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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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The doctrine of dynastic wealth

The biggest news story of the moment Propublica's reporting on the Secret IRS Files, a trove of leaked tax data on the wealthiest people in America that show that they pay effectively no tax, through perfectly legal means.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/15/guillotines-and-taxes/#carried-interest

The Bootlicker-Industrial Complex has completely missed the point of this reporting and its followup, like the revelation that an ultrarich candidate for Manhattan DA was able to pay no tax in many years where her family booked millions in revenue.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/17/quis-custodiet-irs/#trumps-taxes

The apologists for super-rich tax-evaders lean heavily on the fact that America has a tax-code that substantially reduces the spending power (and thus political power) of people who work for a living, while enhancing the wealth of those who own things for a living.

The rich are obeying the law, so there is nothing wrong here. But what Propublica documented is that America has a different set of laws for the super-rich than for the merely rich, and that these laws are in a wholly different universe from the laws for the rest of us.

It's another example of America's unequal justice system - a subject that includes long prison sentences for crack possession and wrist-slaps for powder cocaine, long jail terms created by the cash bail system, and a host of other race- and class-based inequities.

It's more proof, in other words, that America isn't a republic where we are all equal before the law, but rather a caste system where inherited privileges determine how the law binds you, how it punishes you and how it protects you.

One person well-poised to describe how this system perpetuates itself is Abigail Disney, granddaughter of Roy Disney and great-niece of Walt Disney, inheritor of a vast family fortune shielded from tax by a generation-skipping trust contrived solely to avoid taxation.

Writing in The Atlantic, the heiress describes how she was inducted and indoctrinated into the system of American dynastic wealth, surrounded by brilliant accountants who treated their exotic financial vehicles as completely ordinary.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/06/abigail-disney-rich-protect-dynastic-wealth-propublica-tax/619212/

Personally, these financial enablers were "decent, good, kind men," and they gave Disney 40 years' worth of gospel about protecting the capital, growing it, and passing it on to the next generation.

As a credible 21 year old, Disney had no frame of reference. The creation of a dynastic, ever-growing fortune through legal but frankly bizarre accounting fictions was treated as normal.

To the extent that these tactics raised any doubts, they were addressed through doctrine: the idea that government bureaucrats can't be trusted to spend money wisely.

Disney doesn't say this, but a common trope in these discussions is that the government is ever tempted to give money to poor people, and must be protected from this impulse.

This racism and classism are dressed up as "meritocracy" - the tautology that the rich are worthy, the worthy are rich, and anyone who isn't rich is therefore unworthy.

In the first generation, this doctrine is merely sociopathic, but when passed on to a new generation, it is eugenic. Walt and Roy demonstrated their worth by founding a studio and navigating it through the challenges of the market, and that is why the market made them rich.

But their children - and grandchildren - didn't get their wealth by founding or running a studio. They got their wealth by emerging from the correct orifice. If their wealth is deserved, those deserts are a matter of blood, not toil.

In other words, they were born to be rich, not just as a matter of sound tax planning, but as a matter of genetic destiny. They are part of a hereditary meritocracy.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/13/data-protection-without-monopoly/#inequality

Disney describes what it's like to be indoctrinated into the hereditary meritocracy: her family told her that the appearance of philanthropy is good, but actually giving money to poor people is a foolish enterprise, "unseemly and performative."

And they urged her to marry her own class, "to save yourself from the complexity and conflict that come with a broad gulf in income, assets, and, therefore, power." Power should be in the hands of "successful" people, because they know how to wield it.

Accept this ideology and you will be showered with wonderful gifts: like private jet trips, which quickly become necessities ("once you’ve flown private, wild horses will never drag you through a public airport terminal again").

It's a subject that is well-documented in Mike Mechanic's 2021 book JACKPOT, on the daily lives, dysfunctions, and above all, ideology of the super-rich:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

As to the seductiveness of the ideology, I had my own experience with the "decent, good, kind" professionals of the finance sector. When I moved to London in 2003, I opened a checking account at Barclays, a giant high-street bank.

I quickly discovered that part of Barclays' legendary profitability came from understaffing its branches; when I had to see a teller, I could end up waiting in line for an hour.

When I complained about this, a teller told me that for a nominal annual sum, I could get a "premier" account that came with a host of benefits, including priority tellers. I signed up and was inducted into the premiership by my branch manager.

He asked me if I needed any help with tax preparation, and boy did I ever. I was filing tax returns in Canada, the US, California, and the UK - it was a mess: not just expensive but confusing, and I couldn't make heads or tails of the paperwork.

A week later, a very smartly turned out Barclays "tax specialist" came by the academic research center where I'd borrowed a desk to meet with me. She was wildly excited to discover that I was on a work visa and not a UK citizen.

She told me that this made me eligible to become a "non-dom" - someone living in the UK, but not "domiciled" there - and therefore not subject to any tax at all.

She laid out a whole plan for me: I could establish residence in one of the Channel Islands (Jersey, I think?), incorporate a shell company there, and continue to get free health care from the NHS, use the public roads, etc - all without paying a penny to HM Exchequer.

And when I was ready to buy a house, the whole thing would only get better: I could buy it through the shell company, reverse-mortgage it, rent it to myself, take fabulous deductions on the way, and pass it on tax-free by transfering the shell company rather than the house.

It was dizzying, and I kept asking her to go back and explain it again. She assured me that it was legal and normal, what every non-Briton living in the UK should do, and really poured the pressure on.

It was weirdly spellbinding, like a wizard was demonstrating an interdimensional portal to me and asking if I wanted to go through it to a magical land - a magical land that "everyone else" was already visiting on the reg.

I told her I'd think about it. Five minutes after she left the office, I snapped out of the trance. I never called her back. I figured out my UK taxes.

But today, reading Disney's account of having reasonable-seeming, friendly experts tell you something bizarre and indefensible is normal, I was powerfully reminded of my own brush with the dynasty-creation industry.

#pluralistic

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Terms of Endearment

I'm obsessed with Nesryn and Sartaq. And I am not ashamed.

Read on AO3

It had started innocently enough.

When Sartaq had slid his hands around her middle and drew her back into his chest their first night alone after the great victory, planting a kiss to that sensitive bend where her shoulder met her neck. He had seemed to breathe her in.

“My darling,” he’d sighed.

Nesryn had been taken aback, unaccustomed to pet names from him. Perhaps it was because they had fallen in love in the midst of war – not the time or place for terms of endearment.

But as soon as that final battle was over, it was as if Sartaq made it his mission to shower her with affection, praise, and every endearment he could possibly think of.

“My darling,” he had breathed into her neck that first night. It had been surprising, but not unwelcome. Nesryn was not accustomed to intimacy such as this, but she couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that it sparked in her. Sartaq, so unlike any man she had ever known, made her feel precious and adored. Even when they were both covered in blood and gore.

“Good morning, sweet angel,” he murmured when she awoke in their shared cabin as they sailed back to the southern continent. She huffed out a laugh at him, but he only grinned back and tucked her messy morning hair behind her ear.

“I’m sure there is nothing angelic about me right now.” With a grumble she tucked herself into his chest, allowing her to feel his rich chuckle rumble through her. How fortunate for them that they had this opportunity to just be. That they had survived.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he answered. “Angel.”

Nesryn just shook her head and drifted back to sleep in the arms of her prince.

~~~

As wonderful and loving as Sartaq had been, she had still physically cringed when he called her ‘sweetheart’. So much so that he had pulled back from the embrace he’d so tenderly wrapped her in, instead grabbing her by the shoulders and finding her eyes.

“Nesryn?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Nesryn Faliq, it is obviously not nothing.” The prince reached up a hand to cup her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned into that strong, comforting anchor. “Don’t hide from me, love. Please.”

She pulled his hand away, grasping it in both of hers. She loved his hands, the strength in them. They had seen battles for his homeland, for the world, and were still gentle against her flesh in those in-between moments when he made sure to remind her how loved she was.

“In Rifthold,” she began with a deep breath. “As a woman trying to make her way up the ranks, I found myself at odds with many a condescending man. Men who felt that a woman didn’t belong in the guard. Men who felt that a woman shouldn’t speak her mind. Men who felt entitled to my affections. And nearly all of them, being creatures of minimal creativity and intellect, would call me ‘sweetheart’ when they spoke to me as if I were nothing more than the dirt beneath their feet.”

Sartaq’s free hand fell at the small of her back and pulled her against him, lips falling against her temple.

“True men recognize and respect strength, regardless of whether it is a man or woman who possesses it. They were fools.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I will remember not to call you sweetheart. But know that you are my love, always, Nesryn Faliq.”

“And you are mine.”

~~~

“There you are, my beautiful morning dove.”

Nesryn turned, rolling her eyes, to find Sartaq striding toward her. He always wore that easy grin that toed the line between confident and arrogant. She hated how handsome that arrogant smirk looked on his tanned face.

“Good morning, your highness,” she answered haughtily. The prince only laughed.

“So formal, my lovely spring flower.” He was close enough for her to swat at him.

“You are insufferable,” she scowled, but her eyes had glittered with mirth.

“Insufferably in love with a stunning warrior goddess.” The prince grabbed her by the hips and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her lips away from him. He didn’t let that stop him, though, and he simply peppered her cheek instead. Nesryn couldn’t contain her laughter.

~~~

Nesryn hadn’t thought that anything could be more exhausting than her time fighting in the war for Terrasen.

And yet, after a day of wedding planning with Duva and Hasar, she ached down to her bones from pacing. Her eyelids drooped dangerously as she stumbled into the suite she shared with Sartaq. She hadn’t made it two steps in when she was scooped into the prince’s arms.

“Empress of my heart, you look exhausted,” he whispered into her hair. Nesryn groaned.

“I’m too tired to even object to your ridiculous pet names tonight,” she grumbled. His chuckle rumbled through her, warming her aching nerves. She was not cut out for planning a royal wedding. How would she ever be empress?

A worry she would have to put off for another day. She did not have the strength.

“I shall have to take advantage, then, of your helplessness.” Sartaq carried her to their enormous bed. “Windseeker, song of my soul.”

“Sartaaaaaaq. If I didn’t love you so much I would hate you,” she muttered as he set her down, laying her shoulders and head on a veritable mountain of pillows. Instead of circling to the other side, the prince lifted a knee and placed it near her thigh on the mattress and climbed so she was caged between his arms and legs.

“You could never hate me, my beautiful cherub,” he chuckled as she grimaced. Sartaq leaned down and pecked the tip of her nose before rolling onto her other side. A strong hand wound around her stomach and pulled her back against a hard chest.

“I’m beginning to think maybe you just don’t remember my name, and you mean to overwhelm me with affectionate trickery.” Her eyes were already closed, the sensation of his lips against the shell of her ear making her shiver with delight. Damn him.

“Nesryn Faliq. Nieth’s arrow. Former captain of the Adarlanian king’s guard. Princess of the rukhin. Queen of my heart. My future empress –“ he grunted as Nesryn elbowed him in the ribs, but he only held her closer, whispering in her ear. “There will never be enough beautiful words to describe you. But I have never backed down from a challenge.”

~~~

They were to be married the next day. As was customary, Nesryn and Sartaq would spend the night apart. They stood in the middle of their sitting room, her head resting on his chest and his arms holding her against him.

“I shall miss you tonight, light of my soul,” he murmured, raising a hand to slide fingers over her hair.

“Could you not just call me by my name, for once?” The words ground together like stone. She didn’t mean to sound so callous.

“Does it truly bother you, Nesryn? All this time, have you truly hated the way I speak to you?” Sartaq’s voice was nearly as quiet as that day he had first told her that he loved her. That day when they both thought they would never have a chance to see what their future could be. Nesryn took an unsteady breath against him.

“Of course not, Sartaq. Every word that you utter is beautiful. It warms me down to my core. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. The prince gently unwrapped his arms and pulled back so he could see her face. His warm eyes gave her strength, and his strong weathered hands wrapped around her much smaller ones. “Sartaq… I’m no princess. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding praise for my accomplishments or appearances. They were all expectations, and I knew that – as a woman – if those expectations were not exceeded, even if the margins were slim and the odds impossible, I would be cast out. Left with nothing. I have been a warrior. Royal archer, member of the royal guard, and captain of it. I know nothing of flattering, fancy words or poetic declarations of love.”

Nesryn lifted their joined hands and pulled them against her chest, lowering her gaze to them. “Everything you say makes me feel incredible, precious, adored. Never in my life did I think I could find a future like this, a love so astounding. What bothers me is that I do not possess those skills or gifts, and I fear I cannot give the same feelings to you that you give to me.”

The silence between them… she hated it. Sartaq was always so self-assured and knew exactly what to say, but all she could hear was the sound of their breaths softly escaping. Anxiety rippled through her when he pulled his hands away, but they landed on her cheeks.

“Nesryn Faliq. My warrior’s heart,” he murmured, tilting her face up. She lifted her eyes, lips parting at the heat she saw glimmering in his dark gaze. “I fell in love with you just as you are. I fell in love with Nesryn Faliq, Captain of the Royal Guard. I have no expectations of flowery love poems or lengthy declarations of devotion. I have no need of those things. The only thing I have need of is you. Call me by my name. Call me by my title. Call me an arrogant bastard, if you feel so inclined. So long as you do it with that smile upon your face, with that love sparkling in your eyes, then I will be the most blessed man in all the world.”

Nesryn lifted her hands, fingers tracing up the strong line of his jaw. Her lips tilted up as a slow smile spread across her face. “I can do that.”

“And I call you such outlandish things, pour my heart out to you, precisely because of what you just said. You have spent your life conquering challenge after challenge. And while your skills and achievements are considerable, the world around you was not prepared to grant you the adoration you deserve for it. I strive to make you feel incredible, precious, adored, because that is what you have always deserved.” Sartaq dipped his chin, brushing his lips tenderly over hers. Resting his forehead against hers, their hands cupping each other’s cheeks, he murmured, “And I would be lying if I said I didn’t quite revel in making you blush and rendering you frustrated and speechless.”

One of Nesryn’s hands found his braid and tugged on it, a blush painting her face. But she smiled serenely, beaming at the man who would be her husband in a number of hours.

“I love you, my prince,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Windseeker,” he answered. He kissed her again, not nearly as softly but just as brief. “Tonight, I will sleep with empty arms, and then never again. For the rest of our days.” Sartaq finally pulled away, knowing rest was needed. He backed away, his gaze never wavering from hers. When he reached the doorway he leaned on it casually, crossing his arms.

“Imagine the pet names I will come up with once I can call you ‘wife’.”

Nesryn groaned and rolled her eyes, waving him off as she turned toward their bedroom. “Arrogant bastard,” she grumbled.

The prince’s rich, throaty laugh echoed through the sitting room as she slammed the door.

I have not tagged people here, since my tag list requests have come from my ACOTAR fic posts. If you would like to be tagged in any work I post, or if you have preferences as to fandom, please reach out!!

#throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #nestaq #nesryn x sartaq #nesryn faliq #sartaq #fanfiction #AO3

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levicanpunchme · 3 years

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Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Fluff/Modern AU

Warning: sexual references

Summary: You attend a business party with your boyfriend, Levi in hopes of introducing yourself but things turn hazy when a blonde idiot keeps staring at you. Levi’s burning anguish strikes.

Mine

The large dining hall was illuminated with yellow candles, creating a sophisticated atmosphere for the various honourable guests. The darkness of the hall suffocated you, making you clench onto your purse tighter. These high society parties were not your cup of tea; they made you uncomfortable. If you could, you’d never again breathe next to these oblivious, high nosed women who flaunted their lavished lifestyle which their husbands had earned after dirty business work. What was there to be so proud of-? You wondered. When they spoke to you, you heard the discreet arrogance in their tone and it made you want to scream.

You desperately avoided these events; however, this time, you wanted to formerly introduce yourself-after all your boyfriend was a well established businessman. He was required to attend such parties and ever since he told you about the women throwing themselves at him, you couldn’t help jump into an elegant dress and rush to join his side.

Your lips touching the rim of your glass paused when you caught sight of your raven haired boyfriend in a black suit, wearing a blank expression on his face as a domineering aura surrounded him. This was the first time you had asked to join him in such an event and you were kind-of-glad you did. He looked awfully attractive, his eyes forecasting a shadowy glow in the darkness of the hall. He was the centre of attention; not just because of his godly appearance but also his reputable character.

Levi Ackerman was the sole owner of X company, a name in the higher ups of the world’s largest food industry. His work ethics were widely praised all over the country and every businessman was desperate to earn an opportunity to work with him. His work ethics were a reflection of his character. He had started at the bottom of the chain and earned his way up, struggle after struggle.

You were so proud to call him yours.

“My husband wanted to donate to the local NGO and I was personally against it because we already do so much. We take part in various charitable events after all.” - for publicity, a voice completed in your head. You smiled to yourself at the hypocrisy of the rich brats.

You rolled your eyes, looking back at your boyfriend on the other table and you noticed he was already staring at you. His eyes carefully read your expression. He immediately realised your discomfort and rose from his seat, taking wide strides towards you. Your eyes widened when he grabbed your hand and tugged at you to stand up with him. The five ladies on the table quickly shut up as they softly greeted Levi, their voices growing coy and shy. They sounded so sweet as if they weren’t already married; it made you want to puke.

As Levi clasped his arm around your waist, he silently nodded at the ladies not even sparing them a glance as he walked away with you back to his table. You almost smirked back at the women but restrained yourself, knowing you couldn’t afford to trample over Levi’s reputation by falling into a childish girly scuffle.

“You have to pay me when we get home for saving your ass back there,” he softly whispered against your frame, causing goosebumps to awaken on your skin. You glanced at him and laughed at the dark glaze in his eyes.

“I didn’t need any saving,” you replied back, your challenging gaze daring him to say otherwise. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a soft smile on his lips and then whispered back. “We’ll see about that at home.”

Your stomach flipped.

Levi casually pulled you with him to his table and sat you down next to him. You stared, wide eyed. He was currently sitting around huge business tycoons, discussing future arrangements. You noticed the blonde man sitting opposite to Levi and froze up. He was the man Levi was bidding on for future collaborations as he was the second largest producer in food industry in the world.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/n L/n.” You didn’t realise when he introduced you and quickly sat up, smiling at the men as you greeted them.

“Oh, how wonderful! They say behind every successful man stands a woman,” one of the older men stated and Levi nodded firmly. “Indeed.” And you looked at Levi explicitly.

You felt a wave of emotions course through you and suddenly you wanted to kiss him. Levi was so hardworking. He had struggled for every opportunity in his career and deserved every ounce of the success he currently had. You wanted to throw away everything to make him happy.

“How beautiful,” you gazed away from your boyfriend to the origins of the voice and sat frigid. The blonde, thin-lipped man was staring at you with a strange glint in his eyes, a smirk uplifting his lips as he eyed you up and down.

“Are you currently studying?” the blonde man slurred, his British accent becoming more apparent now. You felt chills run down your spine as you noticed his eyes wander to your cleavage and it made you feel icky. You knew his intentions were dirty but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t see him ever again after today. You never wanted anyone to stare at you like that. It made your insides crawl. It made you feel insignificant, demoralised and inferior.

You gulped and smiled indifferently. “Journalism,” you answered and looked away quickly. You noticed Levi’s hand clench tightly under the table and panic rippled in your chest. You quickly grabbed his hand, fear racking your head. Levi would singlehandedly destroy anyone who looked at you with nasty intentions and you knew that. You were a witness to it once when you were drunk after a university gathering and a man tried to take you home. Levi had stalked down the street and knocked the man’s front tooth out before safely taking you back to his place.

He was so full of anguish that he almost got the man kicked out of uni. Fortunately, you managed to stop him before things escalated.

“Levi,” you muttered, your mind going blank as you noticed the awakening demon in his eyes; his darkening predatory stare trained at the man, his mouth tightly shut and jaw clenched. You suddenly wanted to evaporate. You tried to appease him as you stroked his large hand, your soft skin gliding against his callous one. He reacted by gripping your hand tightly, holding it. He still didn’t spare you a glance and kept his drilling gaze trained at the man in front.

“Journalism? So you’re one of the smart ones.” His eyes were hazy and tone lousy due to heavy alcohol consumption. His eyes again feasted at your exposed skin and you shrunk into your chair, your heart clashing against your chest. You noticed the dead silence pinning the table as everyone felt the thick tension from Levi’s disgusted stare. Your hold on Levi’s hand grew tighter, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m fine, don’t do anything rash,” you whispered but it seemed like your plea went through him, unheard.

You realised that if the man said anything more, Levi would definitely charge at him. You had to get out of here before it was too late.

“Excuse me, I’m heading to the washroom,” you muttered and gave Levi’s hand another comforting squeeze before standing to leave. You didn’t look back as you hurried to the washrooms. You planned on spending the rest of the night in the lavatory since the party was just awfully disappointing.

You wanted to stand beside Levi but not under the current circumstances. The blonde smug idiot was the most influential in the field and you wanted to do nothing to sabotage your boyfriend’s future goals.

You locked yourself in one of the stalls and sat down annoyedly. It was supposed to be a fun night out with your boyfriend. You didn’t know a rich party full of influential businessmen was just a pathetic havoc wreaking battlefield. You mentally promised to never ask Levi to take you to another event. You annoyedly massaged your forehead in slow circles, hoping to ease the ache.

“Excuse me,” you heard a shrill voice call out as someone knocked from outside. You sat up alarmed.

“Yes?” You replied unsurely.

“I think your boyfriend is outside the washroom waiting for you.” You stood up, your eyes zeroing as you whipped the door open. A brunette haired woman stood before you. “You’re Levi Ackerman’s girlfriend, right? He asked me to check inside for you,” she told you, giggling and then stepped to the sink, resuming back to washing her hands.

You rushed for the door and abruptly pulled it open, stepping outside. As expected, Levi was stationed against the wall, his eyes already tracing yours, needy and impatient. He stepped towards you and pulled you close to him, his fingers grazing your exposed neckline and you heard him breath you in.

“We’re going home,” he whispered into your neck. You nodded hesitantly as he held your hand tightly and marched out to the hall. You almost gasped- as everyone was staring at you both, thick tension brewing in the air. It seemed like you were under spotlight. Levi’s gaze was unaffectedly cold as he stayed upright. Standing beside him was a privilege since Levi had a significant presence to mobilise the crowd to stop and stare.

But this was different. Everyone was whispering and murmuring among themselves as they stared at you horrified. You wondered what had happened for everyone to be so silent and meek around him. Your gaze fearfully swayed to the table where the blonde man had been and you were shell shocked when you noticed a heavy purple bruise under his eye. Your body grew cold as you looked at Levi shocked. He noticed your questioning gaze but only responded by pulling you closer to him.

When you both were out the premises, inside the car park, you pulled at his hold. “Levi, how could you attack a powerful businessman! Have you gone mad?” You gasped, finding it hard to comprehend. He didn’t answer you and kept his moderate pace towards the car.

“Levi, I’m talking to you!” You shrieked, your eyes growing large with anger. He finally halted in his tracks and turned towards you, his eyes burning with seething anger, his fists still clenched, a bluish bruise starting to form on his right fist.

“We need to get out of here before I do something worse,” he spat, his aggressive voice making your throat dry. You felt the frustration building in your chest and your eyes burned with tears.

“You’ve ruined a great opportunity! Do you think he’ll let this go? He won’t-!” You yelled, your head pounding as you felt desperate enough to cry out. “Levi, you’ve worked so hard for this,” you cried, your heart aching.

He was adamant on establishing himself. Never losing sight of his goals, he spent a year working on his startup. He earned investments after tirelessly sacrificing sleep and lunch, date nights and family dinners. You loved him so much, so much that you were always supportive. His absence made you so lonely yet you never complained; there were nights you wanted him to hold you, days you wanted him to listen to your grieving heart, but it was best to not bother him. You internally ached and slowly the ache started to disappear when he came back. After successfully earning a huge investment, everything changed. It was like his pot of love for you flooded and spilled everywhere, unable to be contained. He stopped working excessively. He became so clingy, so needy for your presence, it drove you insane- in a good way.

“Y/n, why’re you crying?” His stern voice caused your body to shrink, goosebumps awakening on your skin. His eyes were so thunderously dark, waves of anger rippling in his frame.

“Because!” You croaked, you sounded awfully hurt. “How could you ruin chances of growing this? After you’ve worked so hard for it!” You shouted, your face angry red with tears spilling out. You were so angry and frustrated that you wanted to physically beat someone.

Levi’s chest was heaving as he stared at you, his face pinning you down, holding you captive. “You care about my fucking business right now?” He sounded hurt as well, his raspy voice so quiet, you could tell he was boiling.

“Yes!” You cried. “You’ve wanted this so bad. After this deal, you would’ve been unbeatable Levi!” You threw your hands in despair, the frown on your face deepening. Levi’s body shook as he stepped closer and before you could register it, he had grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the car, his arms immediately protecting your anterior from pain. A loud clash was heard as he pinned you beneath him, his breathing heavy, his eyes glazed.

“I’ve worked so hard, day after day so you can stand next to me without shame. You deserve someone strong and I was so pathetic back then,” he stated, his eyes trained on yours as he truthfully uttered. Each word pained you more than you could imagine. Your heart began to break, tears rolling down your cheeks like a stream.

“How could I be with you, such a gorgeous, strong woman? I was unworthy and it made my blood boil.” His confession left you utterly speechless. “Hange said I should give you up. It’s an easy way out but the thought of that kept me up at night.” Hange was Levi’s best friend from college and now a dear friend of yours. You were completely unaware of these conversations.

“The fact that Hange even mentioned that made me sick. That night, I decided to be worthy of you. Because you’re mine. I can give up this whole world but never you,” he whispered and his mouth found your neck.

“W-why didn’t you ever tell me?” You contained your moans, crying out in pain and awe as Levi’s teeth dug in your collarbone. His tongue slickly traced the bite mark across the neckline as he tasted you to his fulfilment.

“Because you don’t need to care about it,” he rasped, his heavy pants taking over your head making you twitch and turn in his hold.

“I’ve achieved enough to protect you,” he whispered against your skin and dropped wet kisses down to your cleavage.

“I want to rip his filthy fucking eyes out for looking at you like that, y/n,” he roared, the bitterness returning; his eyes remained on yours, watching you throw your head back as he satiated his hunger. His kisses grew desperate, needy- his hand against your waist tightening as he pulled you into him.

Your body reacted on its own, curling into his hot frame. Everything felt hot: from the heavy breaths exhaled against your neck to the hand gripping your waist. Your face was probably on fire and you felt so dirty for letting him submit to his desires outside in a car-park where anyone could walk in and watch a show. But it also felt so euphoric, to have him desperately feasting on you that you couldn’t reject him.

Jealous Levi made your stomach pool.

“You’re only mine-how dare that fucking crook stare at you like that,” his words were cut off as he painfully dug his teeth into your breast, a gasp escaping from your mouth.

“Levi,” you breathed, your body aching like you had caught a fever. He heard you clear and your airy words turned him on more than ever because he started to push himself into you, kisses trailing into your chest.

You felt him. You almost screamed because he was so brutally turned on, you shook against his frame, your legs falling weak. He supported you as he held you tightly, digging his nose into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent.

You were so heated when you heard footsteps, a heel clicking against a marble floor. Even though, your ears heard the sounds loud and clear, your mind was elsewhere and refused to comprehend or react appropriately by pulling away. You knew you should-this is so embarrassing but you couldn’t get yourself to push Levi away.

You were pulled out of your trance when Levi jerked back, his gaze so pained and hazy. You swear you saw his limbs shake as his chest heaved, his body so rigid, afraid to move or he would fall to the ground. He clenched his fist determinedly and swore under his breath.

“Get in the car-no one sees you like this,” he commanded. You didn’t know what he meant but you obediently ran to the passenger seat and rushed inside, your heart clashing against your chest. In the rear view mirror, you saw yourself and immediately realised what your boyfriend meant. He didn’t want anyone to see you-your hair messy, eyes hooded with intense desperation, your face flushed and breathing heavy; you looked lustrous, so turned on and oozing of desire.

The next second, you heard Levi pull the door and get inside. His forehead was covered in a cast of sweat and his hair was now a mess as if he had run his fingers through the black strands.

“I can’t drive. I literally can’t feel my legs.”

You threw your head back, your frame wreaking with laughter. He glared at you, his eyes still brewing with desire.

“Shut up before I take you here,” he threatened and you quickly shut up. You knew him too well to know that he would actually comply. You gazed at him as he sat inhaling and exhaling, an exercise he sometimes used to recover.

After sitting for ten more painful minutes, he finally drove home and you had never seen him drive so fast. It was going to be a long, long, long night and you were going to enjoy every second of it with Levi.

240 notes · View notes

noladyme · 3 years

Text

The Wife - Chapter 6

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons. First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness. Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (5131 words)

She didn’t know how much time passed. Robed of her sight, all Rosalind had to depend on, were her other senses; which told her that having sight would probably not make her situation feel better. Moans and screams. The smell of rot, sweat and decay. Trying to only breathe through her nose didn’t work, as she could practically taste the smell in the stale air. Rosalind could not lay down, as the chain attached to the collar was too short; but she could sit. Once in a while, she would feel something running over her feet, and the sound of squeaks let her know that whatever had been tugging at her chemise, was probably a rat.

Rosalind must have blacked out, because one moment, food was the furthest from her mind; but after having shut her eyes for what seemed like only a moment, she was suddenly hungrier than she’d ever been in her life. This was soon aided, as a small hatch at the bottom of the door opened, and a piece of moldy bread was pushed through it. Needing to eat something, she put it in her mouth, and forced herself not to think of the taste.

The cold draft from a crack in the door, and the hushing of the moans outside let her know it was nighttime, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to get some sleep. Her head would drop forwards, jolting her awake from the sudden tug at her neck from the collar. Getting any real rest was impossible, until she found a position – leaning against the wall, and propping her feet up on the door – that let her tilt her head in a way that would not hurt her.

She woke, when the door opened, and Kilroy was staring down at her. “Are we feeling better?”, he asked. She looked up at him with hard eyes. “I want to see my husband”, she rasped. “And I want my wedding ring back". “Apparently not”, Kilroy sighed, and the door was closed again.

Rosalind’s mind was made up. No matter how much he hated her – how little he wanted her – James would not let her stay here, if he knew. She knew his heart better than that, and there was goodness in it; hidden deep down. Just as he would not betray her, if he knew her predicament, she would not betray him. He deserved his freedom; deserved to travel to America. She would not let anyone take that from him, and put him where she was now.

Another cycle of listening to moans and screams, avoiding getting eaten by rats, eating molded bread, and trying to sleep against the wall followed; before the door opened again. This time, it was the large guard; who was holding a bucket. He crouched down in front of her, and ran his finger down her face, and across her dry lips. “Thirsty?”, he asked. She nodded timidly, before he lifted the bucket, and threw the entire content – ice cold, foul smelling water – at her. He closed the door with a laugh. “My husband!”, she screamed at the door.

Screams, rats, bread, sleep. Rosalind was shaking with cold, and her entire body ached. The door opened again, and Kilroy looked down at her. The guard was standing next to him. “Well?”, the doctor said. “James…”, she whispered. Kilroy sighed. “Get her on her feet. Strange wants her”, he muttered.

The guard unfastened the chain from the wall, but left the collar on her neck. He picked her up, and pulled her out of the room. Unable to stand on her own, he dragged her down the hall – making sure to let his fingers wander over her breasts as he did so – and back into the room where she’d first met Strange. He and his associates were waiting there for her, and she was placed in the chair by the table. Strange sat down opposite her again.

“Now… You’ve had a few days to think. Are you any nearer a resolution on how you wish to spend your future?”. She looked at him with drowsy and yet hard eyes. “I want to speak to James. I am not signing anything until I see him”. Strange shook his head, and laughed. “I believe you might actually be mad, Rosalind…”. “It’s Mrs. Delaney… And you will let me see my husband”.

Strange suddenly looked at her with what he clearly thought was an empathetic expression. “He knows you’re here, my dear”, he said. “And he has made no move to come see you”. “You’re lying”, she croaked. “He wouldn’t leave me here… He would try to…”. “He hasn’t. You’re on your own”. He gestured at Wilton, who spread out the document claiming James insane in front of her. “Take your life back. Leave this place, and become a rich woman!”.

Rosalind closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It was a lie, it had to be. “Put me back in that room. I will never sign those papers”. Strange’s eyes flickered with rage, and Rosalind felt a smile form on her lips. “You’re right. I am mad. Insane beyond belief. And you will never get James, or Nootka Sound; but I’ll tell you what you will get… One day, when you’re sitting in your office, enjoying your tea, and signing papers which send young men as slaves across the ocean, you will feel a sharp sting in your back. When you look behind you, you will see James standing there, his knife dripping with your blood… And that will be the last thing you ever see in your miserable life”.

Her chair was knocked over, and a hard kick was delivered to her ribs from the guard. Strange looked down at her with enraged eyes. The guard yanked at the chain, and she was pulled out of the room by her neck. She held on to the collar with all the strength she had, to avoid being strangled.

Once back in the tiny room, the door was closed, and she was once again alone in the darkness.

---

“How long do you say she’s been in there?”. A familiar voice roused her from her state of unconsciousness. “Four days. She’s a tough one”, she heard Strange reply. “You’re not wrong about that. Let me see her”, Cholmondeley said. “And you’re sure you will be able to convince her?”. “She’s been my patient for many years. Ever since her husband left, and she needed medicines to calm her nerves”.

The door opened, and Cholmondeley crouched in front of her. “Rosalind?”, he whispered, and placed a hand on her cheek. “Rosalind, my dear. Wake up”. She strained to adjust her eyes to the light, and looked at the chemist. His eyes were pained. “Cholmondeley…”, she croaked. “Yes, my dear, it’s me”. He turned to look at the men behind him. “Please, will you let me speak with her in private. I’m convinced…”. “No. All conversation will be supervised”, Strange said. The chemist nodded. “Of course, I understand. But at least release her from that collar”. “The collar stays on, until we have what we need… But let us speak in different accommodations”, Strange said.

The guard released the chain from the wall, and she was once again dragged down the hall; though this time, it was Cholmondeley supporting her weight, and his grasp of her was much gentler than the guards had been.

Once back in the room with the table, Cholmondeley sat down across from her, and took her hand. “Dear, sweet Rosalind…”, he said. “James…”, she whispered; her throat dry and hurting. “He is not here… and he is not coming”. Rosalind’s lips parted, and her breath hitched. “But… He was supposed to come and…”, she whimpered. “I told you”, Strange chuckled. Cholmondeley squeezed her hand, and gave her meaningful look. “Listen to me now, my dear”, he said. “Sir Strange has let me know of your situation here. He is right. You must sign the papers, claiming your husband mad”. Rosalind could no longer hold back tears. “He was supposed to come… Why didn’t he come for me?”.

“Rose! Listen! I am here now…”, Cholmondeley said. Rose. He was there now. Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew in a short, croaking breath. “Sign the papers”. “But…”, she whispered. The chemist held up a hand to halt her. “Become the woman you were before James. You can become Rosalind Beauchamp again. Everything will be alright… Do you understand me?” She swallowed thickly, and nodded. “Yes… I’ll sign them”. Cholmondeley squeezed her hand again. “Good… good. I will be outside the gate to fetch you, when you’re released”. He looked up at Wilton, who once again produced the document for her to sign, and a pen and an ink bottle was placed on the table.

With a shaking hand, Rosalind picked up the pen, and dipped it in ink, before lowering it to the parchment, and signing it, Rosalind Beauchamp. Cholmondeley quickly picked up the document, and blew on the signature, before rolling it up, and handing it to Wilton. “Get the lady something to cover her nakedness, and let her out of that collar”. He nodded at Rosalind, and left the room quickly.

The now grouchy looking guard unlocked the collar, and she was released from it. A dirty coat was produced for her, and two guards she had not seen before entered the room. They got her on her feet, and supported her weight between them. “I’m glad we could finally see eye to eye on this matter, Mrs. Delaney”, Strange said smugly. “As soon as your husband is in custody, I will have our attorneys prepare the papers for you to sign over Nootka Sound to us”. Rosalind gave him a putrid glare. “You are a vile man”, she hissed. “A vile and very rich man”, Strange retorted. “Good day”. The three Company men all left the room.

The two guards half carried her down the filthy hallway, and down a flight of stairs. She was lead through a series of doors, and finally through a courtyard, with a large gate at one end. Here she was pushed through a small door, and out on the street. Cholmondeley stood ready to help her into a carriage, and they drove away from Bedlam in haste.

She’d passed out again, and only woke when they stopped at a building she’d never seen before. The chemist helped her out of the carriage, and through a door. There was a flight of stairs which she could not scale herself, but two very strong and strange looking women lifted her between them, and took her upstairs. She heard singing and glasses clinking against each other, and the five o’clock shadow on one of her helpers let her know she was in a Molly house.

“In here”, a molly with a soft voice said, and she was taken to a warm room, which smelled like gin and perfume. Here, she was laid down on the bed. The molly sat down on the edge of the bed, and moved a lock of hair from her face. Cholmondeley stood at the foot of the bed. “Godfrey is trustworthy…”, he said, and nodded towards the molly. “Where is he?”, the molly asked. “On his way”, the chemist replied. He walked over to Rosalind and took her hand. “Now, are we friends?”, he smiled. Rosalind nodded, and tried to smile. “Thank you…”, she whispered. He took her hand and kissed it. “I must go. I’m glad you’re safe”, he said, and quietly left the room.

“Sleep now”, the molly said softly. “Sleep…”. Rosalind closed her eyes, and drifted off.

---

She woke to the sound of what she thought was thunder, but turned out to be the sound of boots, when James slammed the door open, and stomped in to the room. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was seeing a ghost. The molly, who had been seated in a chair by the bed, stood up, and put a hand on his arm. “She’s weak. I don’t think they’ve been…”. “Leave us”, James demanded. The molly went towards the door. James let out a grunt, before turning his head slightly. “Godders… Thank you”. The molly nodded, and smiled a little, before leaving the room and closing the door.

Rosalind tried to sit up, but found herself too weak to do so. James came to sit on the edge of the bed, and looked her over. His fingertips ghosted her wrists, where he could see bruising from where the Company men had held her down. He clenched his fists for a moment, before putting his arms around her, and pulling her up to sit. She whimpered in pain, when his hand brushed against her side. “What did they do to you…?”, James said, and pulled his hand away from the spot. “I’m fine…”, she lied. He raised his brows at her in disbelief, and gently lowered her back onto the pillow. “You are not that good an actress”, he said. “You’ve been starved and seemingly beaten…”. “Please, stop”, Rosalind pleaded.

He took her left hand, and stroked her knuckles, pausing at her left ring finger. “There was a doctor there… Kilroy. He took my ring”, Rosalind said. “I want it back. I’d like to have at least that…”. “You will have it back. I promise”, James said, before lifting her chin slightly, and looking at the bruises on her neck. “A collar…”, she whispered. “Some guard… I don’t know his name. He chained me by the neck, and… put his hands on me”. James tensed up. “I will handle it”, he grunted.

His fingers ghosted the bruises on her wrists. “They had a document… I wouldn’t sign it”. “I know”, he said. Rosalind felt a smile tug at her lips. “I suppose I should always assume you know”, she said. “So, why did you not come for me sooner?”. There was a trace of hurt in her voice. “I don’t know everything”, he admitted. “I thought you left. It wasn’t until Godders came to me yesterday, and told me Geary had taken you, and handed you over to the Company”. “Godders?”. “Godfrey”, he said, and gazed towards the door. “Hmm. He’s a clerk at the Company”. “When he told you, you sent Cholmondeley for me. Now, will they come for him?”. “They won’t find him. He is working on a project which will give me my safe passage; well away from London".

He shook his head at her. “Four days… Why didn’t you sign the document before?”, he asked. “You know why…”, Rosalind replied. James looked down. “Will you be able to leave now? After I did…?”. “Hmm, if you did as Cholmondeley said”, James nodded. “The document isn’t legal. It will never hold up in court”. “Good”.

Rosalind looked down at herself, wanting to speak of anything other than James leaving her again. “I’m filthy”, she said. “And hungry”. James got on his feet, and left the room for a moment, before returning with the molly – Godfrey – who was carrying a wash basin and a pitcher. James handed her an apple, and Rosalind bit into it; relishing in the taste of fresh fruit. Godfrey poured some water into the basin, and was about to wet a sponge, when James took it. “I will do it”, he muttered, and Godfrey walked towards the door. “Godfrey…”, Rosalind croaked. The molly-clerk turned to look at her. His wig was slightly crooked, but he looked strangely like an angel, as he stood there in the glow of the candles in the room. “Thank you…”. “You’re welcome”, he replied quietly, and left the room again.

While James wet the sponge, and rolled up his sleeves, Rosalind finished the apple; having devoured it within moments. He took the carcass, and put it away, before sitting on the bed again, and beginning to wash her gently. Before long, Rosalind was dozing off, lulled by the sounds of raunchy songs from down the hall, and James gently washing away the last four days.

---

Just before dawn, James carried Rosalind out of the Molly house, and in to a carriage; before driving them back to Chamber House. She was clean now – James having washed her thoroughly while she slept – though she had bruises both on her body, and on her soul; but she was alive. Without the energy to contemplate her future, she fell in to a deep sleep again, in her own bed.

Pearl woke her up some hours later, with a plate of food and coffee; which she quickly ate and drank. The maid helped her into a robe. The chemise and stay she’d worn in the asylum had been burnt, she was told; as she let Pearl lead her over to the vanity to sit. The maid did up her hair in a braid, and Rosalind smiled warmly at her once she was finished. “Why do you work for Helga? You’re a very good maid, you could be a housekeeper, or…”. “I like working at the tavern. Most of the men are quite nice, and some are really lonely… I like to make them happy”, Pearl said. “So, you want to stay there?”. “Maybe I’ll be a madam someday”, Pearl said with hope in her voice. “Helga’s been training me”. “If that’s what you want, I hope you’ll get it”, Rosalind smiled.

Once she’d gingerly walked downstairs, Brace rushed over to greet her with tears in his eyes. “I was so worried, ma’am”, he said. “I… Thank you, Brace. You’re a good friend”, Rosalind replied. “Where is James?”. “He said he had to fetch you something”, the butler said. He took her elbow, and led her towards the fireplace. “Come sit down. You’ve had a hell of a few days, I’m told”. “You were told right”, Rosalind smiled. “So, what happens now?”, Brace asked, and handed her a glass of brandy. She sat down on the sofa, and took a sip; putting off answering. The dog appeared from somewhere, and rested its head on her feet. Rosalind sighed deeply. “I don’t know”, she admitted. “James is leaving for America, and I will… Well, I suppose I will go back to Mrs. Owen”. Brace obviously disliked her answer, but held his tongue.

After a few hours, Rosalind was growing worried again. At nightfall James had not returned, and she was afraid the Company had found him, and would bring him to Bedlam. She ate her dinner alone with the dog. When he finally returned – his boots covered in mud, and with a hard look on his face – she let out a sigh of relief. James gave the dog a scratch behind the ear.

Rosalind looked at him timidly. “I thought…”, she began, but stopped herself. “Hmm?”, he muttered, and took off his coat and boots; throwing them in a corner of the hallway, before walking over to shove a potato into his mouth. “Never mind. You’re here… They didn’t take you”. “They will come”, James said, after swallowing. “Oh… Then I hope you get your safe passage, so that that you can leave before they do”. “I will have it soon”, he said matter-of-factly, and ran a hand over his face casually. “I finished negotiations with Musgrove two days ago”. Rosalind’s heart dropped. She’d known nothing had changed, that James would still travel to America; and yet his words hit her like a punch to the gut. “I’m happy for you”, she lied. “I’ll retire. Good night”.

As quickly as she could, she scaled the stairs, and went into her room. She pulled out a trunk from under the bed, and winced in pain from the movement. James came in to the room, and took the trunk from her; setting it down next to the bed. “Do not strain yourself. You’re still injured”, he said. He took her arm, and helped her back into bed. “Rest, now…”. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and fluffed the pillow behind her back. “Thank you”, Rosalind said. “Once I am well enough, I will leave. You won’t have to take responsibility for me anymore. You’ll be free…”. “Hmm”, James responded.

He reached into the pocket of his vest, and held out her ring. Rosalind felt a pang of relief mixed with pain go through her heart. “I got you this”, James said. “The doctor was dreadfully sorry, when I took it back. I almost understood his apology through his tears of pain. And the guard won’t be putting his hands on anyone again. Because he’s dead”. Rosalind reached for the ring, but James held on to it, and looked down at the garnet adorning it. “I do love you, Rose. That never stopped”, he said. “I have no regrets about anything I have done in life, save one. Leaving you”. His voice was matter-of-factly, and there was no uncertainty in his eyes. “I will not do it again”.

There they were; the words she’d longed to hear from him, for so long. To hear them with such confidence and assuredness was overwhelming. A shiver went through her body, and Rosalind found it difficult to respond. “Are you staying in England?”, she said quietly, after a moment. “No, that’s not an option. Too many ghosts here”, he said. “But I would like you to come with me to America…”. James gaze was timid, and his voice more gravelly than usual.

Rosalind’s mind raced, but every word she wanted to convey, the many ways she wanted to say yes, would not come out. “You… claimed you had no use for me”, she whispered. “I said I was a bad man, not a clever one”, James said. Rosalind let out a short gasp, and was just about to give her answer, when there was a loud banging on the door. “James Delaney!”, a voice barked. James got on his feet; his body taut. “Stay here”, he said, left the room, and began walking down the stairs.

A thundering of boots entered the house, and angry voices filled the hallway. “James Delaney, we’ve come to take you in to custody”, a voice said. “You are to be admitted to Bethlem Royal Hospital”. “On what grounds?”, James replied calmly. “Because you are a mad man”, a voice Rosalind recognized said. It was Wilton. She got out of the bed as quickly as she could without hurting herself, and pulled her robe closer around her body. From the sounds of feet moving, she could tell they were moving in to the sitting room. She quietly went out onto the second-floor landing, and began moving down the stairs. “And your evidence?”, James said. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he had seated himself in the chair by the fireplace, looking like having guards from Bedlam in his house was a completely normal occurrence. Brace was standing in the doorway, a worried expression on his face. He rushed over to support her, by taking her arm.

Wilton pulled out the document she’d signed the day before. “I have here an accusation from your wife, stating you have conducted strange rituals, and committed heinous acts against her. The confirmation of said acts to be a sign of insanity has been given by a doctor”. James nodded solemnly. “Hmm. So, my wife signed her name on that document… And her signature is what makes me mad enough to be committed to Bedlam”, he said. “Yes”, Wilton said, with a wry smile.

“I did no such thing”, Rosalind said, pried herself free from Brace’s hold; and gently pushed her way past the guards. She walked over to stand by James, resting a hand on his shoulder. Wilton widened his eyes. “Mrs. Delaney… You are here…”, he said bewilderedly. His eyes travelled down her form; and he seemed flustered at her state of dress and health. Rosalind was well aware that she was not clothed to greet guests of any kind – even the uninvited ones – and she had dark bruises on her wrists and neck, visible over the collar of her robe, and bellow the sleeves. Four days of having been locked up in a small room had made her pale, and the lack of real food had taken a toll on her as well. James gave her a quick, chiding look for not having listened, and stayed upstairs. “And why would my wife not be here; in her home?”, he said. The Company man seemed rattled at the question, but quickly gathered himself. “Well, we were told she would be leaving London with her personal physician”. Raising his brows, and shrugging in a cool manner. “She has no reason to leave, her place is here. With me”. “With a mad man, who abuses her… Mrs. Delaney, really…”.

Rosalind felt her legs begin to give from exhaustion. James quickly got on his feet, and took her arm; letting her sit in his chair. He stroked his fingertips against the back of her neck, and she looked up at him with nothing but love in her eyes. “My husband has never raised his hand to me, and I’ve never put my name on any document which states so”. “But your signature is right here”, Wilton insisted. “You’re mistaken. My name is not on that document”, Rosalind reiterated. James looked out the corner of his eyes at her. Wilton unfolded the parchment, and began reading. “You’ve clearly stated here… Rituals involving bloodletting… bestiality… rape of undersigned…”. “Did I ever rape you, Rose?”, James asked her in a calm tone. “Absolutely not. I’ve only ever had willing intercourse with you, on the many occasions such events have occurred”. She smiled brightly. “Very willing, I might add”. A few of the guards stifled embarrassed grins.

Wilton took a deep breath, and was clearly trying to restrain himself. “You signed it. I was present when you did!”. “You were indeed present when I signed that document”, Rosalind nodded. “In fact, you were one of the men holding me down, as sir Stuart Strange forced the pen into my hand”. James made a sound that was a mix between an angry grunt and a scoff. Rosalind brushed her hand over the bruises on her wrist. “I’m sure we remember the event in very different ways”, Wilton said. “I’m sure we do…”, Rosalind said quietly.

Wilton cleared his throat. “In any case, here it is; in clear lettering. Undersigned hereby declares that what is stated in this document is factual without a doubt. And here is your name; Rosalind… Beauchamp”. Wilton’s face dropped. “This is… You signed this!”. “But not with my name. It’s not legally viable”, Rosalind said. She looked up at her husband. “Did you ever find my ring, my love?”, she asked. James looked at her in wonder. “Hmm…? Yes, it’s here”, he said, and held it out. Rosalind held out her left hand, and James slipped it on her ring finger. His hand lingered there for a moment, before her bent down to brush his lips against her knuckles. Wilton’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard when he saw the ring; knowing where it had come from, and how James had probably retained it.

“Now, gentlemen; if you don’t mind… It is late”, Rosalind said. “And I have had a trying few days. I should like to rest”. A smile ghosted James face, and he looked at the intruding men. “What my wife is trying to say, is get out of our house”. Wilton pointed an angry finger at James and Rosalind. “This will not stand; do you hear me? This is war!”.

He and the guards left the house as quickly as they’d arrived, and Brace locked the door behind them. “I’ll turn in, then”, the butler smiled, and disappeared down towards the kitchen, and his room.

James licked his lips, and nodded. “Hmm”. He turned to face his wife, and studied her face. “Very willingly?” “Well, I… I was trying to…”. Rosalind’s cheeks were burning, and she couldn’t bear looking James in the eyes. He got down on one knee, as he had more than ten years ago, when he asked her to be his wife. “Will you be going with me, then?”. “Yes”, Rosalind smiled. “If you will have me”. “Wife”, James said, and stroked her cheek. “I would be having you right now, if you weren’t recovering and in pain”. Rosalind laughed, but instantly winced from an ache in her ribs. “Perhaps you could take me to bed anyway”, she whimpered. “Without having me…”.

As gently as he could, James scooped his wife into his arms, and carried her upstairs; but just when Rosalind thought he was about to enter her bedroom, he continued up towards the attic. Here, he placed her on the bed, and stripped down to his shirt, before getting under the covers, and swaddling her in his arms. James gently stroked her side, taking care not to put pressure on her ribs. Still, Rosalind gasped at the contact. His expression darkened, and the devil that lived inside him, was beginning to show its face. “You already killed him…”, Rosalind said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Hmm. Should have kept him alive a bit longer”, James muttered. “The Company will suffer as well”.

Tears began forming in her eyes, and Rosalind took a gasping, painful breath. “I want to forget it…”. “No”, James said, and wiped her tears away. “Don’t forget. Be angry, and let your anger make you stronger”. “I am angry, but I don’t feel strong… I just feel… fear”, she whispered. James tutted at her, and let a smile form on his lips. “Fear does not mean you are not strong. It means you are rational”, he said. He shifted his body slightly, letting Rosalind rest against his shoulder. “You were in danger, and you still are. But you have to accept that fear, and act accordingly”. “As in, stay in this house”, she sighed. “Hmm”, James nodded. When I am not here, I will have my men watching the house and you. Brace is armed, and I want you to carry a…”. “No… I can’t use a pistol; I wouldn’t know how to”. “A knife, then”, he said. Rosalind frowned. “No discussions, my love. You must be able to defend yourself, until we leave”.

Rosalind lit up in a smile. “Say that again…”, she breathed. James squinted down at her. “You must be able to…”. “No… Call me…”. “My love”, James said, and lifted her chin; placing a soft kiss on her lips. “My love…”.

Those were the last words Rosalind heard, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

---

#james delaney #james delaney fic #james delaney x oc #james delaney angst #tom hardy

91 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 3 years

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Summary: They’re all connected in some way. All have their own stories to tell. If Dan were a better person he’d get to know them more but he always feels like something is holding him back. So they just continue to work in each others spaces, creating things out of dough and making better things with icing. Donna’s slogan is that everything was made with love but he thinks that’s just because she made this thing—they’re just the hands that give it out to other people. One day, Dan thinks, he’ll hope to feel that passionate about something again. Or a story about grief and loss, found family, donuts, and first love.

First Impressions (Perhaps I Was Wrong) (ao3) - Ablissa

Summary: Phil Lester goes back to university for his third year, expecting to live in the dorms with his childhood best friend PJ. That’s how it’s been for the past years, after all. However, due to a mistake of some sort, he finds himself with a new roommate to spend the semester with.

Daniel Howell, three years his junior, has rich brown eyes, a laptop to hide them behind, and not more than two words to spare in Phil’s direction. Phil is no fortune teller, but he foresees the upcoming months will be filled with a whole lot of awkward silence.

Unless, of course, Dan proves him wrong…Could one little mistake lead to something entirely life-changing? Perhaps it could. After all, nearly everything changes when Phil meets Dan.

Flatmates (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: oh my god they were flatmates / the fuckboy!phil au we all deserve

fortune cookies (ao3) - oqua

Summary: Dan goes with Phil to celebrate Father's Day with the Lesters, and suddenly all his complicated feelings about his own parents come bubbling to the surface.

Basically 11k words of Dan being angsty and the Lesters being wonderful.

If You Don't Love Me, Pretend (ao3) - phantasticworks

Summary: All his life, Dan has wanted to have the chance to be a parent someday. He would be the best parent that ever existed, he was sure of it. Fostering might not be the most traditional way on the road to parenting, but Dan's dead set on doing it anyway. But, well, it would be easier with a co-parent, right?

the bed-sharing, fake relationship, friends-to-lovers, parent fic i was desperate to read; when i shouted into the void and was met with silence, i decided i'd do it myself

Monochrome (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: When you build your life out of fear that your mental illness could worsen, it leaves little room for excitement. Luckily, Dan has found a space online where he feels comfortable.

Problematic - realityisnoplacetolive

Summary: Late one night, Dan stumbles across the blog phanfic and is captivated by the reality tag. He wonders, if these writers had access to a few more choice details about his and Phil’s relationship, just how close to reality could they get? He decides to find out.

slutville, population two (ao3) - dayevsphil

Summary: Dan and Phil both have reputations for sleeping around. Their friends don't think they could hold down a relationship if they wanted to. Sounds like a challenge to them.

In Dan's defense, tequila makes anything seem like a good idea.

Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY (ao3) - natigail

Summary: @danielhowell: maybe i’d actually consider doing @bbcstrictly if they allowed same-sex couples. who wouldn’t want a sexy man spinning you around? it’s not just a girl’s dream. c'mon people let's see some pretty and fierce girls pair up and handsome and strong boys get it on. i dare you.

Dan Howell calls Strictly out on Twitter for not allowing any same-sex couples and accidentally volunteers himself to be one of the contestants if they were to change that. It was a joke. It had so clearly been a joke. Why did they take him up on it?! He’s sure he’ll trip over his own feet and hate every second, but then he meets his partner, the endearingly clumsy dancer Phil Lester.

they grew up so nicely, didn’t they? (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Cornelia doesn’t just get a boyfriend when she starts dating Martyn, she gets a whole second family too. Kath and Nigel welcome her with open arms and she becomes a pseudo older sister to Phil.

She is there watching from the sidelines as a boy bolts right into Phil’s heart and sets up camp. She gets to watch as Dan and Phil build careers and an internet community and all the trials and tribulations, as well as the pride and happiness, it brings along.

Those Who Trust - theshyauthor

Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Time's Tide (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: All men have secrets, and Phil won't let his own be known. But even in 1984's Manchester there is another person that understands.

too far to walk alone (ao3) - chickenfree

Summary: “The hazelnut stracciatella,” he says, as always. They might or might not have a bet in the shop about whether he’ll ever vary.

where we belong (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: “Only you,” Martyn says.

“Only me what?”

“Only you could end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a gay author who writes gay books. Jesus Christ, Phil.”

In which Phil is snowed in with nobody but the mysterious dark haired author next door for company.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists

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hutchhitched · 4 years

Text

Peeta Mellark, CEO

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 8: Peeta is a rich CEO and in love with another who disappeared before their marriage. So he withdraw within himself. But then he meets Katniss (her background is up to you) and falls in love for the second time. [submitted by @mysteriouslycraftyreview ]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the fifth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. While this submission fills the prompt, I have more in store for this couple.

______________

Peeta Mellark tossed his glasses down on the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. His tired eyes felt like they were full of sandpaper, and the stubble on his jaw was definitely not the look of a successful businessman, let alone the CEO of an up and coming manufacturing cooperation that was poised to break into the Fortune 500 in the very near future. Exhausted, he shoved at the pile of papers on his desk and cursed his luck. He needed an administrative assistant immediately. Like yesterday. Or two weeks ago.

To be fair, he needed a lot more than a new administrative assistant. He’d been in a funk for the past year, since his fiancée sent him a text (seriously, a text?) and called off their wedding—three days before it was to take place.

Cashmere’s rejection had been tough to take. He had loved her so much, still did, if he was telling the truth, and it hurt every day to go home to his empty apartment and not see her there. His friends, business acquaintances, and family all tried to make him feel better by telling him he was too good for her, but that didn’t help at all. Cashmere and he were good together for a long time. It wasn’t her fault that his ardor had grown after their engagement and hers had cooled. It sucked that her attraction to him had abated to friendship, but he didn’t regret anything other than that his marriage had never happened.

Since his broken engagement, Peeta had retreated into himself. He didn’t spend much time with anyone, including his family or close friends who all wanted to help so much it made him anxious. He couldn’t handle their good intentions when all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch in sweats and binge shows and eat junk food. If he hadn’t been the head of a company, he would have done that every day. Instead, he went into the office and buried himself in his work before going home and heading to bed—incredibly alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to his parents on the phone or grabbed lunch with anyone if it wasn’t for business.

Sometimes he missed being part of the human race, interacting with others and seeing their eyes light up with joy when they laughed. He missed family dinners with his brothers and nights out at the club with Finnick, Darius, Thom, and Gale. But most of all, he missed being in love with someone. Having a relationship with a woman who wanted only him. A person to come home to and wake up with. A confidante who knew his secrets and faults and loved him anyway. More than anything, he was just really, really lonely and more than a little horny. He was an All-American adult male, after all, and it had been far too long since he’d been with anyone other than himself.

Peeta pushed the intercom button on his phone and spoke into it. “Delly, can you come in here, please?”

“Right away, sir.”

Peeta smiled at Delly when she entered the room. As office manager, she’d worked her job and that of his missing assistant for too long. She deserved a raise. She also happened to be one of his oldest friends, which is why he managed to keep it together every day instead of losing it each time he thought about how empty his life was outside the office.

“Delly, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the way things are going around here,” he said and idly twirled a pen between his fingers. “I think we need a change, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Delly, you’ve known me your whole life. Can you cut it out with the ‘sir’ bullshit? It’s me.”

She visibly relaxed and sank into the chair opposite his desk. “What do you want to change, Peeta? Am I not doing a good enough job?”

He winced at the worried furrow of her brow and chided himself for making her job harder than it already was. He made a mental note to submit the paperwork for a raise for her the next day.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured her, “but you’ve been covering for two people for months. It’s time I bite the bullet and get someone else in here.”

“Do you want me to take a look at the resumés and send you the most qualified?” she offered. “I can go over them this evening and send them your way.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’ve done enough. Go home. Take the weekend off, and don’t worry about anything. I just need the applicant file before you leave. I’ll review them and set up some interviews for early next week. Deal?”

Her relief was palpable, and he tried to quell the guilt he felt for pushing her so hard instead of finding a replacement for his last assistant. She brought him the file right away, and he waved her out the office doors before she could find something else she had to do before she left. He’d flipped through several applications before his phone buzzed.

“Finnick,” he answered. “How’s it going, man?”

“Peeta Mellark, my man,” came the hearty response. “Haven’t seen you in months. It’s Friday. Come meet us at Ripper’s.”

“I’d love to. I really would, but—”

“But nothing, man. Get your ass down here. Time to rejoin the living.”

“I can’t. Snowed under here.”

“I will come drag you out of that office if you don’t get the fuck down here within the hour. I proposed. I will not take no for an answer.”

“Congratulations, man, but I really—”

“One hour, you asshole. You’ve been warned,” Finnick threatened and disconnected the call.

Peeta heaved a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. Finnick engaged. That was really something—something that made his insides twist and curl and hurt. Despite that, he had to go meet his friends. Finnick was the first to congratulate Peeta after he’d ask Cashmere to marry him and had been there after the breakup, too. Peeta couldn’t shirk, no matter how much he wanted to go home and hide.

Frustrated and despondent, he packed up his laptop and files carefully before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling a bottle of whiskey from its depths. He poured two fingers of the dark liquid and loosened his tie. When he took a sip, the liquor burned a trail down his throat enough that he tugged the tie off completely and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. By the time he’d finished his drink, he’d also lost his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. At least this way he looked like a regular working schmuck instead of an uptight executive who had no life outside the office.

Fortified by the drink and a burgeoning desire to reconnect with his friends, Peeta made his way uptown to Ripper’s. Memories hit him in the gut as soon as the door opened. The sounds and scents assailed him, and a flash of evenings out with his friends and his fiancée flickered in his head. Cashmere leaning over to kiss him as his friends whooped. The taste of her lips after they both shot tequila, lime and salt clinging to her lips. Finnick grinning at him when he got his last promotion. Gale and Darius ribbing him about a new crush. Thom announcing his impending fatherhood. So many memories, and all they did was remind him how desperately lonely he was, despite his financial and professional success.

Except that did matter tonight. It was Finnick’s time to celebrate, and he wound his way through the tables to the back corner where his friends waited.

“Peeta Mellark! The man, the myth, the legend, right here in Ripper’s with us lowly humans.”

Peeta couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good to see you, too, Finn. It’s been too long.”

“That’s not our fault. Is it, boys?”

“Who are you calling a boy?” Gale snorted over his beer. “I only see men here. At least, those of us sitting down. You and Mister Hotshot might not have reached full maturity yet, though.”

Peeta laughed as Finnick flipped off the other guys at the table and then settled into the booth. It felt good to see his friends again. He needed to remember to make more time for them in the future.

“So, how’s the high life, man?” Thom asked.

Peeta shrugged and ordered before answering. Thanking the waitress, he slumped down in his seat and admitted, “Crazy busy, as always. I need a new administrative assistant. I’m working Delly to death, and she deserves better.”

“Some of us would like to see our wives,” Darius grunted. “Should never have agreed when she asked.”

“Didn’t realize she had to ask permission to leave the house,” Peeta answered pointedly.

“Oh, come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that,” Darius protested. “We just have one of those marriages where we talk things through and make decisions together.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied Darius and Thom their marriages and Finnick his engagement. Even Gale had a serious girlfriend, although he hadn’t met her yet. Maybe that was why it didn’t seem too far-fetched when he spoke.

“My girlfriend’s in between jobs. She’s a fantastic office manager. Maybe she could help you out.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. I’ll have her give you a call.”

“Thanks, man. You’ve just saved my life.”

Finnick leaned in and grinned cheekily. “Great. Then you can afford to get drunk tonight.”

“I really can’t.”

“Too bad. Here’s our first round of shots.”

****

Peeta woke the next morning hung the hell over. How he’d allowed his friends, in particular Finnick, to convince him to stay and then do shots was beyond him. His only excuse was that it was the weekend, and he didn’t have to go to the office today. Otherwise, his headache and significant dehydration might have killed him. He managed to stagger to the kitchen where he brewed a pot of coffee and downed half a liter of water before his phone rang.

“Hawthorne. What’s up?” he rasped into the receiver.

“Hey, Peet. I know it’s early, but my girl’s here, and I suggested she call you about the job. She’s game for it, so I figured I might as well hook you two up before I forget. You free to chat?”

Peeta grunted but agreed. Reaching for a mug, he poured himself some coffee and added cream before settling at the counter. He wasn’t prepared for the snarky voice that echoed through the phone, but he immediately straightened when he heard it. The woman on the other end of the line was a spitfire and sounded exactly like what he needed to help keep his office running and give his oldest friend a break.

“Gale tells me you need some help keeping your workplace running smoothly. I can do that for you, but I don’t come cheap. Pay me well, don’t give me shit, and I’ll make your life easier.”

“That’s quite an offer, Ms., uh…?”

“Mason. Johanna Mason. I’ve been keeping corporate America organized for the past ten years. You have quite a reputation. Youngest CEO at Panem Industries in ages. Survived the Coriolanus Snow purge and caught the eye of the board of directors in a good way. I think you surprised everyone when they realized you weren’t just a piece in their games. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he answered, impressed with her knowledge of the business world. Gale must have given her a heads up, but he suspected she’d already known more than most. “You seem to be a player, too. I’m impressed.”

“I’m very impressive. I’m sure you’ve heard about some of my best attributes from your friend, so let’s just move past the posturing and get to the specifics,” she announced, her voice businesslike. “I can start Monday. Gale indicated this could be temporary or long-term, depending on your other assistants. I’m amenable to either. As for my salary—”

Peeta almost blanched at the figure but wasn’t deterred by her request. Good office managers were worth every cent they were paid, and Ms. Mason—Johanna! She was his friend’s girlfriend, after all—seemed to be exactly what he needed.

“I have one caveat,” he insisted. “Gale is my friend, and you and he are together, but you are my employee. Our relationship needs to stay professional.”

“Gale, honey,” she purred. “Peeta wants me to be professional. You think I can handle that?”

Peeta cringed at the wet sounds in his ear. He’d be offended if Gale hadn’t taken the phone briefly and hissed, “She’s good for it, Mellark. You won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Can I call you Johanna? You’re hired. Thirty-day trial, and a five percent raise once you’ve proven yourself.”

“You won’t need thirty days for that.”

He was almost positive she was right, and he looked forward to Monday when he could offer Delly some time off to spend with her family.

****

“I need that folder,” Peeta announced into his phone and scribbled a few notes on the report before him. Johanna swept into his office a few seconds later. She’d only been working for him for a week, but she’d already revamp his world. Everything ran smoother; Delly’d already put in for some well-deserved vacation, and he hadn’t been subjected to any inappropriate knowledge of his friend from his new employee. “Thanks, Jo. Can you—”

“Already done. Meeting with Heavensbee is moved up to 1:00, and you have a business lunch tomorrow with Seneca Crane at the Capitol Grill. Both indicated their interest when I arranged the details.”

“You are a gift,” he said, distracted by the email he’d just received about a new project in China. “Seriously, thank you for everything you do.”

“No thanks needed. You pay me enough. I’m happy to make your life better.”

He chuckled and sat back when she plopped a hot chocolate in front of him. “How’d you know? This is my favorite.”

“You forget who I’m banging on the weekend?”

“Gale, of course.”

“And I don’t wait for the weekend, either,” she said with a wink over her shoulder. He smiled fondly as she slipped out the door and back to her desk. He understood what his friend saw in her. She didn’t take any shit, was sexy as hell, and knew how to get stuff done. If he had fifteen more like her, he’d take over the world. Not that he was too far off from that anyway.

****

“You mind if I take a long lunch tomorrow?” Johanna asked as she handed Peeta several files and watched him tuck them into his briefcase. “A girlfriend of mine just got back to town, and I promised I’d meet up with her. Won’t happen again.”

“Take all the time you need,” he agreed. “Delly can handle everything while you’re gone. It’s not a problem.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Got a hot date with my man.”

Peeta chuckled as he shrugged on his jacket. “Tell Gale I said hi. Been a while since we hung out at Ripper’s.”

“That’s because I make it worth it to him not to leave the house.”

“I’m sure you do,” he mumbled as he headed for the elevator.

“Good luck on your date!” she called as the doors slid shut, and he groaned.

If she hadn’t reminded him at the last second, he could have argued with her, but now it was too late. He’d stupidly agreed to a setup. It was only drinks at a cocktail bar around the corner, but he had a million things to do before the next day. He didn’t have time to make small talk with a woman he didn’t know as they both sipped overpriced drinks and tried to figure out how long they had to stay before they escaped with a modicum of dignity. If he didn’t have to answer to Johanna the next day, he’d skip, but he just didn’t want to hear it. With a sigh, he turned left out of the building and made his way to meet his date.

“Rue?” he guessed when he met the slim, African American woman sitting at the bar alone. She was lovely and smart and very sweet, but he could tell within five minutes that they weren’t right for each other. He offered a second round, but she declined politely.

“You’re a great guy,” she said with a kiss to his cheek when she slid from her stool to the ground. “I’m glad we met.”

“Likewise,” he nodded. “Best of luck with your startup.”

He watched her walk away with a half-smile on his face and a hint of regret. It wasn’t that she’d passed on him. That wasn’t it at all. Despite being a perfectly attractive woman, there wasn’t a spark between them, and he’d been too deeply in love before to settle for anything less. With another huge sigh—they seemed to be becoming a habit—he grabbed his suitcase and coat and headed home to his empty penthouse.

He hated being lonely.

****

“Johanna, can you come in here, please?” Peeta waited for her reply, but when he got nothing, he walked to his office door and poked his head out. “Jo?”

Delly glanced up from her desk and replied, “She’s still at lunch. You told her to take the time, remember?”

“I do, actually. Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

At that moment, the elevator door opened, and his employee walked down the hall, chatting happily with another woman. She drew up when she saw him and narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not even 1:00 yet. Surely, the place didn’t fall apart with me gone only 80 minutes.” Johanna rolled her eyes at him and waved to her companion. “Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Peeta. I left something in my desk for her. She’s not staying.”

The woman in question glanced back and forth between him and her friend uncertainly. She was slight and unassuming with storm gray eyes and thick, dark hair worked into a loose braid. A few strands of hair escaped and framed her face, which was far prettier than he’d realized at first glance. Quickly, he snapped to attention. Stepping toward her, he extended his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did, electricity sparked through him.

“Ms. Everdeen,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Johanna’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to Panem Industries.”

“Sheesh! She’s not interviewing for a job,” Johanna snickered. She’s just here to get something from me, and she’s Gale’s friend, too. I’m surprised you haven’t met before now. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were tweens. You really haven’t heard of her before?”

“Why would I have?”

“I thought you and Gale were tight?”

“We are tight. What does that have to do with anything?”

Katniss smiled wryly and spoke in a smoky voice that shot straight to his groin. “Gale and I were best friends for years. We had a rough patch when he developed feelings for me in high school. Didn’t talk much through college, but we worked it out. I think Jo’s just surprised he didn’t mention me to his friends.”

“You okay there, boss?” Johanna asked, her eyes wary as she observed him.

Peeta shook himself, aware that he’d been frozen as Katniss’ voice washed over him. “Fine! I’m fine. Katniss, it’s wonderful to meet you. Johanna, I need to see you in my office when you’re finished with your friend.”

He moved quickly and closed the door behind him. Walking on unsteady legs back to his desk, he sank into his chair. Needless to say, he was unsettled. Something about those smoke colored eyes and husky voice had reached inside him and pulled feelings to the surface he hadn’t felt in ages, and it was disconcerting in a way he wasn’t quite ready to admit. Flustered, he turned in his chair and gazed out over the city until Johanna entered his office. It was only then that he could expel Katniss from his mind.

****

“You know, it’s bad enough that you foisted your girlfriend on me as an employee,” Peeta teased as he downed another whiskey. “The least you could do is pass on your best friend’s number. No, scratch that. The least you could do was warn me your best friend from high school is smoking hot now.”

Gale tipped his head back and laughed hard at his friend and Peeta’s obvious attempt to weasel Katniss’ number from him. Finnick and Thom hooted their amusement, and Darius waved to the waitress for another round of drinks. Peeta hadn’t meant to end up at Ripper’s again, but he’d been off kilter all week. When Finn had asked, Peeta shrugged and went.

“You only like me for my girlfriends,” Gale teased and clinked his glass with Thom. “To be fair, they are pretty spectacular. I have great taste in women.”

“Says the most modest man alive,” Finnick crowed. “You like them wild, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Wait,” Peeta blurted. “Wild? Katniss?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Gale drawled after a long pull of his beer. “Nothing like Jo. She’s amazing—completely herself, likes to party, will rip me apart with her bare hands if I cross her—but Katniss is something else. Feisty but stealthy. She can skin a squirrel and look like an angel doing it. I’ve never been able to explain her to anyone. She really has no idea the effect she has.”

“But you dated? You two?” Peeta prodded. Something about the thought of Gale kissing the woman he’d met made his stomach clench.

“Not for long. She wasn’t much interested, but I would have given my left arm for her back in the day. She’s only improved with age. I’m lucky she still bothers with little old me.”

Peeta snorted and flicked his eyes to each of his friends. Gale may not have been the best-looking guy in the group—Finn pretty much had that locked no matter who was around—but Gale’s tall, dark, and brooding nature made him pretty popular with the opposite sex. He hadn’t had trouble meeting women in ages. Unlike Peeta, who’d had terrible luck with women both before and after Cashmere. Couldn’t get them to look at him instead of his money now that he was wealthy, and he’d been dismissed for being way too nice when he was younger. His former fiancée had been an exception, but then he couldn’t get her to stay, with or without his bank account.

“But seriously, dude. Help a guy out. I’ve been single for ages,” Peeta wheedled, but Gale just shook his head.

“If she asks, I’ll give your info, but there’s no way I’m gonna try to set her up. I value my life and limbs too much to intervene.”

“You just said you would have given your left arm for her!”

“Back in high school and college, man. Not now. I need them both for the work I do.”

Peeta conceded then. It wasn’t like him to pump his friends for information about women, and he wasn’t going to start now. Maybe she’d come by work again with Jo, or maybe Johanna would—

No. Johanna would not. That was a terrible idea, so Peeta shoved Katniss Everdeen from his mind and sipped his drink. If nothing else, he could use a night out with his friends.

****

Later that night, when Peeta lay in bed alone, his penthouse dark and empty, and his heart shriveling with sadness, he allowed Katniss to flutter through his thoughts. If he imagined her in love with him, no one could prove it. Just like there were no witnesses when he reached into his sleep pants and palmed his half-hard cock.

He hadn’t masturbated with anyone particular in mind for a very long time—not since Cashmere and he had been a couple. There was something intensely erotic about stroking himself with mental images of a specific woman smiling at him, touching him, taking his dick in her mouth and sucking until—

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed as he swelled and hardened. “Katniss. Yeah, just like that.”

He fumbled in his bedside table for some lube and was so worked up he squirted half the bottle onto his pelvis. Rubbing his hand in the fluid, he groaned when he wrapped his hand back around his erection and tugged. His hips bucked, and his headboard slapped against the wall. Startled by the sound, he bit his lip and shook his head.

It seemed wrong to jack off like this when he barely knew her. Stranger fantasies were fine, but this was one of his best mate’s long-time friends. Johanna would rip him apart if she knew what Peeta was doing and leave the leftovers for Gale to destroy.

God, he didn’t care, he realized. Something about Katniss Everdeen made him want to throw caution to the wind. He’d been a goner since he first heard her voice, and he’d paid his dues with his loneliness. One night of lustful thoughts and indulgence seemed like a just reward for being single for so long. He’d only met her once, but there were all the tell-tale signs of a massive crush. Except, yes, he was attracted to her, but he also wondered if he might have a case of love at first sight. She invaded his thoughts constantly, and he ached to see her again.

Until that could happen, though, he needed some relief. Closing his eyes and tossing his head back into the pillow, he moved his hand until he gained a steady rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of the lube on his skin echoed through the apartment and stirred mental images that made his breath come harder and faster.

In his fantasy, her lithe body bounced on top of him, riding him with abandon and wanton pleasure painting her face. Her small breasts jiggled prettily with dusty nipples pert and pointed and inviting his mouth to lavish them with attention. His fist tightened, he jerked harder, and then—

He whited out, stars bursting behind his eyelids, ecstasy flooding his body, and all the tension draining through ropes of thick fluid painting his torso. Dazed, he lay there for several minutes, doing nothing but enjoying the lazy tingle in his veins and the dopey grin turning up his lips with delight. His spent cock filled his right fist, and he squeezed it a few times to keep the buzz going.

When he could think clearly again, he opened his eyes and snorted at the mess. He was sticky and sweaty and slick with his cum and lube. Covered in his ejaculate, he stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs. He meant to rinse off and then drop into a dreamless sleep, but he ended up hard and wanting a second time as the water coursed over him. Turning the temperature to cold didn’t help either. Only another round with his fist calmed him enough to fall into a restless, dream-filled slumber. His body insisted on round three the next morning.

Within a few days, a pattern emerged. He woke hard, masturbated, and then went to the office where two women ran his world. When he returned home, he beat off again, sometimes two times, before he was able to sleep. By the second week, Peeta had to admit his feelings for Katniss weren’t going away.

His only choice was to get her to fall in love with him, too, or his name was Peeta Mellark. CEO of Panem Industries, captain of industry, jilted fiancé, and desperately in love with Katniss Everdeen. Johanna was going to have a field day with this.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 8 #everlark fanfiction #everlark #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark ceo

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yungidreamer · 3 years

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Fragile

Summary: It’s fall in Paris and the jazz club Le Chat Noir is bored immortal vampire Yunho’s favorite hunting grounds. Among the crush of bodies, there to see the show and dance the night away, San takes a seat at his table. Will San get more than he bargained for when he accepts a drink and a dance with the handsome stranger at the hottest place in town?

Wordcount: 5.9k

Content warnings: very much NSFW, vampire bites and blood drinking, references to casual sex with multiple partners, slightly subby San, slightly dom Yunho, oral sex, hand job, the risk of death, and two hedonists seeking pleasure with each other. It is heavily implied that both San and Yunho are bi/pan in orientation.

La Chat Noir, Paris France, 1924

Music flowed through the air of the club, moving languorously as if the smoke in the air slowed its passage. A faint buzzing sound hid behind it thanks to the low light of the new fangled bulbs that were tucked into sconces on the walls that mimicked the old gas lights that had been in use a mere decade or so ago. Such a small amount of time, Yunho sighed. Some days he missed their constant hiss, that sound just felt...calming. Like a constant whisper, telling the secrets of the nightowls and scoundrels who stayed out in the city during those hours that belonged to people like him.

Still, the place was as good a hunting ground as he had ever found. People didn’t change. They were always chasing that moment of pleasure that made their short existence worthwhile. Always drinking, gorging and *ahem* loving their way through life as much as their status and circumstances would allow. So small, so finite, so… fragile. It was sad really. They seemed to struggle, at odds with the desire to live like they only had today while, nearly simultaneously, trying to live those mere 100 years some of them might have. If they were lucky. Though why they would want to live so long as their bodies deteriorated with each passing day was beyond him.

Eternity was bad enough with eternal youth. When you had to age. Yunho shuddered.

Pushing through the crush of youth, Yunho made his way towards the bar. The smell of bodies, sweat and skin, mixed with the tobacco of cigars and thin cigarettes all of the liberated women kept between their manicured fingers as they drank and laughed. Over that drifted the smell of whiskey, wine, and whatever spirits the bartenders were deciding to experiment with tonight.

Perfumes swam by on the air that surrounded their wearers. Musk, ambergris, vetiver, and hints of the sharp floral notes of women who still wore the classic rose or jasmine. With each one that passed Yunho couldn’t help but pause for half a second to see how well it matched the wearer. Was it a scent that accentuated the character of whoever it was on, or was it a mask; something false they put on as they tried to pretend, just for tonight they weren’t some nameless bookkeeper on the third floor of one of the new steel and glass monstrosities that reached vainly for the sky?

In the back of the last room he found a small round table, flicking over the little card that said Reserved as he took his seat. It was his table, it was always his table. From here he could watch the throngs kick and sway on the open dance floor, or the beautiful dancers as they performed their numbers to the music of the band. He absolutely loved their outfits, all silk and beading, showing so much of their delicate skin.

Maybe some things are improving with time, he reflected, sipping his Southside. Little of the taste came through to his taste buds, but the chill of the mint slid down his throat and the sharp tannin of the lime was tacky on his tongue. Plus, his trifles seemed to enjoy the freshness it brought to his lips and who was he to deny them that last… little… pleasure.

On the floor in the glare of the spotlight two sisters danced in unison in their feathers and silk. The rhinestones on their belts and cloche hats glinted as they moved to the music, flashing lushous stretches of their shapely legs. This was their third night performing at the club and word had gotten around. The club had filled just a little more with each passing night with everyone who wanted to catch the appropriately risque performance. Gentlemen brought their friends, and occasionally, the lady they hoped to sway with the low lights, the free music of the jazz, and the sensual movements of the dancers.

The more free spirited women came in small groups, and very occasionally, alone. Finally they were allowed to go out as they pleased, they could have jobs, smoke, and support themselves. The freedom was well deserved, if not always well or wisely used. Then again, who was he, or anyone else frankly, to tell them what to do with that freedom. Over the centuries he had certainly seen plenty of men squander that precious thing called freedom. Perhaps, if fate had changed by just a hair, he would have been one of the poor souls, living and dying in a flash, leaving barely a trace of his existence. But, fate had chosen a different path for him and instead he had seen centuries pass before him, time flowing like a rushing river. It was all much the same even if he could never step into the same stream twice.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” A voice asked, rising just high enough over the hum of the room to reach his ear. Yunho looked up to find a young man with sharp features standing near the back of the chair on the other side of the table. A quirk turned the corner of Yunho’s lips as he gave him an assessing look. It was brave of him to come and ask to share the table; it reeked of a confidence that Yunho liked.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the chair, sitting up just a shade straighter. The young man nodded, gracefully slipping into the black lacquer chair. He was dressed in a fashionable suit in crisp black and white, perhaps stylish but not rich. Yunho didn’t think he had seen him before; he seemed like the sort he would have remembered. His hair was dark and glossy, almost like the chair he had taken a seat in. It was cut in a clean, modern style that made him look like he belonged in a place like this. His face was lovely, high cheekbones and smooth creamy skin that seemed to shine from the inside out with that warm glow that only health and youth could bestow.

“Are they as good as they have been hyped up to be?” The young man asked, keeping his narrow, dark eyes on the ladies in the spotlight.

“They are good,” Yunho agreed, leaning in so he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. He sipped from his glass, held with a blase confidence using only two fingers, eyes staying on his table companion.

“They’re beautiful,” He commented, sparing a glance for Yunho as he too leaned in towards the table.

“They’re pretty enough, and lovely in their shape,” Yunho agreed, though his eyes seemed unwilling to look back at the subjects of whom he spoke.

“The music is quite good as well, isn’t it?” He asked, trying not to look like he had noticed the gaze on him.

“It’s… intoxicating,” Yunho agreed. “Can I ask your name?”

“San,” the young man answered. “Choi San.”

“Hello San,” Yunho extended his free hand over the table to him. “I’m Yunho.”

“Nice to meet you,” San took the extended hand, giving it a firm, confident shake. Yunho held onto the warm hand just a couple of seconds longer than he ought to, enjoying the dry warmth of the other man’s palm in his. San let him, only drawing his hand back when Yunho let go.

“Are you new around here?” Yunho asked, curious about the man across from him for a number of reasons.

“Just moved here a few months ago,” San nodded. “Got my first job as a law clerk. The money is good enough and if I do well enough the prospects for promotion are good.”

“How fortunate you are,” Yunho smiled, tipping his glass to him encouragingly.

“My parents were happy enough,” San gave a small chuckle. “After all they spent on my education, they feel like I owe them nothing less.”

“Such dullards aren’t they,” Yunho commiserated. “Stuck in the past along with all of their ideas and mores.”

“Well, they certainly wouldn’t think a place like this is where I ought to be spending my time or money,” San agreed, happy to have found a comrade in arms.

“What’s the point in youth if you waste it shut in offices and school rooms,” Yunho asked rhetorically, a hand under his chin.

“Exactly,” San gave a single nod. “I work hard. I can spend my free time doing something fun, whatever that may be.”

“Is this your idea of fun?” There was a teasing edge to Yunho’s voice, like the cool touch of a blade as it brushed flesh without cutting it.

“Not sure yet,” San sat forward, giving Yunho an assessing look as he moved his chin to rest on the heel of his hand. “It’s my first time here, but at least the company seems promising.”

“Would you like something; a drink?” Yunho questioned, emptying the last of his drink from his glass.

“I can--” San started to stand before Yunho stopped him, simply raising a hand and, a moment later, almost as if she had been conjured from nothingness, a waitress appeared beside them.

“Two more,” Yunho said, passing her the empty glass. Without a word she nodded and walked away to do as she had been bid. It didn’t take long for their drinks to appear and Yunho picked his up, offering a silent toast to San before taking a sip. San followed suit, bringing the drink to his lips.

“This is quite good,” San said, looking at the drink again, after having had a taste.

“Isn’t it?” Yunho agreed. “Refreshing.”

“Yes,” San nodded, taking another sip as he noticed the light dim as the spotlight was snuffed. As the dancers left the floor he observed, “They were decent but maybe they didn’t quite live up to the hype.”

“Life rarely does,” a jadedness filled Yunho’s tone.

“Do you really find life here so dreary?” San felt a sympathy for him, slightly sad that the other man seemed to feel the world was so dull.

“Often,” Yunho admitted. “But sometimes there is a glimmer of intrigue to things.”

“I hope I won’t find myself so easily bored by the attractions of life here,” San chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” Yunho promised. “I’m a bit of a special case. I have perhaps seen too much to find fascination so easily anymore.” The band struck up again and the lights raised enough to allow people to get up and make their way onto the dance floor. Couples made their way out onto the floor that had been the platform for the performance. The low light and the slow jazz made the room feel small and intimate even as the couples brushed against one another on the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Yunho asked, leaning as close as he could to whisper the question.

“Can we?” San’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion.

“No one judges here,” Yunho assured him. “Look.” He gestured out to the floor and San’s gaze followed. Nestled in among the pairs of men and women were a few pairs of girls, arms clinging as they danced closely, and men swaying in each other's arms. Surprise flickered across San’s face. These things, they just weren’t usually done, and yet…

“Shall we?” Yunho stood up and extended a hand to San. For a beat, he just looked at it. Did he dare? Pressing his lips into a hard line, San stood up and took Yunho’s hand. With a victorious grin, Yunho led San out onto a dim corner of the dance floor.

San hadn’t noticed just how tall Yunho was when he was just sitting across from him. It was only when the other man pulled him more tightly against his body as they squeezed in among the other pairs, that he noticed how Yunho towered over him by a decent amount. San swallowed past his nerves and snaked his arms around the other man’s waist and chest.

Yunho held him close, pressing the side of his jaw to the other man’s temple and breathing in the smell of him. Everything about San was warm and vibrant including his scent. He wore no cologne, not trying to disguise himself or be anything more than he was. Beneath the faint smell of soap was the scent of him, of his skin. Cedar and sage with notes of grapefruit and lime, and somewhere below that was something warm and masculine… like the old leather of an armchair in a study that had taken on a hint of the cigars that had been smoked there over the years.

Yunho’s mouth practically watered, knowing that San would taste so very good. He would be warm and nourishing, bringing Yunho that little step closer to feeling alive again. It wasn’t that he missed that fragile mortality that he had lost so long ago. Rather he loved that heat. The borrowed, clandestine taste of vitality. He could have both if he chose; immortality and that feel of his heart beating in his chest. Well, for a moment at least.

One song bled into a second and a third as an hour ticked by nearly unnoticed by the pair. The couples around them came and went, getting a little more drunk and a little more boisterous as the time passed.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” Yunho murmured into the shell of San’s ear before pulling back and hooking his finger under San’s chin to bring his eyes up to meet his own. San gave a brief nod and Yunho smiled, leaning down to brush a barely there kiss to the corner of San’s mouth.

“Your place?” Yunho proposed, offering an inviting smile. San nodded again, his gaze falling hungrily to Yunho’s lips. Leading the way through the crowd, Yunho took them both out onto the street, hailing the first passing cab.

Yunho pressed San back against the door to his apartment in the dimly lit hall of his floor. He let out a small moan as he fumbled in his pocket for the key he knew was there. Yunho’s lips on his were insistent even as they moved at a leisurely pace against his own. San had always had wants, desires, but never dared to act on them. Women were pretty, they were attractive, too, but there had always been that part of him that couldn’t help but watch as a confident man walked by. That confident swagger of a guy who knew exactly how sexy he was; it just set something in his stomach tingling.

San pulled away when he finally felt the cool metal in his palm, just enough to work the key in the lock with his slightly shaking hands. The door popped open and Yunho pushed them both inside the small studio that was San’s place. It was dim, only lit at the moment by the shine of the streetlights outside the single window on the wall opposite the door. Clicking the door closed behind them, Yunho pulled San tightly against him. He was hungry for him in more way than one.

San groped for the switch on the wall, reluctant to pull away from the embrace of the other man. He was afraid if he gave them too much space, a second to think at just the wrong moment, whatever was going to happen… wouldn’t. Giving up on the switch, San guided the other man towards the small brass framed bed located towards one side of the room. He pulled him along, guiding him without pulling away until he felt the edge of the frame hit the back of his calves. Dropping to a sitting position on the bed, San started fumbling with the button at the waist of Yunho’s pants.

“There’s no rush,” Yunho chuckled, putting his long elegant fingers over San’s, stilling them.

“Sorry,” San said quietly, thankful for the darkness that would hide his blush, or it would have, to someone other than a vampire. Yunho found it charming, almost quaint, how eager and yet shy he was. This clearly wasn’t a regular thing for him, unlike Yunho. It wasn’t that any warm body was good, but almost any would do and some he felt better about leaving half drained in some dark room than others. He’d try to be careful with San, after all, it might actually be nice to see him again sometime and that couldn’t happen with a body in the morgue.

Yunho took a seat, the springs of the bed creaking under their combined weight. Leaning in, Yunho cupped San’s cheek, guiding his face back to his for another kiss. San gladly leaned in to his slightly chilled lips, something he attributed to the chill of the fall weather outside.

Yunho’s fingers brushed over his cheek and down to hold the side of his neck, feeling the soft, warm pulse just below. Following the same path as his fingers, Yunho’s lips brushed over the flushed skin until he found the right place. He licked, his teeth gently running over it, testing the other man’s reaction. The last thing he needed was to have him pull away, rip the tender flesh of his own neck open with a careless yank. When San only moaned and tilted his head to give the other man better access, Yunho took that as permission to have just a little taste.

As he sucked in a small bit of San’s flesh into his mouth his hand traveled down over the other man’s chest to tentatively rest on the growing erection still hidden beneath the soft wool of his suit. San sucked in his breath but didn’t pull away. Yunho bit down, feeling the trickle of blood spill into his mouth as he palmed San’s member. He felt it twitch as he fed from him, pleasure slinking through him with each gulping tug of Yunho’s mouth as he drank. He needed just enough for now, enough to warm his skin and fill his aching member to fullness. Tonight he wanted to have everything. With a lick he closed the cuts on San’s neck and pulled back to look at him, still flushed, still beautiful in his youthfulness.

San took a deep breath, the ripples of pleasure still rebounding in him. He couldn’t help but wonder why he had stopped. Had he done something wrong. Feeling inexplicably tired, he had to make an effort to open his eyes and look up into the gaze of the man beside him. Yunho smiled down at him with lips that San would swear looked a little sweeter, a little fuller, a little pinker than they had a few moments ago. It’s the aphrodisiac of the pleasure, it’s all in your head, he told himself.

“Can I touch you?” San asked, his dark eyes searching Yunho’s for signs that he was having second thoughts.

“Please,” Yunho agreed, guiding San’s hand to his now full erection. San went to his knees on the oak parquet that covered the floor of his apartment. His fingers, still feeling a little shaky, went to the warm black bone button that held the waistband of Yunho’s pants closed. It only took a second for him to slip the fastening through the slit in the fine fabric. With his fly open, Yunho lifted his hips to allow San to pull the clothes on the lower half of his body down and off, letting them pool around his ankles as the other man took a moment to gather his courage. Not yet ready to look up as butterflies fluttered in his stomach, San took a moment to gently pull off Yunho’s shoes, socks, and pants, carefully placing them near the foot of the bed on the floor. He turned, finally looking up to see Yunho, his shirt half unbuttoned from his collar down, leaning back casually, his long, hard dick framed by the inverted V from the last button on the placket as it opened down to the lower hem. He had never seen anything so tempting in his life. From the muscled smoothness of his chest and the breadth of his still covered shoulders, to his thick muscular thighs, Yunho was temptation.

“Won’t you taste me?” Yunho asked, running the fingertips of one hand up the inside of his thigh. San nodded, scooting forward and sitting on his heels to bring himself just a little higher between Yunho’s legs. Using one hand for leverage, San wrapped the other around the base of Yunho’s cock and brought it to his lips. He had never tasted another man, but, having been on the other end of such a thing more than once, he had a fair idea of where to start. Taking just the head into his mouth, he swirled his tongue around the tip. Yunho let out the sweetest low, rumbling moan San had ever heard.

The hand on Yunho’s thigh dropped so that San could reach down and stroke himself lightly, needing just a little relief, a little sensation as he strained against his pants. When Yunho’s hand caressed his cheek, San opened his eyes to look at him up the plane of his body. A shock of lust pooled in his stomach and he slid his mouth further down, watching pleasure flow across the features of the other man, lit only in profile from the dim light outside. The dimness and quiet of the room somehow made every sound, every movement just that shade more intense.

“You have a wonderful mouth,” Yunho complemented, a breathlessness suffusing his voice. Part of San wanted to say thank you, but most of him just wanted to show the other man just how good his mouth was. Sinking down until the tip brushed against the back of his throat, San tested his limits. He wanted all of him, he wanted to devour him with pleasure, but Yunho was not small. He wasn’t even average, if San would have taken a guess based on himself and on peeks he had gotten of others. Yunho was big, and even when he had sunk down until he felt him fill his mouth and brush the soft skin at the back of his throat, he had barely taken 2/3rds of him in.

San bobbed up and down a few more times, practicing letting his jaw move loosely over Yunho’s length as he built up a slick of saliva that eased his movements. Trying again, San sunk down to see how far he could go, pushing past that discomfort to feel the head slide down against the back of his throat. A tickle built in his throat and tears pooled in his eyes as he pulled off to cough.

“It’s okay, sweets,” Yunho leaned forward, cradling San’s teary cheeks in his hands. “I know I’m big, it feels good even if you can’t take it all.”

“I—” San started before the tickle built back up and he had to cough again, sniffling as his nose ran slightly from the sensation and his tears. “I know, but I like the feel of you, I like the way you slide into me.”

“Just don’t force yourself,” Yunho agreed, swiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “We have time and those sweet lips feel wonderful wrapped around me.” San nodded, blinking away the blur to his vision a few more times before he parted his lips and took Yunho back in his mouth, a little more cautiously this time.

Sliding his head up and down what he could take of his length, San sucked and licked and tasted the salty treat that was Yunho. As he worked him, he could taste the gooey tang of his pre-cum coating his tongue now and again as his pleasure built. Yunho watched him, eyes hooded as the sight of San throwing himself into what he was doing with near abandon added to the rising tide of pleasure that was flooding him.

San still pushed himself, diving down the length of Yunho until he couldn’t struggle past his length and gagged or had his throat spasm at the invasion. Each time Yunho groaned, often twitching at the sensation of the muscles in San’s throat stroking him. When he managed to slide him particularly far down his throat he was rewarded with the sight of Yunho throwing his head back and letting out a breathless gasp.

“Ahh, fuck,” he panted, one hand gripping the sheets and another fisting in San’s soft hair. “I’m close… I’m so close.” San took this as encouragement, moving faster, then, going as deeply as he could and pausing for as long as his body would let him. It took only a few times of San repeating this to push Yunho over the edge and he was rewarded with the feel of the pulsing gush of the other man coming down his throat. It was warm and slick and moved slowly as it slid down into him, savoring the sensation.

“You’re an angel,” Yunho praised, guiding San off him and bringing his pink, swollen lips to his own for a kiss. He licked away a little of the saliva that glistened on the lower lip of the man still kneeling between his legs. He could still taste a little of himself there as well, an enchanting addition to the sweetness of the other man’s hot lips.

“Can you touch me?” San asked, steadying himself by putting his hands on Yunho’s spread knees.

“Come sit with me,” Yunho coaxed. San nodded, wiping the dampness off his chin and he pulled himself up. He started to move to take a seat beside Yunho on the bed, but, catching him by the wrist, the other man guided him to sit between his spread legs. Yunho’s hands went to San’s chest, pressing him back against him. San relaxed in his arms enjoying just the moment of being held in the other man’s long and lean arms.

“Do you mind if I undress you?” Yunho asked, running his hand down over San’s taught stomach. San nodded, using his own hand to press Yunho’s more firmly against his own body. Yunho chuckled, pressing a kiss to the other man’s temple before he freed his hands to start working on removing the slightly rumpled looking suit. His fingers were quick and efficient with the buttons at the front of his shirt, flicking them open with barely any effort. When the shirt was completely open, Yunho slid it and the jacket off San’s muscular shoulders, bearing his smooth and muscular chest to the room. Yunho hooked them both to the nob of the headboard, letting them hang so they wouldn’t get any more wrinkled than they already were. When that was done, he brought his hands back to San’s smooth body, letting his palms run over the line of his ribs and down to his hips, before making their way forward to the fastening at the front of his pants. Yunho couldn’t stop himself from running a teasing hand over the front of his trousers to feel the tempting length just barely hidden there.

“Lift for me,” Yunho instructed when he had undone San’s pants and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of both his pants and underwear. San eagerly lifted his hips, pushing his weight onto his hands and feet to allow Yunho to slide the fabric down and let his erection spring forth. When he put his weight back down, Yunho pulled him back into the V of his thighs and against his half bared chest as San kicked off the last of his clothes.

“Can… can you take off your shirt?” San asked without turning around, having felt the abrasion of the round buttons against his shoulder blade.

“Of course,” Yunho pressed a kiss to San’s bare shoulder, then leaned back enough to finish opening the last of the buttons before taking his shirt off and tossing it onto one corner of the foot of the bed. With both of them fully naked, Yunho scooted back until he could feel the wall against his back, scooping San into the cradle of his body so that he could resume his exploration of his form.

“Please touch me,” San breathed, leaning his head back against Yunho’s broad shoulder. “It feels like I’ve been waiting so long.” San’s restless hands moved up and down the textured length of Yunho’s hard thighs.

“I will, sweet,” Yunho soothed. “I just want to get to know you.” San could feel the smile that pressed against the side of his face as Yunho spoke. He felt harder than he could ever remember feeling and his body begged for release. Yunho could sense his impatience. It was written into every squirm and the tense line of his body. “Shhhhh,” he soothed, rubbing his nose in the loose locks of San’s hair.

“Just hold me, there,” he pleaded, guiding Yunho’s hand to his length. “You don’t have to move yet, but just touch me.”

“Alright,” Yunho agreed, his hand loosely gripping San’s hot, hard erection. It was soft under his hand, like velvet or suede covered steel. San let out a tense sigh, closing his eyes and enjoying the way Yunho’s slightly cooler hand seemed to envelop him. Keeping his grip light, Yunho moved his hand up and down, letting that first hint of sensation tingle over San’s nerves, half teasing and half relief. His other hand held San to him on his chest, just the tip of one finger moving to abrade the hardened nipple it could reach. Goosebumps rose on San’s skin and he shivered under the combination of sensations. San’s fingers gripped Yunho’s thighs just above the knees with a careless strength that would have left fingermark bruises on anyone else. Luckily Yunho couldn’t bruise, not that easily at least, and he loved the feedback that was telling him he was touching him just right.

“Tilt your head a little,” Yunho coaxed. “I want to reach your neck.”

San gladly tilted his head to the side, his member twitching just at the memory of the sensation of whatever he had done to his neck before. Yunho brushed his lips over the pulse in San’s neck as he began to move his hand a little faster, his grip just a little tighter as he did so. San moaned and shifted impatiently under the touch. Everything felt so good and he wasn’t sure why. It hadn’t been that long since he had been satisfied and by more than just his own hand. And it had been good, she had been good. The faint memory of sucking a soft nipple on the soft mound of a breast fluttered through his mind, as transient and insubstantial as a leaf caught in the draft of a strong gust that dies as quickly as it rose.

The sensation of Yunho running the pad of his thumb over the slick slit of his tip brought him back to the present. San sighed, his toes curling at the sensation. Pleasure washed through him, stealing his breath and stopping his mind from focusing on anything outside of the circle of Yunho’s arms.

Yunho’s lips teased the soft skin just under San’s ear, taking in his scent as he waited for the moment to bite. He wanted to feed at the moment he came, extending that pleasure and sweetening the taste of his blood with the rush of adrenaline and delight. Slowly increasing the pace of his movements, he varied his attention between stroking the whole length and giving the tip special attention, careful to not go to the point of over stimulating it.

“I’m so close,” San brought a hand up to hold the back of Yunho’s head as his lips sucked harder at the skin of his neck. “Please, whatever you did before, I want it again.”

“Patience, sweet,” Yunho hummed against him. “Almost there. Almost.” In a moment the pleasure suddenly crested and San held his breath as that first second of pleasure shocked through him before Yunho bit down. The bite magnified the sensation, making it reverberate through him with the resonance of a pitchfork struck against a hard surface.

Yunho sucked and fed, pulling every ounce of pleasure he could from San as he did so. San seemed frozen under his touch, unable to do more than just feel the power and the delight as it danced along every nerve in his body. It only faded as his limbs grew heavy and black spots began to float in patches in his vision.

Yunho closed the wounds and pulled away when he felt and heard that tell-tale stutter in the beat of San’s heart. He could continue. He could draw out that pleasure until the thudding stopped. It would be so easy and San was such a willing victim. He would never find it in himself in that moment to utter the word stop. It just felt too good. But Yunho did, he pulled back, holding San as he went limp, losing consciousness and falling into a blackness that was deep and quiet.

His heartbeat was slow but steady and Yunho was relatively certain that he would wake sometime tomorrow, perhaps sore and surprised to feel so hungover when he only had that one drink. Yunho gently laid him down in the bed, drawing the covers up over his beautiful naked body, making sure that he was in something that looked like a comfortable position. As he looked down, in his chest, his heart moved faintly in something that could almost be mistaken for beating. Almost.

Picking up his clothes, he carefully redressed, trying to look his best, despite a few wrinkles and creases that were too stubborn to be pulled or brushed away. He paused at a mirror, smoothing down his hair again, leaving it almost looking untouched by the events of the night. Casting a glance back at the man lying so prettily unconscious in the bed, Yunho couldn’t help but smile.

Going over to the desk, Yunho shuffled through a few drawers before he found a small pad of paper with a page he could rip out to scribble something.

I hope the morning finds you well, he wrote in a flowing hand that belied his age if someone paid enough attention. If you ever feel like a repeat performance, you know where to find me. He signed the bottom of the page with an ornate Y before picking up the page and folding it in half. Taking a moment, he neatly arranged San’s discarded clothes in the hopes it would make his morning just a little bit more pleasant. He pocketed the key taking it from San’s pocket where he had slipped it after letting them in. Taking the note, he slipped it into one of San’s shoes, sure that it would be secure there and not lost in the shuffle of papers that might belong on one of the counters in his home.

With one last caress of the other man’s cheek, Yunho stood up and quietly made his way to the front door. Slipping out into the hall, he clicked the door shut behind him, turning the key in the lock before dropping it back inside though the mail slot. With a fresh vigor and a skip in his step, and with the faint smell of cedar and sage clinging to him, Yunho made his way out of the apartment building and onto the cool, damp streets of Paris in fall. It really had been the best night he’d had in ages. With any luck, someday soon, that sweet, fragile man would step back into Le Chat Noir and back into his life. Until then, he’d have to be satisfied with other passing fancies and the memory of a very lovely night.

Masterlist

#jeong yunho #choi san #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez #halloween #ateez the black cat nero #vampire yunho #yunho x san #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #yunho #san

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bethanydelleman · 2 years

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Mary and Henry Crawford’s Flawed Moral Codes

I believe that in general, people who do bad things justify it to themselves and find a way to feel like what they are doing is normal. People don’t want to be evil, they want to convince themselves that they are good/normal. An Austen villain like Wickham’s moral code is probably pretty simple, something like, “I deserve it so I should have it.” But with the Crawfords it’s far more complex, which is part of the reason why they are such interesting characters and why I get so angry when people think Henry is just a cheating cheater who cheats (his flaw is vanity not lust!).

As a preface, I am not excusing Henry or Mary’s behaviour, I am trying to understand the psychology of their characters.

For background, Henry and Mary are orphans who have been raised in a fairly broken home. Admiral Crawford and his wife hate each other and it seems fair to suppose by Admiral Crawford’s actions after his wife’s death, that he probably had a mistress/affairs and wasn’t even kind enough to be discreet. Mrs. Crawford, according to Mary, was miserable. The Crawford’s upbringing and the fact that they have mostly lived in London, are important to their characters according to the narrator.

Both siblings don’t seem to really think that love exists, which is the basis for their behaviour.

Mary is mercenary, she plans to marry high and she knows that she can with her beauty, education, and wealth. This is because she thinks love is either fake or fleeting, so you might as well just take the most wealth and put your faith in that instead. She tries for Tom first, but when she fails, she finds herself falling for Edmund. Mary finds a charm “in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity”. She spends the rest of the novel struggling against her inclinations (marry for wealth) and her growing understanding that Edmund is actually a good person and she would be happy married to him, wealth or not. This is because she knows Edmund would never do to his wife what Admiral Crawford did to her aunt. But as she can’t totally abandon her ideas of what her life should have been, she pushes him to change professions and conform to her idea of happiness.

Mary actually does give in and decide to marry Edmund, but he doesn’t propose before Tom gets sick and Henry and Maria elope. After that, their marriage is impossible. It does seem like Mary learns something from the experience, and determines not to marry until she finds a man as upright as Edmund. But she also wants a first son, so the lesson is only half learned.

As for Henry, we can assume from the other novels, and from Mary’s account of her friends, Mrs. Fraser and Lady Stornaway, that he’s been surrounded by mercenary fortune hunters for most of his life. He has watched women pretend to be in love with wealthy men just to marry them, which we see in P&P with Caroline Bingley. But he also isn’t handsome and he knows it, which may increase his perception that women are only interested because he’s rich. He likely sees his flirtations as fair game, if women use love as a weapon why can’t he make it a toy? We also know he doesn’t believe that he does lasting damage, he thinks Maria’s feelings should already be gone.

I can kind of see his point. Maria is engaged to a man she doesn’t even like. She hates Rushworth, but she goes through with it because he’s rich. It sounds like Mary’s friends have done the same thing, and that was what Mary was also planning to do. It makes sense that these women’s “love” would be fleeting because it is manufactured. Also, unlike some other Jane Austen characters, we have no evidence that Henry would actually sleep with/ruin an unmarried woman. He flirts with Maria because she is sexually unavailable, not in spite of it. He did take advantage of the play, but I really feel the Bertrams were never in real danger physically. As Mary said, they just were in danger of having their hearts broke. This is also probably part of Henry’s justification of himself and why he thinks he isn’t doing real or lasting damage.

All of this also explains why Mary defends Fanny from Henry but also gives in pretty easily. Mary knows that Fanny isn’t the sort of girl to pretend to be in love, she doesn’t “deserve” to be tricked. But, since neither of the Crawfords believe love is real or that flirtation does lasting damage, Mary is soon convinced that a little attention may do Fanny good. I think Henry is sincere when he regrets toying with Fanny later, because she is a type of woman he didn’t believe existed, one who isn’t in love with money and who has moral integrity.

Again, this is why Mansfield Park is a tragedy, because it’s just sad that Henry and Mary are this cynical. It’s sad that Mary is in love, but wishes that Tom will die because of her conviction that money (not a person who would never hurt her) is the best recipe for happiness. It’s sad that one of Henry’s many reasons for wanting to marry Fanny is that he could actually trust her. Has he really met so few people in his life that he finds worthy of trust?

Lastly, because I must address it at some point, would Henry have cheated on Fanny? I think it’s a complex question. Henry does not want to marry, probably because it would make flirting much harder (he calls marriage, “Heaven’s last best gift“ implying it will ruin all his fun). Maria thinks Henry will propose, which he literally can’t do once he’s married to Fanny. So what did he think marriage would look like? He might have carried on with his emotional affairs and just switched to married women. He might have a mistress or something like that (especially since sex and faithfulness are separate in his mind). However, he also has a saviour attitude towards Fanny. He wants to see her happy. I don’t think he’d openly do something to make her miserable and his flirting thing would make Fanny miserable.

I think Henry would probably find another outlet for his charming vanity game, such as going into politics. And yes, that is slightly terrifying given his morality, but remember that in Jane Austen’s world, both John Willoughby and Sir Walter Elliot have seats in parliament. JA’s England is already screwed.

To summarize, Henry doesn’t think he’s a bad person for flirting because love isn’t real and the women he messes with deserve it. Mary thinks men will treat her poorly no matter what, so she might as well be rich. Their worldviews and moral codes reflect their fake and cruel upbringing and the people they have associated with until coming to Mansfield.

#mansfield park #jane austen #henry crawford #mary crawford #long one #fanny price #vanity not lust #Rushworth is lust actually #Henry and Mary are fascinating characters #No matter what Henry's morality is I want to be read into a Shakespeare trance #Not justified but explained

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songtoyou · 3 years

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Chapter 12: Switch - Part One

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 3,791

Warnings: Swearing

Story Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

Chapter Summary: Easter has arrived. Tommy is spending it with his family, while Rose is forced to spend time with her ex. We learn that Tommy does not always want to be in control.

A/N: This chapter will have two parts.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars

There was a part of Tommy that wished he did not have to be in control all of the time. It was understandable that he be the one in charge of his business as he had no other person to rely on to step up to the plate. Michael was still too young. Also, Tommy had been developing doubts and distrust towards his cousin. It didn’t help that Michael would schedule secret meetings with potential business partners and act as if he was doing it to help Tommy and the company. Tommy used to rely on and confide in his Aunt Polly. Yet, she began to distance herself more and more from the company, especially since getting remarried to Aberama Gold, a fellow business associate to Tommy. John and Arthur had their business deals to worry about, and Ada spent most of her time in the States.

He wished Grace was still alive. She was Tommy’s number one supporter. He shared almost everything with Grace (the legal side) and truly valued her advice and opinions. When Tommy was with Grace, he was able just to be himself. He was allowed to be calm and not have to overwork his mind. He didn’t have to be in control.

It was only with Grace that Tommy allowed another person to have total control over him in the bedroom. Both he and Grace shared characteristics of a dominant and submissive. They often switched roles, with Tommy as the dominant and Grace as the submissive, and vice versa. He loved it when Grace used to dominate him. No one would have suspected the sweet-natured blonde woman had an alpha personality behind closed doors, who was and controlling and overtly sexual.

With Grace gone, Tommy never allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. Lizzie tried to get Tommy to open that side of him up, but he denied her. He couldn’t do it. A part of Tommy felt as if it would be a betrayal to Grace. Both Ada and Polly constantly told Tommy that it was okay for him to move on from Grace.

“She gave you, on her deathbed, the permission to move on, Thomas. Respect your deceased wife’s wishes,” Aunt Polly would tell him.

“Find someone to have a family with, Tommy. Charlie deserves to have a mother figure in his life and possible siblings if it were to happen. Let yourself be happy,” were Ada’s words of encouragement.

No doubt Tommy would hear those exact words at his sister’s house this Sunday afternoon to celebrate Easter with the entire Shelby clan. Boy, it was going to be a long day. Charlie ended up spending the night at Ada’s with his cousins. Tommy was glad for that as indeed his sister would provide his son with an Easter basket. Tommy was not one for decorative or holiday pleasantries. That was all Grace. When Grace passed, Ada, Polly, or Esme would be the ones to step in and make sure Charlie celebrated his birthday with a party or invite him over for holiday festivities. Guilt would riddle Tommy at that notion that he could not provide his only child with a happy environment. Yes, Tommy loved Charlie dearly. However, Tommy could not deny that he lacked in other emotional departments. He was not one for sentiments or terms of endearment.

Another subject Tommy was not keen to have brought up was his “relationship” with Rose Turner. Unfortunately, he knew better than to expect his family members to rile him up about her and ask questions. None of them knew how Tommy met Rose. It was the same with Lizzie. While both Arthur and John were not faithful to their wives, neither were allowed to be members of Excelsior Club. He had mentioned Arthur and John to Tatiana to inquire if they could become members. Tatiana stated that they were both a liability. “Your brothers are too reckless and don’t fit the standards of our usual clientele. They are, how do I put this nicely? They are too ‘rough around the edges,’ so to speak,” Tatiana said dismissively when Tommy first started going to the Club.

It didn’t matter to Tommy either way; his brothers still managed to do fine all on their own. Besides, Arthur and John were not the faces of Shelby Company Limited; Tommy was and had an image to protect. If Tommy went down in disgrace, it would be for his business dealings, not that he kept himself in the company of whores.

However, Tommy could not help his growing feelings for Rose. There was an energy about her that was attractive to him that he could not quite understand why. Tommy was not sure if it was because Rose was able to adhere to his wicked desires. It amazed Tommy how she was keen on submitting and doing almost anything to please him. During scenes, Rose responded to Tommy as if he was the only man she needed, the only man she desired. And it felt genuine, not put on. There would be moments during aftercare where Rose would look at Tommy with such admiration and respect, that at first, it made him feel uneasy. But after a while, he came come to desire that look. That Tommy would do whatever it took to make sure Rose always looked at him in such away. Tommy found that he craved Rose’s respect, which caught him off guard.

Tommy soon realized that he also respected Rose and how she would do anything for her son. He admired that notion about her. She willingly entered into a line of work that could be demanding, demeaning, and possibly dangerous to provide for her child was not something that Tommy took lightly or was flippant about it. He would never refer to Rose as a “hooker with a heart of gold.” No, she was much more than a trope. Tommy knew Rose did not need a knight and shining armor to save her.

Lizzie wanted Tommy to save her. At the time, Tommy was in no position to be someone’s hero. He was too bruised, too shattered, too broken.

Now, here Tommy was at his sister’s home celebrating Easter. He sat back and watched everyone. The laughter, the smiles, Tommy felt like he didn’t belong. Tommy felt like he couldn’t breathe, so he stepped out back to smoke a cigarette since Ada did not allow smoking in her home.

The inhale of nicotine helped soothe Tommy’s anxiety and calm his nerves. Often, he wished he was back on opium. It was his way of coping after coming home from Afghanistan. He was only able to get clean because of Grace and her support. He never touched the stuff after getting clean, but there were still cravings. The feelings that came with the high brought such bliss. The satisfaction that nothing could harm you. Those weren’t going to go away magically overnight.

Tommy’s solitude was interrupted when his son, nephews, and nieces ran outside with their baskets to search for eggs. He looked at his watch and sighed. He was not sure how much longer he could stand this.

As the children flittered around the yard, Tommy took out his phone. He opened the message from one of the Blinders he had assigned to watch over Rose that day. The text message Tommy received earlier unsettled him. It was a picture of Rose exiting her house with Louis and a man. The three got in a car and drove off. At first sight of the image, Tommy felt enraged. He immediately wanted to know who this man was and why he was with Rose. Tommy was livid. Fortunately, he calmed himself down when Rose sent him a text an hour later.

Rose: I know you have your guys watching over Louis and me. While I do appreciate that, it is a little much. The man I am with is Louis’s father, Nick. We are going out for an Easter brunch. Nothing for you to worry about, and Happy Easter.

Tommy didn’t respond, but he was grateful that Rose cleared things up. He knew his reaction to the picture was ridiculous. The slight pang of jealously surprised Tommy. He didn’t quite know where it came from; it was the same feeling when Rose told him that Changretta contacted her. He was still unsure about what to do with Changretta. First, it was only business that Changretta was causing Tommy grief; now, the man was gearing up to steal his girl. Tommy realized that he must have been too lenient when dealing with the Changrettas now overstepping their boundaries. Tommy and the Peaky Blinders would have to put them in their place for good.

Tommy would make sure that Rose was not a casualty if a war broke out. He was not going to lose her or the war.

“Mum! Come on!” Louis yelled. He was dressed and ready to go, but his mum was taking forever. “What is taking so long?”

“In a minute!” Rose shouted back. She was ready but was busy doing making an Easter basket for Louis. Rose placed the items strategically in the basket. She grabbed the basket and walked down the stairs. “Happy Easter, my little man.”

Rose handed the basket to Louis, who had a look of confusion and annoyance on his face. “What the Hell, Mum? Is this what you have been doing for the last thirty minutes?”

“Yes,” Rose said. “Don’t you like it?”

Louis sighed and placed the basket on the table. “I’m too old for an Easter basket,” he moaned but still looked through the basket to see what he got. “Holy shit! A new iPhone! AirPods!”

“Still want the basket?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “I mean, I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”

“No, I want it. Mum, thank you,” Louis beamed with happiness and hugged Rose.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’re a good kid. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

Their tender moment was cut short when the doorbell rang. “Who the bloody Hell could that be?” Rose asked, confused.

“It is probably Dad. I told him it would be easier to pick us up,” Louis explained and went to open the door. “Dad! So good to see you.”

Rose stood back, arms crossed, as Louis hugged his father. It was a sight that had Rose feel a pang in her chest. It reminded her that the three of them could have been a family, a typical family. That is what Louis deserved. Nick looked over at Rose and smiled at her. It was a warm and genuine smile. Rose felt like she was sixteen all over again.

“Rosie, you look…beautiful as always,” Nick complimented and went in for a hug but stopped himself. “We can hug, right?’

Rose scoffed, “Of course we can hug, weirdo.” The former lovers embraced, and Rose felt a familiarity, the feeling of being safe and uncertain. She pulled away. “Well, we better get going. Louis, where did you decide we go to eat?”

“Bella Roma. Can we stop by an Apple store after we’re done eating? I want to be able to switch over from my old iPhone to the new one. Mum, got me a new iPhone.” Louis held up his phone to his dad.

“Nice,” Nick admired.

“We’ll see. Come, let’s get going,” Rose ordered and ushered everyone out of the house. Locking up, Rose turned around to see Louis and Nick walked towards a car. “Wow. Is this your car, Nick?”

“Don’t act so shocked. It is a used car, but yes, it is mine,” he told Rose. “It is a 2017 Hyundai Elantra. Got a pretty good price for it too.”

“Very nice,” Rose approved as she got inside, with Louis settling himself comfortably in the back seat.

“Dad has a full-time job now. Isn’t that right, Dad,” Louis spoke up eagerly.

Nick started the car and drove away from the house. It would not be too long before they arrived at the restaurant. “Where do you work?” Rose asked, trying to hide the tone of suspicion in her voice.

“My father took pity on me. I work at his insurance company. It took a while for him to trust me again. But Mum told Dad to give me a chance, especially when I got out of….”

“Prison,” Rose interrupted, and she noticed Nick straighten up in his seat. “That is good to hear. I’m glad your relationship with your parents is better. Better than mine, that is for sure,” she added under her breath.

It was not long until Nick parked near Bella Roma. Once they entered the restaurant, the three were seated quickly. Rose sat on one side, while Nick and Louis sat together on the other side. Rose sat back and watched the interaction between father and son. It was sweet to watch Louis interact with his father. As Rose looked between the two, she was reminded how much they both looked so very much alike. It was eerie. Dark brown hair and brown eyes were two of the features they shared, along with a dimple on their chin.

Soon, their waitress stopped by to get drink orders. “I’ll just have water, thank you,” said Rose. Truthfully, she would have liked a glass of wine to help take the edge off. However, Rose didn’t want anything to hinder her guard up around Nick.

They ended up ordering pizza to share and a plate of arancini as a starter. Louis was the one to dominate the conversation. He was desperately trying to get his parents to interact more. Louis kept praising his dad’s accomplishments to get his mum’s attention. “Mum, did you know dad volunteers to help underprivileged kids. It’s like, what did you refer to it as, a nice version of scared straight?”

Nick chuckled, “Something like that. I figured I could do something good and help guide kids to not make the same mistakes as me.”

Rose bit her tongue. For Louis’s sake, she would be nice. However, she wanted to bite back and ask Nick what he considers mistakes he has made throughout his life. Rose hoped he didn’t view Louis as some mistake. That would set her off. Rose picked at her pizza; she found herself not hungry all of a sudden. Nick and Louis continued to talk amongst themselves about mundane topics such as school, sports, music, etc.

At that moment, Rose’s thoughts drifted to Tommy. She wondered what he was doing, and kind of wished he was with her. That thought caught Rose off guard. She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick text. She wanted to let him know that she was out with Louis and Nick, along with wishing him a happy Easter. There were times where Rose wished she didn’t have to leave Tommy after their rendezvous in the hotel that Friday. She always felt safe with Tommy. There was a sense of security and a feeling of being protected.

Rose found herself that the more she hung around Tommy, the more she began to trust him, and the more Rose began to like Tommy, which scared her. She was not supposed to develop feelings for him. He was a client, after all. He paid for her services. She willingly allowed him to do unspeakable sexual acts to her. Rose was willing to let Tommy do things she would never allow any other man to do to her. She wondered what made Tommy different compared to someone like Luca or Alfie. Probably because, in a weird sense, Tommy treated Rose like a human being and not some toy. Yes, she knew Tommy tended to be possessive, but he still respected Rose’s boundaries. Rose trusted Tommy not ever to cross them.

“Rosie, are you still here?” Nick asked. He waved his hand in front of Rose’s face to get her attention.

“What?” Rose shook her head to clear her mind. “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“Dad asked you about the guy you are currently seeing,” Louis answered. He was frustrated that his dad brought up Tommy.

“Oh yeah, what about Tommy?”

“Just wondered how long you have been seeing this guy? How did you two meeting by the way?” Nick questioned. “I’ll be frank; I was stunned to find out that the mother of my child is dating the one and only Tommy Shelby. Isn’t he an OBE?”

Rose shrugged her shoulders at the question, “I guess he is an OBE. I don’t know; he has yet to show me his medal or whatever it is they get. You know, Tommy is just a guy I met, and we hit it off. Nothing too outrageous.”

“Is it serious?” Again, another question from Nick.

Louis sighed in annoyance, and Rose quickly picked up on her son’s discomfort on the subject of Tommy. “Let’s see if they have dessert,” Rose changed the subject and tried to wave over their waitress.

“Have you met him, Louis?” asked Nick turning towards his son.

Rolling her eyes, Rose interceded, “No, he has not met Tommy.”

“And I don’t want to,” Louis mumbled under his breath.

“Hey, here is an idea, how we don’t talk about Tommy, okay,” ordered Rose, and both guys agreed.

After sharing a tiramisu, Rose had enough and was ready to get back home. Nick offered to pay, and Rose didn’t fight him on it. She figured it was his way of showing he had his own money and could provide a meal for them. With their leftovers boxed up, Rose led the way back to Nick’s car.

“Louis, did you still want to go to the Apple store?” Rose asked him.

“Can we? I thought you wanted to get back home.”

“I do, but we can get the leftovers in the fridge, and I can take you,” replied Rose. Truthfully, she did not want to go. She had enough excitement for one day.

Suddenly, Nick piped in, “I can take him if you feel like staying home.”

Rose turned around to look at Louis, “Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine,” answered Louis, happily. He was excited to get to spend some alone time with his dad.

Nick parked in front of the house. Rose and Louis and got out of the car. He handed the pizza boxes to Rose and got in the front seat. “I’ll see you late, sweetie. By Nick. Take care.”

“Bye, Rosie. Talk to you later.”

Rose waved them off and walked towards the house. She breathed a sigh of relief upon entry. She went upstairs to undress and put on a pair of comfortable sweats and sweater. All Rose wanted to do was relax.

Looking at the clock, it was only 3:30 PM. Lunch with Nick felt like it went on longer. As Rose was about to settle herself on the couch to watch television, the doorbell rang. “Now, who the Hell is that?”

“Fucking ‘ell, people. It’s Easter Sunday, for God’s sake.” She walked to the front door and opened it to find none other than Tommy Shelby.

“Tommy, what are you doing here?” inquired Rose, totally not expecting it to be him.

Clearing his throat, Tommy shuffled on his feet. He looked down, then up at Rose. “I…I needed to get out and away. It was all too much.”

Rose was confused by what Tommy was telling her. She motioned for Tommy to come inside, and he obliged. “What do you mean it was all too much? Are you okay?”

Guiding Tommy to the couch, Rose sat down next to him. She was concerned since she had never seen Tommy like this before. It was as if he was lost.

Tommy sighed, “I was at my sister’s house. Everyone was there, my brothers, their wives and kids, Aunt Polly and her husband, his kids. Everyone had someone but me. I was alone. Charlie was there, of course, but it if feels like the bond we once had is dwindling. He doesn’t need me. I watched him play with his cousins and interact with his aunts and uncles and realized that my son is better off without me.”

Rose was shocked at Tommy’s words. She scooted closer to him and placed a supported hand on his knee. “Tommy, no. That is not true. Of course, your son needs you. You are his father. You’re his family.”

“He has other family members who can give him the love and attention he deserves. Maybe I should have listened to Grace’s parents and had Charlie live with them.”

“No. Tommy, listen to me,” Rose began and made Tommy look at her. “Charlie is your son. You love him. You told me that you love him. He is a part of you and Grace. If you give Charlie up, you will regret it. Then you truly will lose him.”

“It would be better for him….”

“No, it would not. It would only scar that child for the rest of his life. He will feel that you abandoned him,” Rose stated firmly. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s a holiday. We all get weird when we are forced to hang around family members. Just stay here for a while and relax.”

Rose found that her hand moved from Tommy’s knee to his hand sitting back on the couch. He was holding on tight as if he was afraid Rose would disappear. She used her other hand to cover his. Rose wanted Tommy to know that she was not going anywhere. Taking in Tommy’s appearance, he was dressed in blue jeans, a black sweater, and black boots. It was the most casual look Rose had ever seen Tommy. She was always used to seeing him in suits. It was a nice change. However, the look on his face was one of sadness and defeat.

“Tell me what you need, Tommy?” Rose asked. She pulled Tommy closer to her and wrapped an arm around him. “Tell me how I can make it better,” she crooned in his ear and ran her fingers through his hair.

What did Tommy want? He was unsure. A part of Tommy didn’t want to feel always in control. That he could let go and be in the moment. That’s what he wanted; he wanted to be in the moment with Rose. Just the two of them, sitting together. “I just want to sit here, with you, Rose. That’s all I want right now. I don’t want to think about anything.”

Kissing the top of Tommy’s head, Rose leaned her head on his. “Okay, we can do that, Tommy. I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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laprincesaelena · 3 years

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EOA Ship Appreciation Week Day 5: Meeting/Farewell

a/n: hi guys! thank you all so much for the positive feedback on my day 4 poem, i’m so glad everyone liked it!! as i said, i know every ship wasn’t included, i ended up having enough time to only do the ones that were requested! but, i’d definitely consider making a part 2, so if your ship wasn’t included this time, it may be another time..

anyways, on to day 5! you may notice i included both prompts here instead of just one..you’ll find out why ;) this story is inspired by an au @procrastinateland (s/o for the beautiful art once again!!!) i came up with together, based on the sound of music! but, this fic in particular doesn’t have much to do with the musical you probably know. my obsession besides elena this summer was researching the lives of the real von trapps who inspired the movie and musical, and through it, i found the adorable love story of the parents of the seven children (georg and agathe, maria wasn’t in the picture yet!) that i knew would be so sweet for gabelena. so that’s what this fic is inspired by! quick historical note, the events that this fic portrays happened in real life in 1910 and 1922, but the years have been switched to 1912 and 1930 for the au, since we decided to place our au closer to the movie’s timeline than the real story. also hi please talk to me about the von trapps i’ve been driving my gf crazy with my useless knowledge lmaooo

and that’s about it! hope you all enjoy this, and let me know what you think!

fic is below the cut!

February 10th, 1912

Lieutenant Gabriel Núñez was amazed as he entered the venue of tonight's celebratory ball, Villa Castillo. He had never been inside a home so grand before, he almost felt as if he didn't deserve to be there. But, regardless, he was invited to attend, along with all of his friends from the navy. He couldn't wait to get away from the structure and seriousness of the military for a night, and to just have fun.

This was the first ball Gabe had been invited to since he became a lieutenant, or ever for that matter, and he was loving it. It was hosted by the Castillo Flores family, a rich family whose inventions had earned them quite the fortune over the past century. As more guests began to make their arrivals, Gabe and his friends hung around together, mingling with other guests or testing out a drink or two. Then, the ball was to officially begin with a musical performance by the hosts.

Now, Gabe wasn't much of a believer of love at first sight, but with one glance, his mind was instantly changed. Standing beside her mother and grandparents, ready to perform their opening song, stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and Gabe knew he was in love. Sure, he knew he had no chance with her, as he was just a lieutenant from a humble family of bakers. She was the daughter of a rich family, and most likely the heir to their fortunes. But, there was no harm in trying, right? He knew that at some point tonight, he just had to talk to this beautiful girl.

Elena Castillo Flores, however, was different. She wholeheartedly believed in chance of falling in love at first sight, but she never thought it would happen to her. She had grown up around these balls, her family had been hosting them for as long as she could remember. And being 17, she had met plenty of men who hoped to marry into her family's fortune, but none of them seemed quite right. That was, until she was about to perform with her family.

She looked out into the crowd, and caught the eye of a handsome naval officer. She smiled softly in his direction, but didn't have time to do anything else, before she picked up her guitar, and began to perform alongside her mother and grandparents.

Gabe couldn't help but keep his eye on this girl the entire time she performed. She was a beautiful singer and guitarist, and Gabe loved hearing every word she sang, and each note she strummed. Before he could snap out of his romantic trance, the performance had ended. Gabe looked up to the stage to see if he could approach the girl, but she her family had left the stage, and were out of sight. So, it was back to just talking with his friends for now. Maybe a good laugh or two could keep his mind off of this girl. In between their backgrounds and the chances that she would choose him out of many much more qualified suitors, Gabe had a feeling this crush was bound to end in disappointment.

Eventually, Gabe stepped away to go and get his mind off things, but as he was walking, he accidentally bumped into someone. He was about to apologize, but when the person he had bumped into turned to look at him, he realized who he had bumped into: the host's daughter.

Finding his voice again, he said, "I-I'm so sorry for bumping into you, I should have been watching where I was going."

Every once in a while, as she sang and played her guitar, Elena would look out at the man she had seen earlier. He was quite handsome, and she couldn't help but notice the way he smiled at her. But, once the performance was over, she wasn't going to go looking for him. She knew it'd probably be hard to find him in such a big group. Besides, he was probably going to turn out to be like any other man she'd met, and would only take interest in the prospect of inheriting her family's money. So, she carried on with her night, accepting that she'd probably never see him again. That was, until someone bumped into her. When she looked at the person she bumped into, she couldn't help but freeze, it was the lieutenant she had seen earlier. He was the one to speak first, which snapped her back into reality.

“Oh no, no, it's okay! You're fine!" she assured him.

"Oh, alright" Gabe said. He mentally hit himself for not saying more than he did, but whenever he looked at her, he was at a loss for words. He could at least introduce himself, he thought, but every time he did, the words would be at the edge of his tongue, and he'd end up saying nothing. But, he was determined not to blow the only chance he'd ever have with her, so, he gathered up his courage to speak to her once again.

Elena too, would be so, so close to saying something, even just introducing herself, but before the words could come out, she'd freeze. She so desperately wanted to get to know him better, and she knew the only way to do so was to just say something. But, luckily for her, he said something first.

"This has been a wonderful ball so far." Gabe finally said.

"Oh, well, thank you.." Elena replied with a smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying it so far."

"I am" Gabe said, returning the smile. Finally, he decided, he was actually going to introduce himself. "I'm Lieutenant Gabriel Núñez," he said. "but you can call me Gabe."

Elena quietly sighed with relief, she was glad he introduced himself first, it gave her the confidence to do the same. "I'm Elena Castillo Flores," she introduced. "but you can just call me Elena."

"It's very nice to meet you, miss Elena," Gabe replied, with a bow of his head to her.

"It's very nice to meet you too, lieutenant," Elena responded. "Oh, I mean Gabe, it's nice to meet you too, Gabe." she added, and shook her head at herself. Hopefully she didn't blow her chance with him right then and there.

Gabe smiled and laughed softly, he couldn't help but fall deeper in love with the girl the longer he talked to her. He had managed to find her, talk to her, and introduce himself, but there was one more step with her he wanted to take.

"I hope this isn't too soon, but would you like to dance?" he asked.

Elena's face now lit up with a smile, it most certainly wasn't too soon, she was so excited he asked her to dance with him! She nodded, and held out her hand to him. "I would love to dance," she said.

Gabe took her hand with a smile, and lead her to the center of the ballroom. With one of his hands tightly in the grasp of hers, his other hand wrapped around her waist, the two began their first dance.

As the pair glided effortlessly across the floor, Elena still couldn't believe that this was happening. How did she ever get so lucky? But, she also knew that there was a possibility that he might have happened to only attend this ball, and she may never see him again. She truly hoped this wasn't the case, she wanted to get to know him better and spend more time with him, because she knew for a fact she was falling in love.

Gabe could barely believe this was happening either. This beautiful girl had really said agreed to dance with him, and now they were actually dancing? Gabe truly hoped that he wasn't dreaming, for he never wanted to wake up. He wanted this dance to last forever, so he would never have to say goodbye to Elena, and go back to living his life without her in it. There was hardly a chance he would see her again after the ball ended, but he kept a glimmer of hope that tonight was not their final encounter.

Elena wasn't paying attention to anything else around her, for all that mattered to her now was that she was actually dancing with Gabe! She planned to dance with him for the entire night, if it meant she'd be able to spend as much time as possible with him. She knew that once the ball ended, there was a high possibility of her never seeing him again. So, she was going to make sure to spend as much time with him as she possibly could, while she had the opportunity.

After a couple of hours of guests talking, eating, drinking, and dancing the night away, the ballroom began to empty out a bit. Elena brought Gabe outside to a balcony, so she'd be able to talk with him and get to know him better without any sort of distraction.

"So, being a lieutenant, I'm assuming you're in the military, the... navy, correct?" she asked him, to start some conversation.

"Yes," Gabe answered. "I joined as soon as I was able, I've always wanted to be a part of the navy. My parents, especially my father, aren't too happy I chose this path instead of joining their baking business, but this is what I really wanted to do."

"Oh, your parents have a baking business?" Elena asked him. "Not too much of a baker, are you?" she joked.

"No," Gabe replied. "and I'm not much of an olaball player either, to the dismay of my father."

"It certainly seems as if your father isn't too thrilled with your life choices... but do you love what you do?" Elena asked.

"Yes, I do." Gabe responded with a smile. "Besides, if I hadn't made the decision to go against his wishes and join the navy, I probably wouldn't be talking to you right now."

Elena smiled as she felt her cheeks warm up at his sweet response. She was so, so glad that Gabe decided to follow his own path in life instead of listening to his father, because if he didn't, they may have never met.

"Well, I guess you're right," she said. "and I'm glad that you're doing something that you love, that's what should really matter."

Gabe nodded in agreement. "What's your family like?" he asked.

"Well, there's me, my mother, my younger sister, my grandparents," Elena answered. "we're all pretty close, and we love to make music together."

"I can tell, you and your family sounded amazing tonight," Gabe said. "and not to be biased, but I think I liked your singing the most."

Elena smiled, and put a hand to her cheek, she was definitely blushing now. "Thank you," she said. "but I wouldn't say I'm the best of them, they're all very talented.."

"I would," Gabe responded, and reached down to take her hand in his own.

"Well, thank you.." Elena replied, holding Gabe's hand tightly back. "and I may be biased, but I'd say you're my favorite lieutenant, because I totally know all the others." she said.

Elena laughed nervously for a moment after that attempt at flirting. 'what was that, Elena?' she asked herself.

"Thank you," Gabe said with a smile.

"You're welcome," Elena responded, a similar smile never leaving her face.

"So, what do you like to do other than make music?" Gabe asked her.

"I love just getting out with my family most times, of course. We'll go on hikes, go sailing, go to one of our vacation homes or visit someone else in our family's home, we're always somewhere or doing something." Elena told him. "How about you?" she asked.

"I like fencing," Gabe replied. "We sometimes have competitions between my friends and I, and not to brag, but I usually win."

"I'm sure you do," Elena responded, definitely believing him. "and I'd love to learn to fence sometime, it actually looks pretty fun!"

"Well, I'd be happy to teach you," Gabe offered. "I'm sure it'd be considered "unladylike," but if it was just us, it wouldn't really matter."

"What my mother and grandparents don't know won't kill them," Elena replied with a wink. "I'd love for you to teach me sometime!"

"I'd be more than happy to teach you," Gabe responded.

"And hopefully you can sometime," Elena said, before sighing as she remembered the reason why she was so hesitant to find him in the first place. The chances of the two reuniting were slim to none. "I hope we see each other again..."

"Me too..." Gabe replied, looking down with a sigh as well. "Maybe we could write to each other? To keep in contact?" he suggested.

"I'd love that." Elena said, smiling once again at the thought of it. "We definitely should."

Gabe smiled. "Alright," he said. "I'll give you my address."

"And I'll give you mine as well, which is right here, but I'll still write it down so you'll always have it" Elena said.

"Thank you," Gabe replied. "I look forward to writing to you, and seeing you again, Miss Elena."

"And I look forward to writing and seeing you again as well, Lieutenant Núñez." Elena responded with a smile.

Gabe laughed a bit and rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "Please, you can just call me Gabe," he said.

"And you can just call me Elena," Elena insisted. "No 'miss' necessary"

"Alright then, Elena it is." Gabe said, smiling over at her.

"And Gabe it is." Elena replied, sharing the same, loving smile.

At that moment, the both of them knew that they had met the love of their life. Though they'd have a difficult road ahead, in between having to communicate with letters for a while or with Gabe often traveling with the navy, they were determined to make it work. Gabe was not going to let his beautiful Elena go, and Elena knew that tonight she had met the man she was going to marry. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together, no matter what.

September 3rd, 1930

On Christmas night of 1929, Gabe and Elena's oldest daughter began to feel unwell. It was simply strep throat, they were told, she should recover in a matter of days. But, by the time eleven year old Catalina had recovered, five of her seven siblings had fallen ill as well. The sudden illness turned out not to be a simple case of strep throat, but the highly contagious scarlet fever, which was currently spreading through the city.

Of course, Elena was always there to care for her children, even if she was risking contracting the illness herself. For the next few weeks, she was constantly visiting her children and checking in on them, while still trying to stay healthy herself. But, when her youngest daughter, Martina, who wasn't even a year old yet, came down with a severe case, Elena had no choice but to step in and care for her, twenty four-seven.

By the end of January, Elena's caring and motherly nature had led her to catching scarlet fever herself. In children, the illness tended to be fairly mild, but in adults, it could often leave behind serious side effects. Gabe knew this, and insisted that his wife take the time to rest in order to recover. But, Elena insisted that her children came first, wanting to be there for each and every one of them as they recovered.

But, even when all seven children were happy and healthy once again, Elena's symptoms had not subsided. Now, she could rest and recover with a sound mind, knowing that her children would be alright without her for a couple of days. Those couple of days turned into weeks, those weeks into months, and by the end of August, Elena still had a long road to recovery. She was now bound to a wheelchair, she would have to learn to walk all over again due to the toll the illness had taken on her body. She still tried to spend as much time as possible with her children, and be the happy, loving, and healthy mamí they had always known. But, deep down, she knew if scarlet fever had already taken so much from her, it could continue to do so.

Over the next week, Elena's condition quickly deteriorated, and it seemed as if only a miracle could heal her. Gabe had visited his wife each and every day for the duration of her sickness, but for the past day or two, he hadn't left her side at all. He knew that at any time, her condition could take a turn for the absolute worst, and he didn't want to take the chance of not having a chance to say goodbye. While Gabe tried his best to stay somewhat positive, and hope that his wife would miraculously recover, he knew Elena's time left was short.

Gabe's eyes were heavy as he sat at his wife's bedside, having stayed awake the entire night with her. He held Elena's hand tightly in his, even though Elena barely had the strength left to hold his. It broke his heart to see his wife in this condition, he would do absolutely anything to bring back the bright light of his life that was Elena.

Gabe's heart would sink as he noticed his wife's breathing become labored. He had been mentally preparing himself for the worst, just in case, but he knew that no matter how much he had prepared, he would never be ready if that moment arrived. He felt the slightest bit of relief when he noticed Elena slowly turn her head to look over at him, using all of her strength to do so.

"Elena.." he began to say, even saying her name brought tears to his eyes. But before he could say anything else, his wife managed to speak up.

"Gabe.." she said, her voice in a whisper. "Please..tell our children how much I love them.."

"Elena, no..no, don't talk like that.." Gabe said to her. Though he was trying to preserve his wife's positivity, he was also in denial about all this.

"Tell each and every one of them..each and every day..how much I love them.." Elena said. "And that I'll always be with them.."

Gabe held Elena's hand tight as he fought to hold back his tears, but even then, a tear or two would manage to fall down his cheek. He looked over at his wife, he still thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even with a scarlet red rash covering her cheeks, and her hair sticking to her fevered forehead. If it were possible, he would do anything to end all of her pain and suffering, but he knew that at this point, there was only one option for that.

Trying to clear his mind of these thoughts, Gabe nodded. "Of course I will.. I promise.." he said.

Elena smiled as best as she could, but to Gabe, it was the brightest smile he had seen out of her in a while. "Thank you.." she said. "A-and I love you..so, so much.."

"I love you too.." Gabe replied, and leaned down to kiss his wife. Thankfully, Elena was no longer contagious, but even if she was, Gabe would take that chance if it meant kissing his beloved Elena one last time.

Then, it looked as if Elena were about to speak, but she was unable to get any word out. Finally, a moment later, she managed to say, "And.."

Gabe patiently waited as his wife struggled to say a second word. He would wait for as long as it took her, he'd take any opportunity to hear the voice he loved so much.

"I'm..a-always.." Elena said, now needing to take multiple labored breaths between each word. Though it was a struggle, Elena managed to complete her sentence.

"I'm always with you.."

A moment later, after months and months of fighting to recover, Elena's body gave in, and her eyes slowly closed.

Gabe could feel his wife's grip on his hand loosen, and his heart immediately dropped. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose her.

"Elena? Elena! Elena, no! Mi amor, please!" Gabe desperately cried, hoping that his wife's beautiful brown eyes would open again. But no matter how many times he called her name, they remained peacefully closed, as her body grew paler.

Now, Gabe's denial began to truly set in. He lightly shook her, he held her hand tight, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, all in an effort to wake her, even though deep down, he knew that his efforts were in vain. Finally, it all became too much for him, and Gabe just broke down. he couldn't picture his life without Elena, he never thought everything would end this way.

He thought of his wife, she had so much more to live for. she was a loving wife, a caring mother, his best friend. Then he pictured their seven children, who would now be growing up without their mother. He thought of their identical twins, though they were already quite different, they shared a similarity, devotion to their family. Catalina and Carolina absolutely adored their mother, and looked up to her, along with being her best friends. He thought of Luis, their oldest son, he was a mamí's boy. He loved cuddling up with his mother and listen to her play guitar, he wanted to learn from her one day. He thought of their youngest son, Marcelo, their bundle of energy, who sometimes even Elena couldn't keep up with. He thought of Luciana and Adelina, aged only five and two, who would be too little to understand why their mamí had suddenly disappeared. And finally, he thought of Martina, their baby girl who would grow up without a mother. She would never get know her mamí, or even remember her. In fact, he didn't know if any of their younger children would be able to remember their mother.

Gabe found himself growing a bit dizzy, since this all seemed like he was living a nightmare. His hands shook as he held Elena's tightly in his own, and his vision was blurred from his tears.

As his final moments with Elena played over and over in his head, he was reminded of his wife's dying wish. To remind each and every one of their children each and every day how much their mamí loves them. If Elena could see him now, she'd hate to see him this distraught. She'd encourage him to keep his head up and stay strong, but how could he ever move on in life without his Elena? His children. He knew he needed to stay strong and carry on for them. Though, of course, carrying on could take weeks, months, or even years, Elena would want him to be happy. But most of all, she'd want her children to be happy and loved as well.

So, then and there, Gabe dedicated himself to fulfilling Elena's wish. For the rest of his life, he would make sure his children are happy, healthy, and loved, just as Elena would do. Though it would be difficult to carry on without her, the Núñez Castillos still had each other, and that's what matters most.

#eoa ship appreciation week 2021 #gabelena #elena of avalor #my fics #sound of music au #i’ve been looking forward to this one lol #anyways as i said i’ve been pushing my von trapp knowledge onto my gf for months now so now you guys can have some too :)#also please let me know what you think if you read it bc i need to know if i’ve made you suffer™️#also also gabelena kids are mentioned here #seven of them this time!!#yeah they have a lot of kids what about it

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princesssarisa · 4 years

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Assorted thoughts on “Little Women”

In no particular order.

*I’m glad I waited this long to read the original, unabridged novel. If I had read it as a teen or a preteen, I just might have followed countless girl readers’ example of having a crush on Laurie and being angry that Jo doesn’t marry him. Reading it now, I’m able to see him as the well-rounded, likable yet flawed character he is, not just as a girl’s prize, and realize that while he and Jo have a beautiful friendship, they wouldn’t have worked as a couple. The canon pairings of Jo/Friedrich and Amy/Laurie are the right ones.

*About the controversial issue of the characters’ ambitions... None of the young leads achieve their childhood dreams in the end; Alcott’s intended message was clearly “We don’t always achieve our dreams, but life can still be happy in ways we never expected.” That’s all well and good. But apart from Meg’s gender-neutral dream of being rich, the characters’ “castles in the air” are all in defiance of their expected gender roles: Jo wants to be a famous author and Amy a famous artist, two fields normally reserved for men, while Laurie wants to be a composer instead of going into his grandfather’s business. And all three of their endings are distinctly more gender-conforming: Jo becomes a schoolmistress, Amy becomes a society lady, both become wives and mothers, and Laurie goes into business “like a man.” I think it’s fair for modern readers to be disappointed by that conformity, even while appreciating the realistic message about childhood dreams. Those feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. For modern audiences, I think the standard adaptational change of Jo publishing her own version of Little Women at the end (instead of 20 years later in the last sequel) is a good change.

*About Jo needing to control her temper... I understand why this annoys some feminists. So often women are expected to suppress all anger and never stand up for themselves. Maybe it is problematic that role model Marmee explicitly never shows her anger, but only purses her lips and leaves the room. But personally, I think it’s presented in a healthy, gender-neutral way. Jo’s anger isn’t a problem because it’s “unseemly” or “unfeminine,” but because it can lead her to do cruel things to others. The mistake that teaches her the lesson in “Jo Meets Appolyon,” letting Amy skate on the thin ice, isn’t a loud, aggressive act of rage, but a cold, silent act (or rather inaction) of spite. Besides “control your temper” doesn’t mean “never stand up for yourself.” The book has several examples of women calmly yet firmly calling out other people’s bad behavior (most often Laurie’s ^–^) and it’s portrayed as entirely right. And though it’s tempting to be annoyed by Mr. March putting his finger to his lips when he sees his wife starting to get angry, it’s also a nice subversion of gender stereotypes to see a marriage where the husband is gentler by nature than his wife and is a calming influence on her. Stereotypical couples are the other way around.

*As a person on the autism spectrum, I relate strongly to Beth. I fully embrace the headcanon that Beth herself is autistic and that Lizzie Alcott might have been diagnosed as such if she had lived today. So it hurts a little to see other readers call Beth “boring,” “annoying,” a “doormat” and “the worst of the sisters.” Although she is idealized because she was Alcott’s tribute to her dead little sister, she’s not the cardboard cutout of bland feminine virtue she’s so often been stereotyped as being. It’s clear from the start that Beth isn’t “normal,” either by our standards or by past ones. Her crippling shyness isn’t just “sweet Victorian modesty,” but portrayed as a real flaw that she struggles to overcome. She’s been homeschooled because as a child her social anxiety made regular school unbearable for her. She still plays with dolls, believes in Santa Claus and has imaginary friends at age 13. She has no desire to get married, or to have any kind of career, or ever to leave her parents’ house. And because of all this, she clearly has a low opinion of herself: hence she tells Jo that she was never meant to live long, because she would never have been anything but “stupid little Beth, trotting about at home.” But the narrative belies her words. In both of her illnesses, so many people rally around her and reveal how much they love her and how valuable her quiet kindness has been in their lives. Ultimately she dies in peace because she realizes her life hasn’t been worthless after all. With my own social struggles, my tendency to be “younger than my years,” and my own desire to have a quiet life close to my family instead of going out into the big, overwhelming world and doing big, overwhelming things, I find her storyline beautiful, because it gives me hope that my life is just as valuable as anyone else’s.

*I also relate to Jo, as so many readers do. The result is that I’m of two minds of the chapters “Calls” and “Consequences.” On the one hand, there’s no doubt that Jo is at fault in those chapters and does more-or-less deserves to lose the trip to Europe. She’s genuinely, purposefully rude to her aunts and to the other people they visit and she humiliates Amy and harms her social life – at the subsequent fair, the Chesters ban Amy from the art table because Jo insulted them. Plus the only reason why she has to join Amy in the calls in the first place is because she promised she would, so it’s hypocritical of her to whine about it. But on the other hand, I do empathize with Jo. With my own my social difficulties, I relate to her hating formal occasions where she has to dress up, mind her manners, make small talk about topics that don’t interest her with people she dislikes, and always be “agreeable” and “docile.” For Jo and for so many of us, it’s so hard to be that way, yet it’s the mold that all women were expected to stuff themselves into in the 19th century and to an extent still are today. Amy is lucky that she enjoys playing that social game and that it comes naturally to her. So it’s easy to sympathize with Jo’s envy when Amy is chosen to go to Europe, to feel as if Amy is rewarded for her social conformity while Jo is punished for failing to conform, and to feel as if the message is that all girls should conform like Amy. Fortunately, the book as a whole doesn’t send that message: even Amy achieves her ultimate happiness by letting herself be a bit more like Jo and call Laurie out on his laziness and apathy, when back in “Calls” she had argued that a lady should never show disapproval to a man.

*I don’t understand why some commentators think the chapter “On the Shelf” is so horribly sexist. Well, actually, I do. It’s tempting to find fault with John for being “jealous” that Meg is focusing more on their babies than on him and for “neglecting” Meg and spending carefree evenings out while she slaves away with the twins. And for Meg to be told by her mother that this is her own fault for “neglecting her duty to her husband” understandably rankles some feminists. But I honestly don’t think there’s any real problem. Meg genuinely neglects John and overtaxes herself by devoting every waking minute to the twins and letting neither John nor anyone else help her, because she’s afraid that otherwise she’ll be a bad mother. John isn’t jealous of the babies, he understandably feels ignored and useless. Nor (despite what some critics think) does he cheat on Meg, or want to. He just goes to a friend’s house rather than sit alone at home; Meg’s fear that his eye is roving to Mrs. Scott is just a product of her own stress. The resolution is arguably just the opposite of sexist: Meg finally lets John take an equal share of child-rearing duties, lets Hannah babysit often so they can both have time for themselves too, and steps out of her domestic sphere to share talks with John about politics, literature, etc. By the end of the chapter, their marriage is more egalitarian than ever.

*I’d like to read a fanfic where Jo meets Rodolfo from La Bohéme. I wouldn’t ship them, since they’re even more “too much alike” than Jo and Laurie are, but I’d like to see them meet. They’re both lively, passionate, temperamental ENFP writers, whose minds are full of “castles in the air” (they both use that exact phrase), yet whose lives both turn out differently than they had hoped, although Jo’s outcome is much happier. Both also adore a sweet, gentle, sickly young girl (Jo’s sister Beth/Rodolfo’s love interest Mimí) whose death they both regard as the end of their own youth. Furthermore, both of their authors modeled them after themselves. Jo is more down-to-earth than Rodolfo, though, and I’m not sure if they’d be friends or hate each other – Jo would definitely be indignant to learn how Rodolfo emotionally abused and broke up with Mimí because he couldn’t bear to watch her die, when she herself nursed Beth day and night through both of her illnesses and never left her side. But it would be an interesting meeting.

@fairychamber, @thatvermilionflycatcher

#little women #meta #opinions #rambling

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jade-masquerade · 4 years

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Jonsa Halloween Day 2: singing to the stranger, begging for his kiss (colors)

Written for @jonsa-halloween Day 2: Colors

The hall was awash with color, and from her vantage point at the back, Sansa could see it all.

The flicker of flames from the candles fashioned by House Waxley illuminated on the stone walls, autumn scents of rich nutmeg and cinnamon-roasted apple and mulled spice floating on the air. Pumpkins, the largest of all those grown in Westeros she’d heard, adorned the tables, flanked by squashes and gourds for the smallfolk to take home after they’d done their decorative duties. Strings of sewn leaves that matched the colors of those outside stretched from sconce to sconce,

And in between, the crowds themselves were a vibrant departure from the plain dark cloaks and furs of grey and black. Whereas usually house sigils provided the only bits of color in a sea of monotony, now there was nary a sigil in sight, unless one counted Ser Hubert Hersy wearing outrageously oversized white wings and holding a chalice in hand or Ser Uther Shett dressed as a seagull.

The costumes of many women were even more elaborate. The likenesses of Shiera Seastar, Princess Nymeria, and Sharra the Witch Queen filled the hall, interspersed among horned unicorns and mermaids and wood nymphs. Girls of all ages wore the floating fabrics of Lady Alyssa Arryn, tears of shimmering blue and silver painting their cheeks, even while they were all smiles. Sansa would have once envied them their extravagant appearances, spending years coveting the bright yellow and blue of one of the branches of House Flint and the pretty violet lilies of House Fenn, bored by the dull white and grey of House Stark.

She smoothed over the dress she wore now, all dyed grey, a simple bodice that fit her snuggly and a skirt of wool flaring outward from the waist. Alayne would have looked down at such a drab shade, and truth be told, Sansa would have too, but that was the color of freedom now, of anonymity. With her darkened hair and her unadorned silver mask, she thought even she herself would be hard pressed to recognize herself in such a guise.

The most flamboyant costumes of those up on the dais caught her eye—huge hoop skirts, towering hats, and embellished cloaks made of velvet and satin and exotic furs. Across the hall, seated among them, Alyssa Stone dazzled in Alayne’s silk dress of mockingbird gold and her ornate mask imported from Braavos. They looked similar enough, and in the darkness with the ale flowing freely, Sansa knew anyone would be hard pressed to tell the difference, yet she still worried the deception would be discovered.

“I would die to be a lord’s daughter, even just for a night,” Alyssa sighed weeks ago as they sat sewing the garlands of leaves after Sweetrobin’s host of Winged Knights had exited the room with the little lord, each taking a bow before Alayne as they did so.

“Littlefinger isn’t a lord here, not truly,” Sansa had said, sharper than she should have. “He’s only regent for Sweerobin.”

“Close enough!” Alyssa said. The handmaid snatched Alayne’s mask from her wardrobe, which Littlefinger had gifted her with earlier that morning, and held it up to her face. “It was your suggestion for the feast to be a masquerade, after all…”

It had not taken much more convincing than that, the mere inkling of an idea, and so when they’d dressed earlier this evening, Sansa had let down her hair in simple curls and Alyssa pinned hers up in elaborate twists anchored by a golden comb inset with glittering black diamonds, and when they’d emerged from her chambers, no one had been the wiser.

Once Sansa had dreamed of harvest feasts and masked balls, and while she still did revel in the magic of it all, in those dreams she had danced, she had fluttered her lashes at the knights who drew here interest, and she had shared sweet kisses with them. She had never imagined she would instead be trapped beneath the watchful eye of a man who called her daughter yet wanted her for himself or be pestered by an intended suitor who saw her as merely a conquest, with whom there would be no love, only desire until his interest waned. In those dreams, she had been among her true family, and in the comforts of her home, and she had always been Sansa, never Alayne.

And so for tonight she decided to call herself Jeyne, a common enough name not likely to arouse any suspicions, the name of her closest friend from Winterfell whose memory still pulled at her heart. Sansa vowed she would find her someday, once she escaped this place. Jeyne had shared those same dreams with her, and Sansa remembered the faces she’d pull whenever her friend sighed over Robb, how they had tittered together over Lord Beric Dondarrion, and how Jeyne had once squealed when Sansa admitted she wondered how Ser Waymar Royce most liked to be kissed, earning a sharp glare from Septa Mordane.

Now, though, those intentions seemed positively innocent. Sansa would be lying if she said she had not thought of far more than gentle kisses nowadays and if she denied being curious about the things Myranda spoke of. She craved the brief, easy whirlwinds of romance the older girl and her handmaids shared in hushed whispers, to merely experience what exhilarations of youth had been stolen from her when they took her father’s head and Cersei’s demands turned her captive. She wanted a single night where she did not have to play this game, a moment where she felt liberated, no longer the little bird kept in a cage. She knew it was silly, maybe stupid even, but she could not help but hope for a kiss and perhaps more with a man she found dashing, a man who cared little or not at all if she bore a bastard name, a man who wouldn’t laugh at her blushing the way Harry sometimes did when she pushed away his insistent hands or turned her cheek to him.

The feast cleared quickly despite the many rounds, and soon the musicians struck up “Fair Maids of Summer” in celebration of the true end of the season. Sansa watched a couple dressed as Jonquil and Florian take the floor, another garbed as Lady Shella and her Rainbow Knight soon following. Alyssa danced with Ser Harrold, and the fact that it seemed he couldn’t tell the difference only confirmed what a dolt he truly was. They would giggle about this later, Sansa knew; Alyssa had become a true friend in the time they spent together, as true a friend as Alayne could have anyway.

Sansa herself set her sights on the handsome knights and men-at-arms seated at the long tables on the floor and below the salt. Some she recognized from the tournament where Sweetrobin had crowned his Winged Knights, but Harry had filled her sights then, and most of them wouldn’t have dared to look askance at the daughter of Lord Baelish or cross Ser Harrold by intruding on his betrothed. She was no longer confined though; now she was free to choose, and she eagerly drank them in.

The seven sons of House Sunderland all equally striking, even dressed as the seven drunken oarsmen. She admired Ser Cadwyn Egen and his riot of blonde curls, Ser Osbert Woodhull and his sweet smile, and how Ser Robbett Ruthermont so tall she would have had to crane her neck to glimpse his face if he held her in his arms. And then there were some things about them she liked for no reason at all it seemed: the way Ser Symon Crayne wore the collar of his shirt open to expose his chest, how Ser Landon Hunter looked exceptionally good in his tight huntsman breeches, what it would sound like for Jace Stone, a bastard son from one of the Templeton branches, to whisper in her ear with his deep voice.

She avoided Ser Morgarth and Ser Byron as she made her rounds. Ser Byron was good looking enough, but Sansa didn’t trust him more than her arm could reach, and the risk of recognition there would be too great anyhow. There were plenty of others, who came from lands afar and would return there after this night, and it did not take long until she was swept into the throng by Walder Upcliff.

He wore a high-necked cloak and a white mask, and she could smell ale already on his breath. She tried to engage him in cordial conversation, but Walder seemed far more interested in glancing down her dress than meeting her eye. With his leering smile and the way his hands dug into her hips to hold her closer than she would have liked, Sansa was grateful when the song changed, and he evidently lost interest in the slow, mournful rhythm of “Fallen Leaves.”

She participated in dancing the steps of the next few songs, a reel and a quick number where she spun from one partner to another, laughing breathlessly.

“Ser Andar,” she said, looking up at the knight with whom she’d had the fortune to finish the previous song. Ser Andar was every bit the picture of gallantry and comeliness, with his wavy golden hair, broad chest, and hands that spanned her waist. “It’s so lovely to see you this evening.”

He frowned. “Beg pardon, have we met?”

“Oh, I’m Lady Elesham’s handmaid. Jeyne,” she said, catching herself. “I admired your performance in the tournament of the Winged Knights. It’s a shame Lord Arryn did not choose you for his guard. I can think of no one more deserving.”

He did smile at that. No matter how stoic he was, it seemed he enjoyed flattery as much as anyone else.

“You’re so strong,” she said, running her hands along the muscles in his arms.

“It’s only sword work,” he said. “It requires none of the great effort needed to tend your lady, I imagine.”

She giggled, reaching up to touch her hair. She found herself not minding so much if Ser Andar found it fit to study the bosom of her dress, and she found herself very much wantonly wishing to draw his attention to the curves of her body there.

His attention seemed elsewhere though, either that or he possessed a remarkable streak of honor that no other man could manage to compete with, for he steadfastedly maintained his gaze on some point over her shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said as the last chords of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” faded, and he disappeared in the direction of one of Sweetrobin’s Winged Knights.

It was no matter, though. Sansa turned, and she whirled right into the arms of another.

#Jonsa #Jonsa Halloween #Jon x Sansa #My fic

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