license and everything - so I just really wanted to make it special! And it’s not like I’m going to charge Penny anything! I didn’t even want to take anything from her for the cupcakes, but last week she stuffed money - way too much money, I have to figure out how to give it back to her - into my hands and ran away before I could stop her. I swear that’s the last time I wear anything with a heel to the Hard Deck.” They make their way into the house as Mary rambles, her face becoming visibly more stressed as she goes on.

He carefully places the containers on the counter before emptying Mary’s arms and gently places a hand on her back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wr-”

Before Bradley can figure out what’s happening, Amelia bursts into the kitchen, letting out a huge gasp. “Oh my god, Mary!”

The teenager wiggles her way in between the adults, throws her arms around the older woman, and starts bouncing. “This looks amazing! Mom said you were making cupcakes, but I didn’t know you were going to make all this extra stuff, too! Thank you so much!”

Mary squeezes the girl in her arms, smoothing her hand over her back. “Of course, sweetheart. I’m glad you like it!”

“Like it! I love it! Oh my god!! I have to show mom!” Amelia darts back out of the room, and Mary’s lip wobbles as she moves to finish bringing the party supplies inside.

Bradley doesn’t move for a second, debating if he should grab Penny, not sure if he’s prepared for the woman that he has feelings for to cry. The sound of the front door closing gets him moving, and he takes a deep breath, sending a quick prayer to his mom that he can handle any tears that may appear.

“Mary. Mary!” He jogs down the steps to stop her from trying to carry everything herself. “Hey, woah, slow down. Let’s just take a second here. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, everything is fine! I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” Her smile is strained, and her eyes are watery as he stares into them.

“Mary…”

“I just want her to have a good 15th birthday! Mine wasn’t, and I’ve gotten so wrapped up in those feelings I almost forgot it’s about her and not me. Overcompensating for my bad experience while trying to make sure she has a good day.”

They stand there under the open hatch of her car. Bradley tries to catch her eye while she stares at her shoes, forcing herself not to cry. He decides not to ask the questions he really wants an answer to, realizing it would probably only upset her more.

“When is your birthday? You’ve been here since March and we haven’t celebrated it yet. I don’t owe you a present do I?”

“It’s March 14th. Which is the day I flew to California.”

“Your birthday is Pi Day! Did you celebrate?”

“I bought myself a cookie at the Dallas Airport during my layover. And when I landed, Dani and Reuben took me to get Thai food, even though I said I was too tired. It was nice.”

“We’ll have to do something big for your next birthday! Maybe we can do a pie-baking contest, see who can make the best birthday pie. The birthday girl judges, of course.” He nudges her side and winks, making her smile.

A car full of teenage girls pulls up, and they flock to the house, interrupting the moment.

“Oh! People are starting to arrive! Come on, Bradley, help me get the rest of this stuff inside so you guys can finish setting up.” She doesn’t give him a chance to argue, just heading into the house juggling three floral arrangements.

By the time he’s fought to get the balloons through the doorframe, Mary is setting up the dessert table, seemingly back to herself as she answers the questions Amelia is peppering at her.

“Are you really sure you can’t stay for the party?”

“Oh, I would love to, kiddo; I really would. But I have to get back to Reuben’s, so you’ll have to let me know how everyone likes the treats, okay?” Amelia agrees, giving Mary one more hug before joining her friends, who showed up early to get ready together.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a little bit, M&M?”

“I want to, Mav, but Reuben is convinced Dani is in labor, and she’s in denial. So I have to go monitor that situation because the last time they did this little dance, Annabeth was almost born in the backseat of their Rav4.”

“Why is she in denial?” Penny questions from her position on the ladder, adding streamers to the sliding door.

“Partially because it’s a week and a half before her due date. But mostly, I think it’s because she had some problems when Annie was born, so I think she’s a bit hesitant this time.”

“What happened last time? Did she-” Penny makes a ripping sound, humming sympathetically when Mary winces in confirmation. “Ouch.”

The kitchen is quiet for a minute, the women shivering at the phantom pain and the men horrified about how casually a ripping noise is associated with birth. “Well! On that note, I should get going. See if Reuben has made any progress convincing her to go to the hospital.”

“Thanks for everything, Mary. It’s perfect! Keep us updated, and let me know if she needs anything!”

“Of course, let me know how everything goes!” She hugs Penny and Mav before turning to Bradley, who is mentally preparing for his hug. “Walk me out?”

“Sure.” He lets her walk out ahead of him before flipping off his aunt and uncle, the two of them making kissy faces.

“Bradley?”

“Coming!” His annoyed look melts into a smile that reminds Mav of a smile he’d only seen in photos for the last thirty-five years.

“God, they’re just like Nick and Carole. More oblivious than those two were, but just as into each other.” Pete nods; his throat feels too thick to agree with his wife. He watches his godson give his full attention to the woman walking in front of him, wishing more than ever that his best friends were standing next to him to watch their kid grow up.

“This is for you, as a thank you. I know it was you who rallied the troops to help me move after Reuben mentioned I was hiring movers.” Mary places a foil-wrapped loaf in his hands. “Something told me you like yours with chocolate chips.”

“Well, hiring movers is ridiculous when you have a group of big, strong, available aviators to lift the heavy things for you. What is this?” He lifts the foil and takes a sniff, “Banana bread! How did you know this is my favorite?”

“A girl has a way of figuring things out.” He laughs at her eyebrow wiggle.

“Phoenix tell you?”

“It’s not fun if you guess, Bradley. And, for your information, I happen to be an omnipotent goddess who knows everyone’s favorite food.”

“You’re telling me you know everyone’s favorite food, Miss Goddess?”

“Well, not everyone. All of my family, my college friends, my coworkers from Missouri and Florida, but I’m still learning everyone out here.”

“Okay, well, that’s pretty much everyone. That’s impressive. How do you remember it all?”

“You’d be amazed at what I can do with excel and conditional formatting.” She’s interrupted by her phone. “Reuben? Is everything okay?”

“We’re going right now. I threw Annie at Mr. Webster next door, and I have the gas pedal to the floor. Can you handle everything?”

“I’m on it. We’ll chill at the house until otherwise instructed. Drive safe.” She starts moving around her car before doubling back and leaning up on her tip-toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you for your help last weekend; I really appreciate it.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek and is driving away before Bradley can recover. He’s still staring at where her bumper disappeared around the corner when he feels someone walk up behind him.

“I didn’t know your parents very well, but I do know how he asked her out the first time. I’m assuming you’ve heard that one quite a bit?”

“It was mom’s favorite to tell.”

“So you know that he asked her when it was almost too late? She had agreed to go out with some other guy, and Goose was a week away from his first long-term deployment.”

“Yeah. He showed up at her apartment fifteen minutes before her date was supposed to pick her up.”

“Yup, convinced her how much he cared about her and managed to be the one that took her out that night. They spent every night together until he left. Three months later, halfway through the deployment, she found out she was pregnant. You should have seen her, panicking so much thought we were gonna have to call the EMTs.” His aunt’s voice is clouded with nostalgia. “He proposed on the phone, and they were happy the entire time they had together. No matter how short it was.”

He turns, looking at the older woman, her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s your point, Penny?”

“Mary – despite how shy she can be – is a woman who is aware of her worth. She won’t go out with just anyone. However, just like your mother, I suspect she won’t wait around forever for a Bradshaw man to get his shit together. She clearly cares about you, but if you want to be with her, you need to be the one to do something about it.”

Mary is in the middle of a huge yawn, waiting for the elevator, when she’s consumed by a hug that scares her back to fully awake.

“Fitch godparents unite!”

“Mickey, you scared me!” She hugs him back despite her scolding. “How many photos did you take?

“Pretty sure he ran out of storage again.” Bob smiles at her over Mickey’s shoulder, proud of his joke.

Mickey tries to defend himself, but Jake interrupts.

“Folks, let’s not block the elevator.” He ushers the small group to the side like he’s herding cattle, making Natasha roll her eyes. “Okay, let’s get that photo of the godparents that Mickey wanted so badly, and then we can go home!”

“Yes!”

“No! Not right now.”

“Awe! Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, we don’t have the baby to take the photos with. Plus, if I look as gross as I feel, I do not want that memorialized.”

“You look good, Mary! You could totally take photos!” Natasha encourages her, and Jake mutters something under his breath.

“Jake, I don’t know what you just said but shut up.” She smacks his arm when he laughs. “Mickey, I promise we’ll take godparent photos with the baby. Just when I’ve had more than four hours of sleep and a chance to put makeup on.”

“I’m holding you to that! Hey, where were you, by the way? I thought we were going spend some time together in the room?”

“That was my plan! But as I was taking Annabeth and Dani’s parents back to the house, I realized that my Jeep is at my house. With the wildness of the weekend and all the times we’ve shuffled the cars to make sure someone had a car seat, I forgot it ended up there. So I just took an Uber back here instead of trying to have Sanford drive me to my place and then make sure he got back to the house okay.”

“Dude, you were gone for like two hours.” Natasha raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah, apparently, Sunday evening is a busy time for rideshare apps.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m staying for a while; I brought some clothes and stuff for them, so I’ll figure something out later. Thanks, though, Bob!” The elevator tone distracts her. “I’m gonna head up! I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

The four aviators follow her back towards the elevator, saying their goodbyes.

“Bradshaw is still up there if you want to bum a ride off him.” Jake lets her know.

“Bradley is still here?”

“Yeah, Payback wanted to ask him about something.”

Natasha stops the doors from closing, leans in closer, and drops her voice so the guys don’t hear. “Hey, quick question. Are you ovulating right now?”

“Uhh… I don’t know. Maybe? Why?”

Phoenix’s grin is evil as she steps back, “No reason! Good luck! Bye!”

“Wait! Nat! Good luck? Why would I need luck?” Her questioning is cut off as the elevator closes. But Mary’s confusion quickly ends when she enters Room 427 in the maternity ward and finds Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw holding her new godson, Stephen James Fitch.

She’s stuck in the doorway for a minute, her mind struggling to take in the scene before her. His sun-kissed shoulders are on full display thanks to a tank top, and his strong thighs stretch the material of his jeans. His body takes up most of the space on the loveseat. Her heart thumps as the six-foot-something man cradles the newborn, his finger gently stroking Stephen’s cheek. Something deep inside her warms up as she memorizes the way his enormous biceps dwarf the already tiny baby.

“Did you bring my purple sweatpants?” Dani’s question moves everyone’s attention to Mary, who finally enters the room.

“Of course, I did - that’s what you asked for - and I have your bag. I also brought Reuben a change of clothes and some stuff for tonight. I threw a load of laundry in while I was there; your mom is going to switch it over and give Annie a bath. Here.” She hands a bottle of lemonade to Dani.

“My favorite! What would I do without you?”

“Be perfectly fine since you have a loving husband to back you up.”

“Yeah, that’s true; we’d handle ourselves. But I’d miss you. We’d miss you.” Dani nods at the two men cooing over the baby. “That’s so fucking cute. It makes me want to make another one.”

“You should probably wait for your stitches to heal first.”

Dani hums in agreement. “I guess that means it’s your turn now. Whatcha think? I know someone who would be willing to help you out.”

“Danielle!” Mary lowers her voice. “Stop it. We are not talking about this right now. He is right there.”

“Fine, but we are talking about it soon. I saw your eyes when you walked in; you practically started drooling. By the way, are you ovulating?”

“That is none of your business!” Mary starts giggling at the ridiculousness of her best friend.

“Oh my god! You are!” Her laughter catches the attention of the room’s other occupants.

“What are they laughing about?”

“Man, trust me, you probably don’t want to know.” Reuben claps Bradley on the shoulder. “M&M! Come supervise Bradshaw while I change and make sure he doesn’t drop my baby.”

Mary takes Reuben’s place next to Bradley on the small couch. She folds her leg underneath herself and leans into his side, looking over his shoulder at her godson. The two sit silently for a bit, admiring the sleeping baby as his parents freshen up and change.

Mary leans her cheek on his shoulder, thinking about a baby with curly hair like the man next to her and a skin tone that matched her own. What it would be like if the baby in Bradley’s arms shared her brown eyes and his nose. She thought of how supportive he had been for the wife of his teammate and how he would probably be even more supportive of his own partner.

Then she catches a whiff of his cologne, and she allows her mind to wander to a topic she had been trying to ignore since the previous weekend.

It was all Bradley’s fault.

He had gripped her hips as she stood on the counter while putting decorations on top of her cabinets, holding her steady to make sure she didn’t fall. He helped her climb down when she was done, moving quickly as she stumbled. His warm hands had felt so nice holding onto her wide hips. It had felt even better being pressed up against his muscular body when she tripped getting down.

There had been a moment after he steadied her where she was fully enveloped by his strength, by his size, and it had set her body on fire. All she could think about was those hands exploring her body, his lips learning the sensitive spots on her neck, his powerful hips pressed against hers but with much less clothing.

“I can’t believe he’s so small.”

She blinks back to the present, feeling a little lightheaded from thinking about her fantasy Bradley with the real one right next to her. “I know. He’s so perfect; he looks like a little doll.”

“Do you wanna hold him?”

“No, you keep him for now.”

I don’t think I have enough strength in my arms to hold him right now after fantasizing about you.

“Besides, you look good holding him.”

What???

The sound of Dani choking prevents her previous statement from fully settling in the room as Reuben rushes to make sure she’s okay. “Baby? What happened? You okay?”

Danielle waves him off, her voice scratchy. “Fine, just swallowed wrong.”

Payback stays with his wife, rubbing her back and whispering in her ear, turning to the two sitting on the sofa after a minute. “Okay, we love you both, but get out. You have work tomorrow, and I’m like 90% certain Mary hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

Bradley whips his head to the woman sitting next to him. “What?”

“It’s been busy!” She weakly defends herself.

“Bradshaw, give me back my baby, and since she needs a ride home anyway, make sure she eats something.”

“On it, Mrs. Fitch. C’mon, Miss Mary, I’m hungry, too.” He wiggles his fingers in her direction, prompting her to say her goodbyes before following him to the door. He grabs her hand as they pass the threshold. “Gotta hold on to you; make sure you don’t escape before I can buy you dinner.”

“You don’t have to feed me, Bradley.” She makes excuses as they move towards the elevators, not making any move to let go of his hand. “I have plenty of food at home.”

“Oh no, I’m under strict instructions from the pregnant lady. And from what I understand, you’re not supposed to argue with pregnant ladies.”

“She’s not pregnant anymore.”

“Well, pregnant or not, she’s kinda scary...” He mutters, guiding her into the elevator. “Besides, maybe I just want to buy a pretty girl some dinner.”

She stares at him from across the small space, that warm feeling creeping up again. “Well… when you find one, I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

He raises an eyebrow, an unimpressed look accompanying it. “You’ve always been very gracious when I’ve bought you a coffee. I’m sure you’ll be just as kind when it comes to dinner.”

The elevator stops, and more people get on before she can argue. The new riders push her toward Bradley, who protectively tucks her under his arm after one of the men leers at her, glaring at him when Mary isn’t looking. His attention instantly shifts as he feels a finger tap his chest. He tilts his head down, smiling at her as she looks up at him.

“Can we go to Panera?” Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid he might say no.

“Course, anything you want, honey. I’ll even get you a lemon drop cookie.”

“Those are my favorite.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bradley guides her out of the elevator and grabs her hand again amid the flurry of people in the lobby. “You’re not the only one who pays attention to people’s favorites, Mary.”

A pleased smile spreads over her face and she grabs onto his arm with her free hand. Bradley squeezes her hand in his, as she hums, "I guess not."

thank you for reading <3 if you would like to be added (or removed) from the tag list just send me an ask!

tagging: @gretagerwigsmuse | @bobfloyds | @bussyslayer333 | @hangmanbrainrot | @mothdruid | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @rhettabbotts | @roleycoleyreccenter | @roosterbruiser | @seresinsweetie | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @waklman | @withahappyrefrain | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @ohtobeleah | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @memoriesat30 | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007

fic tag | credit for dividers here

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Eli Lotar and Germaine Krull Untitled, ca. 1930 Centre Pompidou, Musée national d’art moderne, Paris Donation by Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre Marchand © Estate Germaine Krull, Museum Folkwang, Essen

[alternatehistoryworlds]

AU House of York: Children Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville.

Elizabeth(1466 - 1520). Queen of France. Wife of Louis XII and mother of 10 children: Charles IX, Mary, Elizabeth, Louis, Madeleine, Jean, Guillaume, Philip, Jeanne and Bonne. Although their marriage was arranged for political reasons, it turned out to be a successful one. Elizabeth had no political influence as queen. She also devoted much attention to the education and upbringing of her children.

Mary(1467 - 1523). Queen of Denmark. Wife of Frederick I. Mary, as her older sister, was not interested in politics. The married life of Mary and Frederick was a happy one. He loved her for the fact that she did not interfere in his state affairs. They became the parents of 7 children: Christian III, Frederick II, Hans, Dorothea, Elisabeth, Dietrich and Anne.

Cecily(1469 - 1529). Queen of Scots. Wife of James IV, mother of 4 children: Marjorie, Anabella, Sibylla, Robert IV. The married life of the royal couple was not a happy one. Because of Jacob's constant infidelities, the couple became more and more distant from each other. The queen tried to influence the king's policy, but her attempts were unsuccessful.

Edward V(1470 - 1537). King of England. Husband of Isabella of Aragon. Edward's domestic and foreign policies were not successful. During his reign, nepotism and treasury increased in England, and he intervened in military conflicts of other countries. Isabella and Edward had a cool relationship. The marriage produced 5 children: Jacquetta, William IV, Isabella, Thomas and Henry.

Margaret(1472 - 1530). Queen of Portugal. Wife of Manuel I. Margaret had an indomitable character and great willpower. She was religious, donated money for the construction of monasteries and schools. In marriage with Manuel Margaret gave birth to 12 children: Fernando II, Beatriza, Elizabeth, Afonso, Isabella, Sebastian, Luis, Blanca, Dinish, Mary, Constanza, Duarte.

AU: Дети Эдуарда IV и Елизаветы Вудвилл.

Елизавета(1466 - 1520). Королева Франции. Жена Людовика XII и мать 10 детей: Карл IX, Мария, Елизавета, Людовик, Мадлен, Жан, Гильом, Филипп, Жанна и Бонна. Несмотря на то, что их брак был заключён по политическим соображениям, он оказался удачным. Елизавета не имела никакого политического влияния как королева. Также она уделял много внимая образованию и воспитанию своих детей.

Мария(1467 - 1523). Королева Дании. Жена Фредерика I. Марию, как её старшую сестру, не интересовала политика. Супружеская жизнь Марии и Фредерика была счастливой. Он полюбил её за то, что она не вмешивалась в его государственные дела. Они стали родителями 7 детей: Кристиан III, Фредерик II, Ганс, Доротея, Елизавета, Дитрих и Анна.

Сесилия(1469 - 1529). Королева Шотландии. Жена Якова IV, мать 4 детей: Марджори, Анабелла, Сибилла, Роберт IV. Супружеская жизнь королевской четы была не счастливой. Из-за постоянных измен Якова, супруги все дальше и дальше отдалялись друг от друга. Королева пыталась в влиять на политику короля, но её попытки остались без успешны.

Эдуард V(1470 - 1537). Король Англии. Муж Изабеллы Арагонской. Внутренняя и внешняя политика Эдуарда была не удачной. При его правлении в Англии увеличилось кумовство и казнокрадство, а также он вмешивался в военные конфликты других стран. У Изабеллы и Эдуарда были прохладные отношения. В браке родилось 5 детей: Жакетта, Вильгельм IV, Изабелла, Томас и Генрих.

Маргарита(1472 - 1530). Королева Португалии. Жена Мануэля I. У Маргарет был несгибаемый характер и большая сила воли. Была религиозна, жертвовала деньги на строительство монастырей и школ. В браке с Мануэлем Маргарита родила 12 детей: Фернанду II, Беатриса, Елизавета, Афонсу, Изабелла, Себастьян, Луиш, Бланка, Диниш, Мария, Констанса, Дуарте.

Part 1.

[endollvors]

V:tM Mary & Augustus for Wip Wednesday

He woke up the next evening and made it all the way through cooking himself eggs for “breakfast” before he remembered. He stared at the plate accusingly for several long minutes before putting a dash of hot sauce on it and digging in. Those ended up in his toilet as well, redder than the sriracha should have made it. He spent the rest of the night cleaning and reorganizing all the clothes in his apartment, eventually giving up on both the suit and the jeans and tank top he’d brought home with him.

The building’s laundry room was deserted, which made sense, given the hour. He sat next to his laundry basket on the table across from the washers and watched his clothes spin in the dim basement lighting. Eventually, he ran out of clothes. He’d folded all his laundry, hung up his delicates on their rack to dry, and had a sizable pile in a box for donation. It didn’t distract him enough from the fact that he’d seen a neighbor on his way back upstairs and spent some time imagining him bleeding.