#These men only want women to be something between a mother and a child that they occasionally fuck to assert dominance.
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Writing Female Fighters
The Heroine Must. Fight.
Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.
Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.
Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.
Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty
The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.
A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.
On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.
She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.
A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.
In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.
In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.
Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.
More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness
In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.
Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.
Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.
A female pre-fight conversation may be:
"If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be."
"What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -"
"But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?"
"Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?"
"Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"
A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter:
"Who's the coward now?"
"You're wrong."
"Prove it."
"Bastard."
Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.
She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.
When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.
Plausible Skills and Backstory
In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.
For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.
It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.
It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.
Inexperienced Female Fighters
A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:
Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.
Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.
Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)
Pull hair
Scratch.
In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.
Plausible Weapons and Clothing
All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).
Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.
When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.
For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.
For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.
A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.
She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.
She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.
Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.
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Uyu's Astrological Observations III
₊˚⊹♡ It's so easy to recognize Aquarius placements on instagram, just look at James Deen's Instagram. You will instantly understand why.
₊˚⊹♡ I realized that Saturn in 7H Solar Return Chart is also about limits in relationships, and in this case you could find it hard to find someone else than your crush that year for example. Or your ex. No one seems better. If you are in a relationship, you could find that you are literally only interested in them. Which is a good thing!
₊˚⊹♡ Vertex in 7H in a Solar Return can be a sign of meeting someone that will become very important in your life.
₊˚⊹♡ The more I see people's SR Charts, the more I see many people of different age getting married between 2026-2028. (why?)
₊˚⊹♡ My Juno is in Scorpio 2H 26° (Taurus house & degree), my FS's Juno is also in Scorpio, and he is Taurus rising. His Juno is also in 2H and 2° (both Taurus placements). My Groom is in my 10H, and my FS's Groom falls in his 10H too. My FS's Briede is in Gemini, and my Briede is in my 3H. It also conjuncts my Moon.
₊˚⊹♡ Scorpio placements NEVER forget, and they can hold grudges forever. My grandma has a Scorpio stellium, she has been deceived by a friend when she was a child, and decided to NEVER again trust people too much. She never got a best friend because it.
₊˚⊹♡ The moon persona chart can really tell you about stuff you never realized or stuff you never wanted to accept about yourself.
₊˚⊹♡ Moon/ Cancer/ or Moon influences over the 7H= marrying someone younger than you, or marrying at a young age
₊˚⊹♡ Some people's Juno and Groom/ Briede happen to be the same person, but not for everyone. Juno represents your ideal partner, it has more of a spiritual link and destiny vibe. Some people marry someone they don't have any soul attachment to.
₊˚⊹♡ Saturn/ Capricorn/ or Saturn influences over the 7H= marrying someone older than you, or marrying when you are older.
₊˚⊹♡ Men attracted to women often have their Briede PC looking identical to their wife's Natal Chart.
₊˚⊹♡ My Parents had Vertex in the 5H Composite, and they had a baby (me)
₊˚⊹♡ But they also had Briede and Groom in 3H, they were indeed engaged but never married. And their 7H is empty.
₊˚⊹♡ My step mother's sun also fall in their 9H, conjuncting Chiron. My dad left my mom for her.
₊˚⊹♡ If you want to see if it's gonna work out with someone, don't only check basic synastry, composite, etc. But also Persona Chart synastry! For example, check Boda PC Synastry, and see if your weddings are "the same".
₊˚⊹♡ Gemini Sun on Boda Persona Chart could indicate having two weddings (just a theory)
₊˚⊹♡ In my DSC Persona Chart, my FS's Natal sun fall in the 7H in that PC. My DSC PC's Juno is in the 7H too, and so also conjuncting his Natal Sun.
₊˚⊹♡ Let's talk about the Union PC, it's not something very known.
₊˚⊹♡ Uranus in my Union PC is in 9H in Aquarius, and I met my FS online first and then in a foreign country where technology is pretty advanced. It was also a sudden meeting!
₊˚⊹♡ The rising of my Union PC is Gemini 22°, and when I met my FS, our meeting was very organized, and I didn't know if it was a date or not, so I was a bit cold and detached. But we met in a foreign country, and I was speaking in a foreign language (English).
₊˚⊹♡ Groom in my Union PC is in Leo 25° (Aries), and my FS was flirty, and very showing off when we met. It's also in 3H, he was a true rizz. Also conjuncting Venus, he REALLY wanted to seduce me. He went hard, it was so obvious lmao.
₊˚⊹♡ This could also explain why my Briede in this PC is in Capricorn, and I was cold and detached lol. His rizz was a turn off.
₊˚⊹♡ Speaking of synastry in Union PC, my Sun there is in Virgo, and in my FS Union PC, Briede is in Virgo. In his Union PC, his Sun is in Leo, and in my Union PC, Groom is in Leo.
₊˚⊹♡ My FS's rising in Union PC is the same as his NC, and Cancer is over the 4H. We met in his homeland, where he was born.
₊˚⊹♡ Also, his Natal North Node conjunct his North Node in Union PC, meaning the meeting with his FS is part of his destiny.
₊˚⊹♡ Our Union also conjunct each other in Union PC Synastry.
₊˚⊹♡ My Briede in Union PC falls in his 11H, and his Groom in Union PC falls in my 11H. We met online first.
₊˚⊹♡ My father had a pretty intense and sometimes toxic relationship with his ex-wife, my step mother, and her sun was in his 8H, conjuncting Chrion... 😬
₊˚⊹♡ My father also has Part of Fortune in the 9H and it conjuncts his MC. He travels for work.
₊˚⊹♡ My father had 3 children: my sun falls in his 12H and he was an absent father figure in my life. My brother's sun falls in his 3H, and they tell the same joke, have the same way to talk. They have a lot in common when it comes to topics to discuss. And my sisters's sun fall in his 5H, she is the favorite child.
₊˚⊹♡ My Sun conjunct my mother's Ceres, and she is very protective of me.
₊˚⊹♡ I noticed a lot of people have North Node retrogrades. It usually means they think they are going to struggle to meet their destiny. For example: my FS has scorpio 7H North Node. And he has this thought that he will never marry.
₊˚⊹♡ I don't know much about Astrocartography, but I have been studying it a little recently. I realized that my Sun DC line and North Node DC line falls on the place I met my FS ;-;
₊˚⊹♡ I also checked my FS' Astrocartography and he got his North Node DC on the place we met lol.
₊˚⊹♡ I was Scorpio rising in my SRC of the year a lot of guys wanted to be intimate with me.
₊˚⊹♡ This year SRC I am Leo rising, and I met a lot of guys who happens to have crush on me. It's insane, I feel popular ;-;
₊˚⊹♡ Im not a big fan of Moon conjunct Sun in Synastry, but because it either the best or worst relationship ever. I realized every people who have my moon sign as their sun, we never get along, they hate me while we never truly talked. But, people who have my sun sign as their moon actually annoy me lmao? I guess the sun sign feels threaten by the moon sign embodying their energy?
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Moment we share
Synopsis: Holding your child for the first time is the best feeling in the world, sharing the moment with others is even better.
Pairing: Charles Lelerc X fem!reader
Warnings: Fluff! (idk,)
Word count: 924
You were utterly exhausted but you didn't want to move, largely because your whole body was aching from labour and partly because you were so infatuated with the little baby in your arms, a genetic copy of you and Charles, that you couldn't bring yourself too move.
Being at home helped, your husband was a rock of solidarity in the moments when your body wouldn't yield to your commands.
"She's perfect" Charles was hugged into the side of your bed, contently watching your daughter. Rosa Leclerc was going be a force to be reckoned with.
You shifted, trying to ease the ache building in your muscles, Charles observed you quietly from where he now stood.
"Let me take her" he didn't want to force you into letting her go again so soon,
Much to his surprise you lifted the bundle of blankets up, Charles stepped closer securing his arms to support his daughter.
You bit back the smile as the worry line on his forehead appeared, stressing over the littlest of things,
"Is this right?" He looked to you for support, the knowledge tugged something inside the hollow of your chest.
"Yeah you're fine" His shoulders were almost rigid and it took Charles a few minutes to ease into a posture that look at least half way comfortable.
"She's looking at me" Charles whispers, his voice soft.
"Hi baby" he cooed, pulling the blanket back to see her face.
Rosa yawned and as you watched Charles you were almost convinced your husband was going to combust on the very ground on which he stood.
There was a soft knock for the door, before it was pushed forwards. The muttering of French coming from the women to the people behind her. Charles family had come to visit the new Leclerc.
Your family had already been in, having been here since the moment you were hit with contractions. A home birth was always a plan for you, his family had respected your time frame and had appeared not a second before you asked them to.
Charles's mum shuffled into the room, his brothers falling in after her, tumbling over one another to be the next to hold their niece.
Charles turns to meet their stares, Rosa tucked tightly into him.
"Oh my.." his Mum leaned closer to her son, being respectful enough to not grab for your daughter as your mother had earlier. Something which had initially annoyed both you and Charles.
Despite the infant, his mother came across to your bedside, allowing his brothers that access to watch Rosa.
"How are you my darling?" Charles mum has always been lovely with you from the moment he brought you home to meet her. You need that now. Since your own parents had not been as kind, her gentle voice was soothing in a way you had once upon hoped your own mother's to sound like.
"I'm sore, but I'm fine now that's she's here"
She passed her gaze back to her three sons, practically melting over your daughter, Arthur pandering over her little fingers which gripped around one of his.
She began to unpack a bag onto your bed,
"He loves her so much", Continuing to watch your fiance, you sighed in relief when you watched her unpack tubs of homemade foods, the smell wafted across to the men.
Arthur's head popped up, he wandered across,
"Hey Y/n, you feeling okay?"
He subtly reached for a small tub of soup, his mum was quick to slap at his hands,
"Hands off, they're not for you"
Arthur grumbled but settled down into the new armchair in the corner of your room.
The conversations went on, with Charles passing Rosa between his family, each cooing and taking this moment with her.
With every moment that passed you could feel yourself wanting to drift into the embrace of sleep, Charles swirling small circles into the skin of your shoulder with the pad of his thumb was only aiding in the effect of needed sleep.
Lorenzo was smiling, making faces at Rosa, the infant laying in your mother in law's arms. Snuggled in, despite Charles conversation with his mum and youngest brother.
Your eyes were drawing heavier by the second, Pascale noticed your state, her eyes softening, she sat upright, carefully keeping a hold of your daughter.
You tried to pry your eyes open, to ask if she needed anything, but Pascale simply smiled at you, before turning to her other two sons,
"Y/n is tired, let us take our leave now." There was no room for error in her words, Arthur looked about ready to protest, but one glance your way and he nodded.
Charles squeezed your shoulder softly rising from beside you to kiss your head and walk to his mum. Pascale handed her son his daughter,
"Get some rest, Y/n you deserve it we'll be downstairs if you need anything"
Once they left it was easy to slip into the drag of the warm duvet, changed out from the towels which had previously covered your body.
Just as you had begun to drift off once more, a vibrating notification came from your phone, reaching for it you switched it to see the photo Charles had sent you from the other room.
Rosa was snuggled up into Arthur's chest once more, sleep drawing her own eyes shut.
Charles messaged popped into the screen not a second later.
. Like mother like daughter.
You couldn't breath past the swell in your throat, it was moments like this that had you realizing just how much you loved Charles and the life you had both made together, to the life you would continue.
To every little moment you would share as a family.
.
.
.
Taglist: @80sloverry @unofficial-journalist @celestialams @mirrorball-6 @love4lando @ironmaiden1313
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x female reader#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x y/n#charles leclerc x pregnant reader#pregnant#f1 pregnancy#dad charles leclerc
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What do you think of the Sansa bullied Arya take if you don’t mind me asking (just don’t answer if you don’t want to haha)
per my usual practice on Controversial Topics im putting this under a cut
At the real risk of that lot showing up in my notes again, I think this ‘Sansa bullies Arya’ pins their pre AGOT dynamic squarely on Sansa herself, rather than the way they are both being raised by the adults around them to behave towards one another. Sure, Sansa is mean to Arya sometimes during their childhood! We don’t have a lot of examples besides the oft-mentioned ‘horseface’ insults, but I think it’s fair to assume that more often than not, Sansa was looking down on Arya. Meanwhile, Arya herself feels inadequate and like she just can’t do anything right. She resents Sansa, but also worries that Sansa’s opinion of her may be true.
Fine. But where has Sansa’s opinion of Arya come from? Is it her cold black heart? Fucking no, it’s come from Septa Mordane, Catelyn, and whoever else surrounds them growing up. The men don’t seem to really give much of a shit how Arya acts because it’s not their business and she’s just a kid anyhow, but the women pointedly give many shits. In our first scene with Arya, Septa Mordane scolds her for not being good at ‘women’s work’, and there’s plenty to suggest that this is just another day in the life for Arya. Meanwhile, Sansa gets the carrot for excelling. Both Arya and Sansa are learning their own worth in this chapter, and the worth of one another. Sansa internalises the praise whilst learning that Arya is bad, and everything she mustn’t be. Arya internalises the criticisms whilst learning that Sansa is good, and everything she can never be.
They’ll be getting this from Catelyn as well. Catelyn clearly adores both her daughters, and will move heaven and earth to get them back in ACOK. But one good adjective for Catelyn is ‘dutiful’ - it’s in her house words, and it’s how she’s lived her life up to AGOT. Doing as she’s told, even when it pains her. She expects the same of her daughters, and finds those expectations satisfied in Sansa’s case, and apparently flouted in Arya’s. So again, from their own mother, Sansa internalises that Arya is bad, and that she, Sansa, is good. Arya internalises the same. If societal standards were reversed, perhaps it would be Arya lording over Sansa, but such as it is, it’s Sansa over Arya.
Now, Sansa is a child. When children are told over and over that X is good and Y is bad, they generally don’t question it, at least until they're older and more experienced in the world. They will also parrot what they hear, often in graceless ways. Because they’re children. Sansa is told that Arya wilfully misbehaves because she’s bad, and so Sansa thinks: then I should look down on Arya. It sounds like Sansa mostly keeps her distance from her sister pre AGOT. Not always - they play together sometimes - but a lot of the time. She has internalised the teaching that Arya is an aberration, and as she herself knows the adults value obedience in girls, and she wants to please them so badly, the distance between her and Arya demonstrates to them just how good she is - she won’t descend to Arya’s behaviour.
When Sansa does interact with Arya (pre Darry), we see her being a bit bossy - telling Arya what to do, etc. Sansa is replicating what she has seen the adults do with Arya, and is mimicking them to assert her own position as the good, obedient child. If Arya ever doesn’t want to do something, it can only be because she’s bad.
[sidenote, it all really reminds me of these short stories me and my sister used to get read a lot as kids, called My Naughty Little Sister (lmao) by Dorothy Edwards. They're pretty old and I don’t think they ever got major circulation outside Britain, but for anyone unfamiliar, you can probably guess how these stories go. There’s an elder sister, good and obedient, who narrates short tales of her ‘naughty little sister’ doing terrible things like idk, making a terrible mess etc, and going ‘now I’m sure you [the child audience] wouldn’t do a thing like that!’ They’re supposed to be short morality tales for the children, and amuse the parent reading them aloud, who recognises the mischievous behaviour of the younger and is charmed by the haughtiness of the elder sister, who you can hear is narrating the incidents of her sister’s mischief with the disdain that she’s heard the adults do so, and is asserting her own good behaviour over said sister. And the whole fucking reason we were read these stories was because my younger sister was precisely the kind of kid who got up to all kinds of shit as a little kid (which now all of us find hilarious but DIDN’T AT THE TIME), and I was the elder sister like ‘my goodness how could she do such things as these!!’ (e.g. paint an entire bookcase with grout). It amused us both to see ourselves in the stories. You could say this was life imitating art, but I think this is simply an age old dynamic, familiar to many people with siblings: you would see how the adults spoke to another child in your family, and replicate their manner in an effort to come across as an adult. Except you weren’t an adult, so you weren’t always as graceful about it as they were. That is pre AGOT Sansa, to a T. And I’m sure that’s what GRRM, a child of three who had two sisters of his own, is replicating here.]
But I think there’s also a loneliness in being the ‘obedient child’. Doing as you’re told all the time can be boring, and living up to expectations is a lot of pressure. Sansa wants a companion in all that, but Arya has no interest in sharing in it. Arya is offering friendship, but from a place Sansa believes she can’t reach her sister - Sansa thinks she’d have to ‘descend to Arya’s level’ to accept it, and she can’t do that. You get a sense of Sansa thrilling in trying Arya’s ‘misbehaviours’ for herself when she quietly delights in behaving ‘as wicked as Arya’, but you see in this that she has to condemn such behaviours and herself for exhibiting them, all in the same breath. And in the end, I can easily imagine Sansa resents that Arya has more fun with their brothers than she ever does with Sansa herself: that the one sister she has is one she has nothing in common with. Sansa can’t find a like mind amongst her siblings, and so clings to Jeyne Poole, and the praise of the adults around her.
So with all that in mind, YES! Sansa is sometimes mean to Arya, and calls her horseface. That is because Sansa is a child, nobody is correcting her behaviour, and she understands that Arya is bad, and the way she behaves is frustrating to Sansa herself, so really what does it matter if she’s a little mean sometimes? She knows that she is good, because everyone says so. Even if she calls her sister a name now and then, she’s still the good child.
AND THEN we get to Darry. And Sansa starts to see that society isn’t a song, and sometimes it doesn’t matter how good you are, horrible things can happen to you anyway. But she doesn’t want to believe that, because it would turn her world upside down, and her future would look a lot darker, too - Ned has not ended her engagement to Joffrey, and Sansa has to live for the foreseeable in KL. So when Arya doing the thing she ‘wasn’t supposed to’ (playing with Mycah) snowballs into a terrible miscarriage of justice where Sansa’s wolf is killed, Sansa rejects the notion that the songs could be wrong about beautiful princes, and shifts the blame onto Arya for that original 'misdemeanour'. The grief at losing Lady is terrible too (the wolves are meant to have a soul deep bond with the Stark children), and so the target of that grief likewise becomes Arya. What was previously a normal, childishly complicated sibling relationship gets twisted into something else.
This is where I think Sansa becomes different level of unpleasant towards her sister. She’s cruel about Arya’s loss of Mycah, tells Arya she wishes she were dead instead of Lady, etc etc. Arya is not giving as good as she gets here - she even tries to make amends with Sansa, but Sansa throws the offer in her face.
The reasons for Sansa’s behaviour are complicated, but not that complicated. She’s been raised to slot perfectly into this world, without ever being told what that world is really like. And when abruptly it turns out that what she’s being raised for is essentially the slaughter, she rejects it. She can’t see Joffrey as he truly is: she’s been told that princes are charming, that Kings are just, Queens are kind, and she herself will be a Queen. Sansa is going to be handed over to the Lannisters, and she’s going to live the song of her dreams, and the only thing between Sansa and the realisation of those is the thing that’s always been wrong: Bad Arya. Because again, if Arya isn't bad, then everything else is, and Sansa is in terrible danger.
No one is sitting Sansa down and explaining to her that Arya is not bad, just different from her, and that they should love one another - that there are dark forces here far stronger than them that could tear them apart, that the Lannisters are the greatest of them, and they have to fight together, not each other. Arya gets this talk, funnily enough, but not Sansa. Arya is asked to understand that Sansa is different from her, but Sansa is only ever taught to abhor that her sister as different from her. Where Arya is told to be wary of the court of King’s Landing, Ned leaves Sansa to continue her fantasies, and then, when he abruptly tries to put an end to them, he doesn’t bother to explain why. I’m not saying this is unforgivable on Ned’s part - he has a lot on his mind lol - but it’s quite obviously a major failing. Ned leaves Sansa in a fantasy world. It’s fucking Joffrey who has to step in and clarify for Sansa that actually, she’s been dreaming.
So as long as they’re together, Sansa is never able to come to terms with the fact that Arya was not the aberration, but rather, everything else was. In the absence of one another, they cannot reconcile over that fact. So yes, GRRM says they’ll have deep issues to sort through when they meet again, but those aren’t going to be the times that Sansa called her ‘horseface’ - they’re going to be about what happened since they left Winterfell, when their relationship was twisted by forces much darker than Septa Mordane.
So no, I think the ‘Sansa is a bully’ diatribes are seriously tedious, because even if you want to insist that calling your sister ‘horseface’ a few times even qualifies, you can still accept such wrongs without deciding that that makes Sansa a fundamentally unkind person who cannot be reconciled with Arya and doesn’t deserve to be. It is on the page that the two of them miss each other. Like I genuinely cannot imagine going through everything Arya does in the story and then, upon reuniting with a sister I thought lost forever, deciding I’m actually still mad about the things she got wrong as a child that she herself has paid dearly for, both physically and emotionally. Like jesus fucking christ man. By all means let them talk about it!! But who do you think Arya is lmao
Tl;dr: Sansa is a kid in a society. She is not the arbiter of Arya’s place in society. She is not mean because she’s cruel, but because she has internalised the exact same things that Arya has, based on the example of the adults surrounding them. It just happens that those things were a carrot for Sansa and a stick for Arya. But then in the end, they weren’t a carrot for Sansa either.
tl;dr 2: clarifying once again - i am a jaime stan. i find the stark sister relationship interesting bc I have experience of a similar sisterly dynamic and find it interesting to see a version of that explored on the page. so if you think one has to be a sansa stan to observe all this then that kind of just demonstrates how dichotomous you've become on this issue lol like if I'm talking about takes I dislike re JB I don't generally feel the need to attribute them to JC fandom. let's all grow up x
tl;dr 3: no i don't hate sansa or arya, since i know these are both conclusions various people reach whenever i even mention these two. in fact i think they are both great girls! imagine
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went on a terf blocking spree and they were sharing this tweet around
and like obviously this is factually wrong - “homosexual rights” happens primarily through de-pathologising homosexuality, quite literally an effort to redefine sexuality and sexual activity, which was commonly followed by a legal redefinition of marriage in many states as not only being between a man and a woman, and parenthood as not being strictly done by a mother & father - that’s redefining gender categories! Gender doesn’t exist as a repressive force independent of political & legal institutions. Universal paternity leave is a redefinition of gendered reproductive labour through employment and labour policy, it is a structural economic benefit that incentivises fathers to participate in child rearing. This is a (limited, partial) redefinition of what it “means” to be a man, just as gay marriage is a redefinition of what it means to be a husband or wife, just as allowing gays to adopt is a redefinition of motherhood and fatherhood.
And this denial of being in an “ideological cult” is also intentionally downplaying the massive homophobic outcry that gays were/are in fact trying to destroy the meaning of family and marriage - that gay marriage would let you marry your dog, that gay parents are all pedophiles, that even expanding the definition of the nuclear family to include cis gays would threaten to destroy all categories of familial and civic life. Denying that gay rights are not viewed as an “ideological cult” of their own is laughably homophobic.
Taking this argument to its natural conclusion - that cis gays just want to be “left alone,” they aren’t here to “redefine” anything unlike the transsexuals - means a comprehensive denial of the law as an institution that produces patriarchal and gendered violence, that societal conceptions of gender (and the oppression produced by those conceptions) are unaffected by legal redefinitions of family and marriage. An absurd claim! This argument denies patriarchy as a social force, assigning it instead to this mystical abstract force that exists “out there” in nature, unable to be punctured or altered by any social response. Like tbh if you believe that why even fight for gay marriage at all? Just accept your lot in life as broken men and women with a mental disorder that makes you incapable of raising a family.
But of course they don’t actually really believe this, they know what side their bread is buttered on. Cis gays got themselves removed from the ICD and DSM, got gay marriage legalised in a bunch of countries (the tweet’s exclusive use of past tense when talking about gay rights implies the fight for gay equality is finished, an obviously self-centred western & homophobic argument) and said fuck you got mine! The king granted us entrance into his castle unlike you freaks, all we ever wanted was a seat at his table. Liberation is not the goal, cis gays just want to be permitted equal access to the power of cisheterosexual society. This tweet is arguing that gender is not a relevant mechanism in the oppression of homosexuals, that their oppression is altogether something else, unrelated to ideas of what it means to be a woman or man, because they want access to the violence those categories produce. Destroying these categories makes this goal unattainable for them, and so now cis gays are continuing to pivot to reactionary opposition to trans rights. But don’t take my word for it - I’m just repeating what this guy’s saying!
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Falling for you
Summary: When you decided to bring your daughter to Colombia to work for the CIA to take Pablo Escobar down, you never thought you would find someone to fall in love with....
Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader
Wordcount: 6.2k
Rating: E
Warnings: colleagues to friends to lovers, reader has a daughter, mentions of dead husband, death of best friend, angst, fluff, domestic Javi, kissing, smut (unprotected sex), feeeeeelings
A/N: This fic has been in the making for almost 2 years. I can't really explain why, but it took a long time and before I keep on editing it, I put it out in the world. I'm aware the last thing the CIA would do is send a single mother with her child to Columbia in the eighties but this is fiction and I don't want to hear complaints lol Also please let me know how you like the mood boards this year. I'm trying to change things up
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“He’s starring again.” You looked up from the file you were reading, looking at your partner Enrique before you let your eyes wander to the desk across the room. You had been here in Colombia for a good three months now. It might have been the worst idea you ever had to take your daughter with you to one of the most dangerous countries in the world, but it was not like something was holding you back in the states.
You were used to the looks of all the men who thought they were more important than you.
More intelligent than you.
The whispers behind your back.
The catcalls.
How they always tried to talk over you. But they didn’t know what you knew. They didn’t know the resources you had. Working as one of the few women at the CIA as an active agent took a lot from you. But you did it for the greater good. You did not talk to many of the men working in your department. Except for your partner Enrique and your supervisor. You and Enrique had been working together back in the states and him coming with you was one of the conditions you had before you agreed to go. You needed someone you could trust if you would work here to help to take down the biggest drug cartel in the world. You needed someone you could trust your daughter with, apart from the two nannies the CIA was providing all around the clock.
Of course the safer and easier way would have been to stay back in the states. Where your daughter could play outside without being watched by at least one CIA Agent. But ever since your husband died almost four years ago on a mission, you had been searching for the change you needed in your life. And against all better judgement you found yourself agreeing to go and take your six year old daughter Eva with you to Colombia. Was it crazy? Obviously. Did it still feel like the right decision? Absolutely.
Javier Peña was looking at you, a cigarette between his lips. The first three buttons of his baby blue shirt were open and his finger kept rubbing over the side of his face. You nodded at him before you focused back on the files in front of you.
“Do you think he would still look at you like that if he knew about Eva?” Enrique whispered. You rolled your eyes.
“He can look at me all he wants. I know how good I look today,” you chuckled and made him laugh. You were wearing a white silk blouse and dark red dress pants.
You did enjoy flirting with Javier Peña.
He and his partner Steve were the only ones around here who actually talked to you. And in Javier’s case, try to get into your pants. And a part of you did enjoy the attention you got for him.
No one had looked at you like he did since your late husband.
And even though you knew it was dangerous to entertain his flirtations, you found yourself doing it. You found yourself thinking about him more often, even though you knew that nothing would ever come out of it. He was, well, he was Javier Peña. Fucking everything that just looked his way and you were a widowed single mom.
Of course you did enjoy it when he invited you for a drink after work at the bar around the corner. Who wouldn’t enjoy being invited for a drink by a handsome man? The problem you had was that he knew exactly how handsome he was and he knew how to use it. Because deep down, in the moments Javier Peña was just himself and not the guarded DEA Agent with commitment issues, you could see him as a man you could fall in love with.
“Why did we end up in this shithole again?” Enrique asked. You were about to answer when Carillo came back in, shouting in Spanish and everyone around got up and moved.
“What’s happening?” You asked, internally cursing yourself for not knowing more Spanish.
“Something about La Quico and a brothel?”
There was something about La Quico and a brothel and you knew from the moment you heard about the intel and the plan that it would go to shit. Now, as you were standing outside, bulletproof vest still on, watching how body after body was carried out of the building, you kept shaking your head.
If any of these fuckers would have just listened to you.
Woman after woman was carried out. Dead. But your knees almost gave out when you saw your partner's lifeless body being carried out. Hugging yourself, you looked away from him and up to the sky to stop yourself from crying, They did not need to see you crying. You would wait to break down until you were home and after your daughter was tucked it.
You felt someone stand next to you.
“I’m sorry,” Javier said and you breathed in deeply, not looking away from the sky.
“It’s not your fault,” you answered quietly. Because it wasn’t. Javier actually had been more than vocal about what a shit idea this was in the first place.
“I’m still sorry,” you smelled the smoke he breathed out and you finally looked at him. He looked as tired as you felt. You reached for the cigarette between his lips inhaling the smoke yourself, before you handed it back to him. Steve came to stand beside him, the same tired expression on his face.
“I think we could all use a drink,” he said and you sighed.
“He’s been my partner for more than 8 years. And my friend for almost 20,” you shook your head, looking at Steve before your eyes fell back on Javier.
“I really wanna go home.”
“We’ll take you.” Steve said.
You could still see the lights on in your daughters room and you sighed. You weren’t ready to tell her that her Uncle Ric wouldn’t be helping her with her Spanish skills anymore, that he wouldn’t help her paint her bedroom after he made the big plan for her to get her jungle book room.
“I’ll walk you in,” Javier said as the car stopped. You only nodded, saying your thanks to Steve as you stepped out and walked across the street.
“Are you okay on your own tonight?” He asked, as you opened the door to the house, walking in. Javier kept following you.
“I’m not alone, and I am planning on getting drunk and then cry myself to sleep. It’s Saturday tomorrow right?” You asked and he nodded.
“I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” Javier said quietly. You felt the tears in the corner of your eyes and you prayed he would just turn around and leave. You just nodded, your lips already trembling. The reality of how alone you felt hit you like a brick as you looked at the apartment door across from yours, where Enrique lived… used to live.
“Please go Javier. I don’t need you to see me breaking down,” you pleaded and turned away from him, putting the key into the lock of your apartment.
He sighed before he said your name. You felt his hand on your shoulder and against your better judgement you turned around and let him pull you against him, as you sobbed into his shirt.
You blamed it on the loss of your best friend, the need to feel something, that you just leaned in, your ear on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as his hands rubbed soothingly over your back.
“You are going to get through this,” he whispered. You enjoyed this moment. Standing outside of your apartment in his arms. He wasn’t being a flirt. He was just there to comfort you. You breathed in deeply, his scent in your nose and you had never noticed just how good he smelled.
“Thank you Javier,” you whispered and brought some distance in between you. Looking up into his tired eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you, you were more than grateful when you heard footsteps behind your door. Untangling yourself from him you brushed your tears away and put a smile on your lips just in time before the door opened. Eva jumped into your arms as you turned around.
“I missed you Mommy!” She giggled and you felt yourself smile as you picked her up and carried her in your arms.
“I missed you too, princess,” you whispered into her hair, before you set her down.
Looking up you saw Maria standing there with a tired smile on her lips.
“I tried everything Miss, but she wanted to wait until you’re home.”
“It’s okay. Thank you,” you nodded at her. She looked behind you and you followed her gaze, finding Javier standing in your door as if he was out of place. Maria nodded at him as she said her goodbyes. He stepped out of her way as she left.
“Either in or out Pena,” you said. He looked at you, about to open his mouth when Eva came back with a painting she had made today.
“Who is that?” She asked looking at Javier.
“That is one of the Agents I’m working with,” you explained nodding at him. He still looked between you and Eva like a fish out of the water before he shook out of it.
“I’m Javi. And I should go before my partner drives off without me,” he said the last words looking at you. You nodded.
“Bye Javi. Thanks for bringing my mom home safe,” Eva smiled, and you sighed.
“Go brush your teeth, I’ll tuck you in in just a moment, okay?” You smiled down at her, your hands brushing over her cheek before you leaned down to kiss her forehead. She nodded, waving towards Javier and left the room to go to the bathroom.
“She’s a…” Javier began.
“Yeah,” you nodded, walking towards him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.
“You never asked,” you shrugged. He nodded. You could see the many questions he had in his eyes.
“Will the two of you be okay here tonight? Alone?”
“We will. Thank you. And now go, before Steve actually drives off without you,“ you smiled forced.
“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday?” He asked, sucking his bottom lip in. You nodded.
“Good night Javier,” He nodded too and turned around, slowly walking down the hallway.
“It’s Javi,” he called over his shoulder and you frowned.
“Friends get to call me Javi,” he looked at you. You had to smile at that before you finally closed the door behind you.
Within two weeks after this day, everything had changed. You moved into the same building as Javi and Steve, after a brief visit to the states for Enrique’s funeral. You actually found a close friend in Steve’s wife Connie. But most of all the absence of your best friend had been hard on you.
You never actually told him how grateful you were for his help. And for coming to this country with you, just because you felt the need to change your life. You spend the nights crying yourself to sleep, feeling responsible for his death. If he hadn’t agreed to come down to Colombia with you, he would still be alive.
And you wouldn’t have to look into your daughters sad eyes when she remembered that Uncle Ric wouldn’t come around to cook her favourite meal. You never learned the secret on what exactly Enrique did with the mac & cheese that made her go absolutely nuts, and now you wouldn’t have a chance to.
Work had been one big mess ever since the fail at the brothel. And it took all willpower you had to not go around and tell everyone “I told you so”. You also had a new partner. Well, two. Steve and Javier insisted on you joining them. Not that you had a chance when you came back on Monday morning and your desk was standing a joined to theirs. You had spend the whole weekend crying when you weren’t around Eva and this had almost made you tear up again.
Javier had almost entirely stopped flirting with you, which was the biggest change. He had actually been nothing but nice and respectful and you were wondering what it was that made him like this. Not that you minded.
He made the effort to get to know you, asking little question here and there. Asking about Eva and what her hobbies were.
You were fascinated by this side of Javi you got to know now.
But somehow you missed the way he used to look at you.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Steve asked, as you were sitting over another file of leads going nowhere.
“We wanted to paint Eva’s room. She chose green. And I absolutely hate it,” you chuckled.
“How come you never told anyone you had a kid?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.
“No one ever asked,” You shrugged.
“People don’t really talk to me because I'm CIA and I'm a woman. And I don’t speak more than 10 words of Spanish.”
“Yikes, we really are assholes,” Steve shook his head and you laughed.
“Well… You’re not that bad. And you have a wife that bakes cake, so you’re on my good side,” you joked and Steve chuckled.
“But what is going on with Javier lately?”
“So you noticed it too? I kept asking him but he just shrugged it off.”
“Maybe he needs to get laid,” you shrugged and Steve grinned.
“You offering?” You heard Javier’s voice behind you and you glared at Steve who tried not to laugh. Turning in your seat you looked up at the man in question. He grinned down at you.
“What if I told you I'm a lesbian?”
“That would only make it hotter,” he winked. You turned in your seat looking at Steve. “Okay I think he’s back.” You chuckled.
“If you need any help, just say the word,” Steve said as you walked down the hallway. It was Friday and you had just come home. One of the perks of living together with Javi and Steve was that you could use one car to get to work.
“Will do, thanks!” You smiled.
“Help with what?” Javi asked, standing next to you. You were now occupying the apartment across from him.
“I want to paint Eva’s room tomorrow. And let’s just say it’s not my biggest talent. Enrique used to do things like that. He actually planned the whole thing,” you smiled sadly looking at the floor before you breathed in deeply and looked at Javi. He had a strange expression on his face.
“What about I’ll come help and you cook that thing you have been cooking last weekend?” he rubbed his moustache.
“You can come over for some food without working, Javi,” you said right away.
“You tell me that now? What is it you cooked there last week?”
“I’m trying to figure out how Enrique made his mac & cheese cause Eva loved it so much.” You said quietly. You could hear her laughter behind the door.
“Sorry. I… Fuck. I keep reminding you of his death,” Javier shook his head.
“You’ve been a big help. I mean it. And if you want to spend your Saturday painting my daughter's room, you are welcome to do it,” you shrugged. He smiled a little.
“Okay. See you tomorrow then.”
One thing you noticed since moving was that Javier was a night owl. Of course you knew about his reputation but you didn’t judge him. He was an attractive man. If you were him you would use that to your advantage too. When Eva was in bed, and you were sitting in yours, a glass of wine in hand as you continued to work on files it was more than once that you heard just how much of a night owl Javier was. Either his women were very good actors or he really knew what he was doing.
“Mommy?” You heard the sleepy voice of your daughter and looked up from your book. She was standing in your door, her hair a wild mess. You looked at the clock. Nearly 1 am.
“Bad dream?” You asked. You saw her nod.
“Come here,” you smiled.
She climbed under your covers, snuggling to your side as you closed your book, setting it down on the bedside table.
“Wanna talk about it?” you asked softly, stroking away her hair so you could look at her. She shook her head.
“Okay,” you kissed her head.
It was a couple minutes later, you thought she was already asleep when she mumbled.
“You are not gonna leave me too mommy, right?” she whispered.
You gulped, pulling her closer towards you.
“I’m never gonna leave you baby,” you promised, your heart breaking.
She nodded.
“I miss Uncle Ric,” she said. You fought the tears.
“I miss him too,” you whispered.
You didn’t know how long you laid in bed, watching your daughter fall asleep. You had questioned coming to Colombia from the beginning.
You had been looking to change jobs for a while, and the job in Colombia was the only job the CIA had offered to various agents who had all declined it. Now that you were living here, you knew why.
It was beyond dangerous to take your daughter to this country. The CIA took your safety serious, which could have to do with how your late husbands death, which happened on a mission the CIA fucked up.
You could have asked the CIA for everything and they probably would have given it to you, just to keep you quiet. And maybe you should just have taken the money they offered you, buy a house on the beach, settle down with your daughter somewhere safe.
But there was always a little part of you brain that wanted to…. Avenge the death of your husband who had died because he found himself in the middle of a cartel deal gone wrong in Mexico.
You looked at your daughter, hoping that your selfish decision would not cost her more of her family in the future, before you let yourself finally drift of to sleep.
There was a knock on the door just as you finished washing the dishes from breakfast. Eva was wearing a bright blue kids overall you had bought while getting supplies to paint, running past you to the door before she stopped and turned around.
„Can I open Mommy?“ She asked.
„You gotta ask whose there first,“ you remind her and she nodded.
„WHO’S THERE?“ She yelled loudly through the door and you chuckled.
„Uh…. Javi?“ The man behind the door said, sounding it like a question. Eva looked at you and you nodded at her and she unlocked the door and opened it.
Javi looked at Eva then at you before he stepped into your apartment.
„Next time we need the codeword from you Javi,“ Eva said and he nodded seriously.
„What is the codeword?“
„Pancakes,“ she whispered loudly.
„Good morning,“ he said a little awkward. Eva threw the door closed behind him, before she ran back towards her room.
You shook your head amused.
„Good Morning Javi. Ready to spend time with a six year old girl who is obsessed with the jungle book?“ You asked, drying your hands, before you turned around to him.
He was wearing some older looking jeans and a white, very tight, T-Shirt.
„I have you know I have a lot of younger cousins. I think I can handle one girl,“ he said over confident and you nodded.
„We will see,“ you said, a smile playing around your lips before you nodded with your head towards your daughters bedroom.
You stopped counting after the tenth time Eva insisted on replaying The Bare Necessities. It was a surprisingly fun day.
You had to admit that you had underestimated Javier Peña.
You knew he was good at his job, but you didn’t know he was good with children. He explained every step he made to paint the walls to Eva and praised her when she began to paint herself. And he listened to every story your daughter told him. Never annoyed with her, always asking follow up questions.
And once she brought out her little recorder and played the jungle book tape you even noticed him humming along to the song, making you smile as you watched them both together.
They had both threw you out of her room so you could make dinner, leaving Javi and Eva to rearrange her room now that it was finished painting.
You could hear them laugh and you found yourself smiling to yourself. You missed the sound of her laughter ever since Enrique died.
You had put the Mac & cheese into the oven when Javier walked into your kitchen.
He had paint all over his arms, his shirt too. There was a smile on his lips and you found yourself smiling back.
„Enough Jungle book?“ You asked and he huffed a laugh.
„For now. She’s rearranging her stuffed animals on her bed,“ he said, leaning with his hip at the kitchen counter, watching you.
„Oh good. This will take her at least an hour. She’s a little perfectionist,“ you said.
„That’s… That’s good…“ Javi hummed and you frowned, turning towards him. He had a hand on his hip, his other hand pulling at his lip as he looked at you.
„Why?“ You asked.
He seemed… nervous. His eyes focused on you, seemingly fighting with himself about something.
„Javi…“ you started but he stepped towards you, one of his hands coming up to touch your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. Your breath hitched and you looked at him with wide eyes, your lips slightly parted.
You were nervous, but not in a bad way. It was more… anticipation of what would happen next.
„Can I kiss you?“ He asked. Instead of answering you nodded slowly, seeing him smile before he leaned in and kissed you softly. Your eyes slipped close and his lips found yours. You felt his other hand come to rest on the back of your head, and he slowly guided you so your back was against the counter as he slowly deepened the kiss. His tongue brushing over your lips until you parted them for him, sighing against his mouth. You rested one of your hands on his chest, your other hand in his hair as he moved his lips over yours.
He rested his forehead against yours as he parted form your lips, both of you panting for air.
„Wow,“ you whispered, opening your eyes. He was smiling at you.
„Yeah,“ he whispered, kissing you again.
You both jumped apart when you heard Eva call for you. You felt like a teenager who got caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing when you looked at Javi. You both chuckled at each other and you took a deep breath.
„I should check on her,“ you said. He nodded.
„Go. I’ll keep an eye on dinner,“ he said. You ran a hand through your hair, before you turned around, seeing Javi adjust himself out of the corner of your eyes.
Date Nights were not something you ever had before. Yes you went on dates when you were married, but there was never a big fuss about it.
Javier on the other hand, had taken you out every Friday night since you kissed. And it didn’t matter that you couldn’t openly date, not just because of work, but because the cartels had eyes everywhere, you were just happy to bet able to spend time with him outside of work.
Steve and Connie were happy to watch Eva for the evening, happy to have someone to play with their recently adopted daughter Olivia. You had been there in the house when Olivia was found. The scene still haunting your dreams.
Javier and you remained strictly professional at work. Of course there was talk about how Javier hadn’t been to a brothels in some time, but no one ever dared to ask, because he still got his intel from the girls.
You weren’t officially dating, but the both of you spend almost all your free time together. Things had become so domestic that even Eva seemed to realise things were changing. Not that you were hiding it from her. Javier had started to hang out at your place some more. Dinner for the three of you becoming a almost daily fixture whenever Javi was around and not working.
There were secret touches around Eva at the beginning until she caught Javier kissing you goodbye one night. She had a million questions for the both of you, and you had to give it to Javi, he answered every single one of them until Eva was satisfied, allowing him to date her mommy which you found beyond adorable.
You could never even entertain the thought of dating someone your daughter didn’t like.
That your daughter approved of this new man in your life made the change that was coming even harder.
Things in Colombia were getting more and more dangerous, leaving you to make the difficult decision to go back to the states. You had put in a request to get relocated which had been approved the week before.
You and Eva would be going back tomorrow leaving you to have to start over again. It had actually been Javier who had brought his concerns in the first place about you and your daughters safety up. You knew that coming to Colombia as a woman working for the CIA would put a target on your back. But the cruelty of the cartels and above all Pablo Escobar were at an all time high and to hard to ignore much longer.
So this Friday night would be your last date night with Javier for a while. He had taken you out to your favourite restaurant and held your hand all night, proud to show you off now that the both of you did not have to hide anymore.
It was the first time he kissed you in a crowded room, unafraid of who was watching. Because he knew you would be safe and out of the country in less than 15 hours.
And while the two of you had kissed for the first time almost three months before, you did not have sex yet.
Something you meant to change tonight.
You unlocked the door to your apartment, inviting him in. He had helped you put your whole life in boxes, promising to oversee them being shipped off to your new home.
„You gonna tell me where you going yet?“ He asked as you made the both of you a drink. You bit your bottom lip as you turned around, handing him the glass.
He knew you were going to Texas, he just didn’t know where.
Javier took a sip while you took one too before you set the glass down on the kitchen table.
„Laredo,“ you said and his eyes widened.
„I’m transferring to the DEA in Laredo, Texas,“ you added, waiting for his reaction. You never really talked about the future. But Javier was a man you could see yourself growing old with. You knew he had his own demons, thinking he did not deserve to be loved.
He had told you that he wanted to work on himself once he was finished with Colombia.
„Say that again,“ he asked you. He was looking at you with warm eyes, a smile forming on his lips.
„Eva and me will be moving to Laredo, Texas,“ you said, smiling yourself.
„Where?“ He asked.
„I found a house. But it needs some work. So I talked to your Dad the last time he called to ask for some help to find a contractor and he offered us his guest room,“ you said shyly. Javi laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
He sat the glass down and walked to you, his hands crossing on your lower back, his chest against yours.
„You did this all behind my back?“ He asked. You nodded.
„Surprise?“ You asked and he kissed you.
„You gonna be on our farm?“
„Eva is already looking forward to learn how to ride a horse,“ you nodded.
„Fuck, she’s gonna have my Dad wrapped around her little finger in no time,“ he chuckled.
„Just like she has you?“ You asked and cried out in laughter as he dinged his fingers into your side, making you giggle.
„Rude,“ he said.
„But true,“ you shrugged and he kissed you again.
„I’m not complaining,“ he mumbled against your lips. You sighed as his lips slowly kissed down your jaw and then your neck.
„Javi,“ you gasped and he hummed against your skin.
„Please take me to bed,“ you whispered and he looked up at you.
„Are you asking me…“
„Yeah…“ you nodded, both of your hands resting against his chest. He took a deep breath.
„I need words,“ he clarified and you got on your tiptoes.
„I wanna have sex with you Javier,“ you whispered against his ear.
He took his time undressing you, once you made it to your bedroom. His lips following a path of every inch of skin he revealed. When you were standing in just your underwear in front of him before he kissed you, mumbling against your lips how beautiful you were, before he helped you strip him off his clothes.
You gulped when you saw his cock for the first time, not really surprised at the lack of underwear on his side. Biting your lip you looked up at him, seeing him wink at you before he kissed you again.
He laid you down on your bed, his lips never leaving yours.
You moaned when you felt his weight on top of you, his arms resting next to your head to keep him hovering above you. You felt him rub against you, his cock rubbing against your stomach, making you both groan.
He slowly kissed down your body.
Your neck.
Your collarbone.
Right between your breasts. He looked up at you then a question in his eyes. You arched your back and he smiled as he reached around and unhooked your bra, slowly pulling it down your shoulders until he could pull it off.
„Beautiful,“ he hummed, his lips kissing the top of each breast before he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You whimpered, your back arching again, your hands playing with his hair to keep him close.
He moaned against your skin, his tongue playing with your now hard nipple inside his mouth.
„Javi,“ you moaned softly and he released your nipple.
„Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,“ he grinned and you felt yourself flush, giving him a shy smile.
„I wanna taste you,“ he said, kissing your other breast.
„Mhhh,“ you hummed.
His lips wandered down your body, his tongue dipping into your belly button with a grin before he kissed right above your panty line.
You released a shaky breath and he smiled at you.
„Can I take this off?“ He asked. You nodded, biting your lip. His fingers slipped under the fabric of your panties and he kneeled between your legs pulling them down. Both of his hand ran up your thigh as he leaned back down, his face resting just above your pussy.
„You’re so wet,“ he said in wonder and you smiled.
„Just for you.“
He hummed before his face lowered and his lips kissed just above your clit. He inhaled deeply, releasing a groan.
„Gonna miss this when you’re gone,“ he whispered and you sighed.
„Guess you have to come home to me quickly then,“ you said and he smiled as he looked up at you.
„I like the sound of that,“ he said.
„What?“ You asked.
„Coming home to you,“ he whispered before he licked into you. You grabbed the bedsheet beneath you as he began to eat you out, parting your legs even further. His big hands kept you in place while he devoured you. His tongue playing with your clit before it dipped down and into you.
„Javi please…“ you moaned.
„Please what?“ He asked.
„Make me cum?“ You begged and he chuckled.
„Already begging for me….“ He teased and you lightly kicked him in his side, making him chuckle before he leaned back in, eating you out until you were moaning his name, your legs shaking in his hold. He kissed your pussy after you calmed down and have you a proud grin and he leaned back above you, his lips finding yours to give you a deep kiss where you could taste yourself.
You angled one leg behind him, pushing him down against you.
„Fuck me, Javi. I want you inside of me,“ you mumbled against his lips.
„Fuck,“ he cursed. He grabbed his cock, lining himself up against your pussy.
You both moaned when he slowly sank into you. Inch by inch filling you smoothly until his whole cock was inside of you, filling you perfectly. His forehead came to rest against yours and you wiggled your hips, making him groan.
„Fuck…. Please give me a moment…“ he groaned and you smiled, pecking his lips. He kissed you slow but deep. Licking into your mouth.
You made out for a while before he slowly bottomed out and pushed back into you, keeping a slow pace.
„Feels fucking perfect, baby,“ he moaned against your lips, fucking you deeply.
You wrapped both of your legs around him, your hands on his back and in his hair.
„Shit I’m not gonna last, feels so good, he groaned and you felt one of his hands slip between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit.
„I want you to cum with me,“ he said and began to circle your clit while he fucked faster into you.
„Javi,“ you whimpered, arching your back. His head dipped down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulled your nipple between his teeth, pulling it playfully and your whole body shuddered as your orgasm washed over you, whimpering beneath him just as he twitched and came deep inside of you.
You sighed, your fingers brushing through his hair as he kissed you, both of you smiling against each others lips.
You stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each others embrace before he slowly pulled out of you, pecking your lips. He went to the bathroom to clean himself off, bringing a washcloth to clean you too.
„I’m gonna get Eva from Steve and Connie’s,“ he mumbled against your lips and you nodded dreamily at him, watching him as he got dressed.
You got into your bathrobe and walked out of your bedroom just as Javi walked back into your apartment, a sleeping Eva in his arms.
Smiling at him you opened the door to her bedroom for him, watching him as he put her carefully into her bed. He had been doing this since the first date night, and it never ceased to amaze you just how perfect Javi fit into your life.
He kissed her forehead before he walked towards you, taking your hand to lead you back into your bedroom.
You knew you had to sleep but as you watched Javi strip out of his clothes and get into bed with you you were overcome with a sadness, knowing that his was the last time you would see him for a while.
You laid in bed, facing each other.
„I love you,“ you whispered, wanting him to hear the words before you leave.
He gave you a soft smile before he slipped closer towards you, his nose brushing over yours.
„I love you too,“ he whispered back and kissed you.
Both of you finding close to no sleep until it was time to get ready to leave for the airport the next morning.
„Bye Javi,“ Eva sobbed as Javi held her in his arms the next morning. She was clinging to him like a koala, clutching his shirt in her tiny fists. He was still holding your hand.
Javi had gotten breakfast while you got Eva ready before he drove you both to the airport.
You saw him take a shaky breath, kissing her hair.
„I’m gonna miss you,“ she mumbled and you felt tears stinging in the corner of your eyes.
„I’m gonna miss you and your mom too. So much,“ Javi whispered, pulling you closer. He let go of your hand to put his arm around you, pulling you into the hug.
„You have to fight the bad guys. And then you can come live with us all the time,“ Eva mumbled and Javi looked at you. You gave him a watery smile.
„I’ll do my best. Be good for your mommy,“ he said and you saw her nod, before he slowly let her down. She hugged your side and you wrapped your arm around her.
„Be safe,“ you whispered looking up at him.
„I will,“ he promised before he kissed you softly.
„I love you,“ you said and he smiled, a tear now running down his cheek.
„I love you, too,“ he kissed you again.
#my fic#javier peña#Javier Peña x fem reader#Pedro pascal#narcos fanfiction#narcos#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction
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Ranking Jane Austen heroines/women on how good of a mother they’d be?
As with the men, I think they would all be good mothers, though in different ways.
Elizabeth Bennet: Soccer mom, she wasn't given the opportunity to have a structured education herself, it will be different for her kids. She's hiring the best governess she can find (after Darcy does a full background check), she's encouraging her kids to do extracurriculars, they will speak six languages that she doesn't understand or else! Has a minor panic attack if she says anything that sounds even remotely like something either of her parents would say.
Jane Bennet: Gentle mom, she cannot imagine punishing her children, she just has a killer disappointed face (she is unaware of this). Encourages her children to always try to understand both sides of the story. Will eventually fall for a lie one of her children tells and be devastated when she figures out the truth.
Anne Elliot: Perfect mother, there is indeed no one so proper, so capable as Anne. She has also watched her sister do everything wrong and she knows exactly how to do it right.
Emma Woodhouse: Scatterbrained mom, makes a resolution to teach her daughter fancy work but then gets distracted and the sampler is left half finished. Promised to read with her son but they only make it halfway through the novel. Good thing she hired an excellent "Miss Taylor" to pick up the slack! And despite her occasional screw-ups, her kids love her to pieces. They just better be on guard when they hit 18 and she starts trying to marry them off.
Marianne Dashwood: Crunchy mom, or whatever the Regency period equivalent would be. She wants her kids to feel the dead leaves between their toes, she encourages them to write poetry and play moving ballads. Otherwise, a lot like her own mother (they have very similar personalities)
Elinor Dashwood: I-Say-I-Love-You-With-Food Mom, she may not be exactly emotionally available, but she orders her daughter's favourite meal when she's sad and there are tiny hearts in the stiches of her son's clothes. She makes sure her kids are provided for, educated, and healthy. When she asks if they are hungry, they know she's saying, "I love you."
Fanny Price: Nurturing mom, she will be everything for those children that Edmund and William were to her, but nothing like Sir Thomas, Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris or her own parents. She has a good deal of experience from nursing her own siblings so it's a pretty smooth beginning.
Catherine Morland: Overconfident mom, Catherine has been there and done that, she has six younger brothers and sisters after all, she's READY! This will be easy! All you have to do is make sure the baby is fed, washed, changed, and napped... oh... it's a lot harder to do this when you have only slept for 2.5 hours last night... (I know she would have servants, but still, being a new mother is tough!)
Bonus: Jane Fairfax tries to keep Frank from spoiling the kids, but it is literally impossible. He keeps buying them huge presents and then she would be the bad guy for saying no. Also, she knows that Frank lost their child in Kensington Gardens (twice), that's why she always insists he take a footman now.
Bonus bonus: Harriet Smith has a special box where she keeps all the 'treasures' her kids collect. It is her most precious possession.
#question response#jane austen#austen moms#emma#emma woodhouse#pride and prejudice#elizabeth bennet#jane bennet#sense and sensibility#marianne dashwood#elinor dashwood#persuasion#anne elliot#northanger abbey#catherine morland#mansfield park#fanny price#jane fairfax#harriet smith
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𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒
All quotes here have been taken from different sources of media, literature, television, movies and more regarding medieval or period drama quotes in the context of those stories, some might work on more modern setting but these were made with the intention of medieval and fantasy settings. Change names, pronouns and locations as you see fit.
I just wish he'd have the decency to say whatever he came to say in front of his wife.
His wife should track him like a bloodhound.
Let him who knows who he is be no other but himself.
Seduction, as you know by now, for women starts with the ears and for men starts with the eyes.
She is my friend, and there is nothing you can say or do that can stop me from helping her.
You seem a might bit distracted this evening. Is something the matter?
History belongs to those who write it.
But I have never lost faith... even if the world turned upside down I could still find you.
Some mistakes are bound to be repeated.
Do you plan on marrying Charles?
This is a time of change. This is a time of enormous power.
Do you understand the meaning of the soil beneath your feet?
The other Clans will soon arrive. The greatest times of our family are before us. And so are the darkest.
Tonight must be our secret. Swear it.
You pander to her. You spoil her. You make such a fuss over her when she tantrums. This is what happens when you raise a child like that.
I´ve always wanted him to love me the way I loved him.
We were arrogant and naive, thinking we knew what we felt then was love.
A man´s desire is a powerful thing. It can reduce a strong man to nothing. When he sees a woman who fascinates him, he will give up everything for her.
You are like a golden rose, a rare bloom but no less lovely.
So, you see, you're not the only ones who have lost someone. War doesn't discriminate, Petra.
What you think is indecent, I do to my wife every morning before breakfast. There is no such thing as indecent between a husband and a wife. The only thing indecent is a cold marriage bed.
The earl and I...We were... not intimate.
He fought in the war. He might fall apart, fly off the handle, go off the rails.
Mr. Russell, don’t you think I’m too young for you?
To be humiliated so publicly. I don't know. I never wished him ill.
He wasn’t quite what you’d hoped for, was he, Mother dear?
It is easier to start a war than to end it.
All I am guilty of is surviving, and for that, I will not apologize.
There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles.
How many times can a heart be shattered and still be pieced back together?
She succeeds because she is loved and respected.
I have waited to see you again when none believed that you should ever return; I would have waited for ever.
Your lips are calling for me.
This is your home now. You're one of us, and we take care of our own.
You have a spine of steel and fire in your eyes, Rosalie.
I've never met anyone as kind as you are.
A little taste before the wedding, Jayden?
God’s given you to me, and as soon as He allows, I’ll claim you as my own.
I brought you something. It gets cold in Nashville in the wintertime.
It seems you want me at your mercy, Princess. The question is why?
I am a slave in your palace.
To speak my truth, even if my voice shakes.
What would you say if I asked to kiss you?
Will you allow me to kiss you?
Do I have a choice? Doesn’t it happen with or without our consent? Falling in love, that is.
I have the power, and you will obey me.
You’re a lady. It’s written all over you.
It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what men tell her she can't.
I am not a besotted fool. If you think to jilt me, think again.
It's all my fault. He was trying to save me.
All things in Fiji are paid for in blood.
I have not forgotten that I am a Norman, nor the responsibilities that I bear.
I swear I will be a lady worthy of our family name, worthy of England, and worthy of my conscience.
Being set apart is lonely, until you find purpose.
My faith has promised me to me to my king.
I want your reputation... I want everything you have.
Remember when I told you I would marry none but a warrior, Collector?
I want you to be the father of my child, yes, more than any other man in the world.
I am the flesh of your flesh, and you are the heart of my heart.
My father fought against the infidels during the last crusade. It cost him his life.
Grace saves us, but is not grace beautiful? I think it must be full womanly, even, to draw men in, and to give us a second birth.
Marriage is less about love and more about who is right.
A woman's life is never a fairy tale ... neither is war.
You're not made of kings, boy, but of common clay.
I'm Uther's daughter and sole heir: Morgan Pendragon.
Who better than you, King Lot, my father's strongest opponent.
If we forge a union, we'd have the strength to unite the realm. As King and Queen.
Ambition for its own sake is worthless.
Uther's daughter, Arthur's sister. You can't be defined by others. People need to know you for yourself.
The past doesn't matter. Define yourself in the present, and you might rule in the future.
We are going to build a land full of hope and honor where fear is extinguished, to which people will flock from far and wide, seeking out our beacon of light.
With a little luck, in time, you might fall in love with him. And if you don't, before you know it,he'll give you children, and then you'll love them.
Well, the most enticing aspect for any man is the forbidden. But you'll just have to forego the looks from men other than your husband.
What exactly do you think I'm capable of?
To forget myself. To lose the world for a moment.
One rumour of my death, and you proclaim a new leader! A king could get offended.
If she takes the crown, I'll tell you what you get. Fear!
You have no rights in this kingdom anymore.
#meme#roleplay memes#sentence meme#( cali meme. )#rp memes#rp prompt#rp musings#roleplay prompt#◟ ⋆ memes › roleplay sources.#medieval meme#historical fiction meme#fantasy meme#medieval fantasy meme
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𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫
Paring: Oberyn Martell x Baratheon OC
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of animal cruelty
Chapter: 1.01
You stand before the iron throne teary-eyed; this was the goodbye you had been dreading for over a year. It was time for you to leave your home and travel to Dorne to meet your betrothed, Prince Oberyn Martell, the red viper.
The king's eyes move over the different entrances to the throne room, and many knights from the king's guard, including your uncle Jamie, stand at attention, ready to cut down any threat to the king and his family. “Your mother?”
Your mother visited your chambers the night before to inform you that Dornish men were known for ravaging women, and your wedding night will be one of the most unpleasant and painful experiences you’ll ever live through. You hadn’t seen her since then.
“We said our goodbyes last night, my king.”
He knows you’re lying; you often did when it came to Cersei. He stands and motions for you to step closer.
Your grandsire, Tywin Lannister narrows his eyes and nods. He was in full agreement that using you as a political pawn was the way forward. Joffrey stands beside him, looking bored, while Myrcella and Tommen both cry. You didn’t want to leave them, but it was your duty.
As the first legitimate child of King Robert Baratheon, you should have been next in line to the throne, but you were a daughter. So the throne would bypass you and go to the eldest male, Joffrey. The irony was that your father made you sit in his council meetings, would ask your opinions on different matters, and allowed you to sit in on your brother's sword lessons, something that your mother disapproved of. Your father had never once shown any interest in Joffrey or prepared him to rule one day.
Your father cups your face, wiping away a fallen tear with his thumb. “Cassana, my daughter, do not cry again, as I won't be there to wipe your tears anymore.”
“I will miss you, father.”
“Next time I see you, I will be at your wedding, and you will be the most beautiful bride the seven kingdoms have ever seen.”
—
“There she is.” Ellaria nudges Oberyn's shoulder and points in the direction of a young, timid-looking girl sitting on a staircase overlooking one of the ponds. “I expected her to have the famous golden lion hair.”
“Perhaps this one really is a Baratheon,” he quips. The Prince wasn’t sure if it was common knowledge or not that Cersei’s three youngest children were rumored to be fathered by their uncle Jamie. However, it appears his future bride wasn’t the result of incest.
“Princess Cassana Baratheon, the eldest daughter of King Robert, and Cersei fucking Lannister.”
Oberyn smirks at hearing the venom in his lover's voice; she hates House Lannister just as much as he does. He watches as the girl, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen, twitches her jaw; she can sense them looking at them. He had argued with his elder brother, Prince Doran, when he agreed to the betrothal between Oberyn and the daughter of his enemy without his permission.
“Trust me, brother, this is the way.”
He should be going over to at least introduce himself, but the girl looks so terrified that Oberyn thought it was best to give her some time.
Ellaria Scoffs asks, “Why did she bring those things? Does she think Dorne doesn’t have cats?”
“Because if she left them behind, Joffrey would have killed them.”
Oberyn looks away from the girl and turns around to see the infamous imp, Tyrion Lannister, walking towards them. He was the only one willing to travel to Dorne with the princess.
Tyrion graciously accepts a cup of wine, then sits down and indulges the drink in full before continuing. “Years ago, Robert gifted my niece a kitten on her name day; he picked that particular one because he said it had curious eyes that matched his oldest daughter’s. She named it Milady. Cassana loved the little thing, and against my sister's wishes, she let it sleep in her bed, and it followed her around the keep, wherever my niece was, the kitten wasn’t far behind. It was quite cute, actually. Then one day it went missing, and Cassana searched the full red keep and cried herself to sleep every night for weeks missing it.”
Tyrion had a way of telling a story that was very intriguing, almost as if it were an old tale passed down through generations. The prince sits down on a plush yellow chair across from his quest, his arm casually swinging over the back of it. “Then what? Did she ever find it?”
A look void of emotion passes through Tyrion’s features; he clicks his tongue while refilling his cup with wine. He takes a large gulp. “One evening during dinner, Joffrey claimed to have a gift for his sister, something to cheer her up. He had a servant bring in a red silk bag, and inside it was whatever remained of Milady. Robert was horrified, of course, but Cersei stated that cats were horrid little creatures and continued eating her meal as Cassana bawled her eyes out.”
“A cunt.”
Tyrion lifts his cup in agreement with Ellaria’s statement. A Lannister’s cruelty never surprised him, but a brother being allowed to treat his own sister like that was... Oberyn had no words.
“And that was my sister being kind to her. Does that answer your question?”
“What question?”
Tilting his head back, Tyrion gives them a knowing look, as if he knew what question was burning on the tip of their tongues. “Why is this marriage allowed to go ahead? It’s because even Robert, a drunken fool of a king, knows he can’t protect his daughter from her mother’s hate.”
“The girl's eyes are swollen; is she scared that the Dornish aren’t as kind as the people of King's Landing?” Ellaria asks sarcastically.
“Cassana didn’t want to leave her father, Tommen, or Myrcella,” Tyrion answers truthfully. “She’s been shipped off to a foreign country to marry a stranger who’s twice her age, with customs she doesn’t know or understand, and it may have possibly crossed her mind that she may be used to get revenge for the sack of King's landing. Of course she’s scared.”
Ellaria's brows pull together; being a mother herself, she couldn’t fathom the idea of putting her own child in harm's way. “And the Lannisters were still willing to send her to Dorne, thinking we were nothing more than monsters wanting revenge?”
Oberyn clenches his jaw. “What was done to my sister and her children—”
“Was a travesty,” Tyrion says, cutting him off. “But my niece had nothing to do with it. And the girl is not dim; she’s under no false allusions to who her mother, father, and grandfather are.”
“And yet she loves them still.”
Tyrion shrugs. “Hmm, she loves Robert, but I wouldn’t be so sure about her feelings towards my father and Cersei.”
Oberyn crosses his legs; he was curious to learn if Tyrion was saying these things in the hope he would be sympathetic towards the girl. “Why do you think princess Cassana should be married to Martell?”
Looking over his shoulder, Tyrion smiles, observing his niece take in her new surroundings for a moment before answering. “Because I don’t believe you’ll treat her any worse than she already has been.”
—
After speaking with his guest for some time, Oberyn decides to go and introduce himself to Cassana. From everything Tyrion had told him, he felt nothing but pity for his future bride. He looks across the garden and notices his paramour glaring at the girl, who seemed content playing with her pets. Since the wedding would be held in a few months, Oberyn had extended the invitation for Tyrion to stay in Dorne so that Cassana wouldn’t be so alone.
Cassana doesn’t look back as he gets closer to her, even though she would have been able to hear him since the Prince was deliberately making his steps louder than normal. The Baratheon girl looks out of place by the way she was dressed; he’d need to have clothing that was more suited to the Dornish climate made for her.
A large black cat was stretched out across her lap, while two others playfully fought on the ground beside her feet, the sand sticking to their fur.
Oberyn sits down on the step beside her. Cassana was so caught up in her creatures that she merely offered him a polite nod before turning her attention back to the cat, which caused him to smile. “What’s its name?”
“This is Balerion. The brown one is Vhagar, and the white one is Meraxes.”
His brows arch in surprise. “You have an interest in Westeros history?”
“Mainly house Baratheon and Targaryen.”
“Why those houses?”
She continues to focus on the animal sprawled across her, scratching behind the cat's ear. Cassana nips at her tongue before answering, as if she’s thinking of an acceptable answer: “I like learning about my family’s history.”
“I imagined you’re tired of hearing about Robert’s rebellion.”
She scoffs, “The septa who taught myself and Myrcella was rather skilled in telling us the histories she wanted us to learn.”
He raises his brows and asks, “Is that so?”
“Nobody was ever going to tell us the full truth of what happened, only the parts they wanted to be remembered.”
Oberyn becomes so lost in his thoughts of the sacking of kings landing that he doesn’t even realise one of the cats had climbed up onto him until he feels the pinch of his claw on his thigh. He swallows back the poison, ready to jump from his mouth, reminding himself that the poor girl couldn’t help who her parents were. “So, who’s your favourite Baratheon then?” He asks, hoping to lighten his sudden, tense mood. “Your father?”
“No,” she chuckles. “The founder of House Baratheon, Orys Baratheon. He was the bastard son of Aerion Targaryen and stepbrother to the three conquerors.”
“The Dornish refused to bend the knee to house Targaryen during Aegon’s conquest.”
“Your words. Ours are unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril.”
The prince was impressed; he didn’t think the Baratheon princess would have any knowledge of who Meria Martell was, let alone his house words. They sit in silence for some time, and Oberyn watches as the sun begins to disappear. The stillness is only disturbed when Cassana speaks again.
“I’m sorry, Prince Oberyn.” She finally looks up at him, her eyes full of sorrow as they meet his. “For what my family did to house Martell, I’m sorry.”
Oberyn was lost for words; he had accepted many thoughts from the daughter of Robert and Cersei, but for her to show genuine remorse wasn’t one of them.
#game of thrones#oberyn martell x you#oberyn martell fanfiction#oberyn martell#Oberyn Martell/you#game of thrones fanfiction#Oberyn Martell fanfic#sweet viper#Oberyn Martell x oc#Oberyn Martell/oc
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You know what I've realized these past several months on Tumblr and just...years of consuming content?
It's pretty rare for the fandom to acknowledge Gotham as a city. A real, living city with people in it. Like, sure we always get cutesy posts about Batman or the others from outside perspectives or fics that include interesting ocs (I love u if you do that btw).
But what I mean isn't that. What I mean is: does anyone think of Gotham and its citizens as actual people? Because I've sure seen kind of the opposite.
I see constant arguments or heavily biased (mostly misinformed) posts regarding what Bruce does and how the Batman helps the city. That his riches would get lost in corruption and no one can save the city unless there's violence. You could try and make the argument, sure. But we've seen time and time again in comics that Bruce uses his money to the benefit of the city. We've seen in comics that he employs people who are disadvantaged and gives them opportunities. People know Bruce Wayne gives jobs and treats his employees well. He donates heavily to charities, creates his own organizations, funds Leslie Thompkin's clinic, and consistently updates the safety of his own buildings. People (at least post-Crisis) would know that Bruce Wayne did everything he could to save Gotham after the Cataclysm earthquake/No Man's Land - that he went up against Congress. Of course, not everyone would like Batman. Not everyone would trust the Wayne name. They'd see a stranger who prowls nightly and may or may not rescue you. They'd see the privilege of an old rich name who gets to exert his influence over the city. If you go to him for help, you go to him with the fear, and anticipation of rejection or with the knowledge that he will be safe.
I've also seen the (imo) ridiculous notion that Crime Alley citizens would trust the Red Hood. Maybe some would now, after the reboots and actual comic book evidence that he's doing something. But I cannot fathom living in a city with such heavy crimes occurring and then trusting what is essentially a cop. People don't know the Red Hood. They don't know Jason Todd. They would only know: 1. he has tried and succeeded various times to take over organized crime and drug routes 2. he can and will kill if he sees it fit. In some people's eyes, he would be a cop with even less judicial oversight. In some families, he would be the killer of their breadwinner, of their fathers or family members or lovers. A man with a gun. Eyes without a face. If you go to him for help, you go to him for blood.
This doesn't even begin to lay out the insane amount of vigilantes who live/operate in Gotham. The Batman is not the only figure. The Red Hood is not the only figure. If you boil down Gotham to only the conflict between these two characters, you miss the nuances and varied opinions of the city by miles. If you boil down Gotham to just Batman-affiliates, you miss even more.
For every person who doesn't trust Batman, there's someone who'd prefer Huntress. For every child who lives in fear but can't trust an adult, there's Robin or Batgirl. For an abused woman, there's other women out there who help: Catwoman or Black Canary or Holly Robinson. There's people who'd never trust a vigilante but want safety, they'd have Leslie Thompkins (who operates in Crime Alley) or Lucius Fox who could give them a job.
Not to mention, Batman is very obviously white. There would be some people who would rightfully mistrust white men, and would prefer figures like Orpheus or Onyx or Batwing or the Signal or Huntress (post-N52). There's the Creeper, who would be terrifying but some might prefer the monster over the man. There's Ragman, an explicitly Jewish vigilante who was literally called the Tatterdemalion of the Oppressed and trusted by the poor and homeless. There's Batwoman, Mother Panic, Spoiler, Nightwing, Red Robin, Azrael, Bluebird, the enigmatic idea of the Oracle, Anarky, Ghostmaker, Gotham Girl/Boy, Catman, Alan Scott-Green Lantern, Wildcat.
Hell, maybe someone who lives in Gotham would just straight up trust Superman or the Flash or Wonder Woman more than anyone else. Maybe they'd never once trust someone acting for a perceived view of justice and would just trust an employer like Two-Face or the Riddler or any mobster.
I'm stressing my point here: when you write anyone who lives in Gotham City, keep in mind that they don't know they live in a comic book world. Secret identities are foreign to them, they only know the base actions of each vigilante. Each person's opinion will heavily vary. Every experience colors their view of the city and vigilantes as a whole. Just, idk, widen your horizons and consider about what someone living in a place like Gotham would really think.
To that end, read the comics!!! Research actual cities!!! Take in experiences and history!!! It's all interesting and just adds so much more.
You want one comic that shows Bruce helping Gotham and the various views of Gothamites, read Gotham Knights #32, published in 2002 and titled "24/7." Read it online illegally if you have to!!
#i'm not hating on existing content#make what you want!#I've just always wanted to see more#because there is more to explore#dc#batman#dc comics#batman meta#gotham city#DM for a link to the comic issue if you want#just be prepared for a comic website with pop-up ads#robin#dc meta#bruce wayne#I am Not tagging all these people
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Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody.
so i've seen this quote used in a "see arya is not an outsider" kind of way, and here are my two cents that nobody asked for.
for me arya being an outsider is deeply connected to her self-esteem issues... so in this badly written essay i will (just kidding i couldn't write an essay even for the life of me):
imo this quote is a passive way to show sansa's classism, yeah arya is a friendly little girl, that's true, but i take more this quote as sansa meaning arya's comfortable in making friends with "the lowest of the low". there's a reason why jeyne poole and beth cassel were only sansa's friends and not arya and sansa's friends. growing up in winterfell, arya's mother, her assigned teacher and her older sister and her friends told and showed arya time and time again how she's not an adequate lady and how her behavior as a 9 year old child is completely unacceptable of a lady from a great house. (which is a little hypocrate coming from someone who once was 12 year old "mud pie maker" catelyn tully)
hello "arya's self-esteem issues that people love to ignore", there's a reason why when gendry tells arya she looked pretty and ladylike (i know the phrase used is "a nice oak tree" but guess what my book copy is in spanish and here gendry says "un roble bonito" and bonito is directly translated as "pretty") arya thinks gendry is mocking her, because she believes only her father and jon would say something like that of her while being truthful.
for fucks sake, it gets even worse. arya was anxiously worried about her mother and brother not wanting her back because she had to survive in middle of a war, she had to pass as a boy to avoid sexual violence, which women, girls and even femme presenting people are the primary victim of, she had to kill in situations where it was "kill or be killed", she had to work as a slave, she's dirty and could be simply defined as a mess, completely the contrary of the idea of someone "ladylike" that has been drilled into her head by many people.
arya is loved by her brothers, smallfolk and the people that worked for the starks, but was made an outsider in her own homeplace because she's not good at performing the gender roles expected of her. nobility treats her as an outsider, just because this little girl is gender non conforming. arya is still growing up with low self-esteem with the feeling that nobody would ever want her except for jon. a feeling that was born of failing her obligatory "lady duties" and being bullied and mocked by this fact, by the very own teacher employed by her family and some family members alike. we have arya's own mother constantly comparing the child who excels at her tasks with the child that fails these tasks in an attempt for the child that is failing to improve, which is horrible methoding and only ends up with arya feeling even more inadequate as someone who is a member of a noble house.
even the "arya was clearly ned's favourite" is laughable for me, because even in the part where ned gives back needle to arya, and decides to indulge her with water dancing lessons, he's only doing this with the hope that this is simply a child's interest that arya will grow out of it, and she will finally have the realization that her only place in life is being a "dutyful lady wife" whose sons will be able to be everything she ever wanted to be only because they will be born with a cock between their legs, that's what he tells her. so there we have ned stark passively enforcing gender roles on the child that asked for the possibility of breaking gender norms while she's in a possision of power.
and having both parents telling her in one way of another that her behavior is wrong and not what is expected of her, this only reinforces arya's idea of how inadequate she truly feels, how she will never fit in nobility and how she will have to let go big parts of who she is, to comply with westeros's patriarchal idea of what a noble woman needs to be.
#well... here goes nothing#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#house stark#arya stark#and her sister her mother and her father#anti sansa stans#anti asoiaf fandom
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Honestly I wouldn’t mind if ya did a story that was just breeding kink baby fever pregnancy centered focused 🙈 No thoughts head empty just 🌽
But I do have to ask out of your ocs who’d actually make a great father vs shitty father vs meh father? And what are some of ya ocs parental habits for raising the babies?
Hi!! Honestly I wish I was sooooo much better at smut cause that's all I would write. I'm trying to get back into writing smut but I'm really not very good at it, but I'm practising! Also i promised a fic tonight but I'm tired and my writing is shit so I'll have a red hot crack go tomorrow after work.
Ok so I'll just do out of my yandere ocs, cause they are the ones everyone is more familiar with. TW: talks about domestic abuse
Great Father goes to the Farmer for sure. Look he's got traditional (aka outdated views) but that doesn't mean he would ever disown his children. He had a really horrible childhood and he always promised himself he would do a better job as a parent then his own ever did. He is very hands on, giving his children life skills and most importantly the belief that they can overcome what life throws at them. The farmer knows how hard life is, so he tries to instil good work ethic and most of all a be good to others way of thinking. Being a helping hand is important to him.
He may not like people that much, but being someone others can rely on made him feel as though he is wanted and worthwhile when he was always told by his parent's he was not. He would unfortunately believe in boy's things and girl's things. But that doesn't mean if a son of his wants to help mama sew or a girl of his wants to help him fix the truck he's going to go crazy. No, of course not, he believes that ALL life skills, whether others believe them to be men or women jobs, need to be taught to children. So he doesn't care about division of labour based on gender.
What makes him a bit weary is if his son wants to wear florals or pinks, or if his daughter ONLY wears masculine clothes, especially if they go into town. He's just not comfortable about it. However, over time I think he just wouldn't care anymore and would only fuss if they are wearing improper clothes to work on the farm with. Likewise he wouldn't disown his children if they came out as queer, he would most likely make really cringy jokes and ask embarrassing questions and then say something like "Oh, so I can't ask my child a genuine question? Is that not politically correct now?", but like sir, please the question was embarrassing.
But yeah, once he kinda understood it he would come to terms with it and actually would be funny. Like if someone in town asks him if he's proud of his kid for coming out hell say (absolutely seriously) "why the fuck should I be proud of them coming out of the house, why do kids these days need praise for every little thing they do!". like he wouldn't understand what the phase coming out even means. Anyway on to the next!
Meh Father goes to the Mad King. The man is all bark no bite. He pretty much only wants children as heirs and also to have levrage over the reader. He's not horrible by any means, he spoils his children when they deserve it, but he also makes them understand that nothing good in life is freely given and you have to take it. But unfortunately he also causes rivalries between his children. They are desperate for any attention/praise from him that they will try to out compete one another to gain it. Often resulting in arguments and injuries.
Reader (whether they wanted children or not) has to act overly motherly and affectionate to their children to counteract his actions. There is no favouritism or stern reminders of their places as heirs, just warm, welcoming love. Also his children aren't idiots, they can all tell that their parent's did not marry for love. At least on their mother's side.
They are torn between desperately wanting their father, the king, to show them true love not just cold approval and hating him for the emotional abuse he has put their mother through. It's actually kinda sad, because he was always desperate for the attention and love of his father and now he's caused the same thing between his own children.
There is moments of affection and love but the more he see's himself or god forbid his brother in his children, he begins to be very cold and distant. The man kinda forgot that a kid is 50/50 not just 100% their mother's. That's why his youngest is his favourite, although he would never tell anyone ever. His youngest is pretty much reader cloned, looks, personality, and everything. When he looks at them he is harshly reminded what he took away from reader the day he became king.
Bad Father goes to the Killer. This man would have absolutely no fucking clue what the fuck to do. And he would not care to try. Reader (who is usually gn but for the sake of this is afab) is heartbroken when they realise they are pregnant, and Killer has no idea why they won't stop crying. And why do they keep being sick all the time. A primal part of him likes the idea of caring and providing for his darling and their children, in fact he loves it.
When he figured out reader was pregnant, he started stocking up in furs, wood, meat and cloth. He made a crib from what he remembered his little brother's to be (omg lore drop). He likes to provide, but damn does he actually hate having a child. He leaves ALL baby stuff to reader, he pretty much refuses to look after or even pick up the baby. He gives reader all the resources they need and the Killer calls it a good job done. The poor kid(s) grow up very isolated and confused. Their mama loves them with everything they have but their pa won't even acknowledge them.
Resentment grows as they do. They of course don't really understand why they are here and why their mother/parent is with killer, because it's all they have ever known. They've known nothing other than this. I can see this going either two ways. One day the oldest snaps, they are sick and tired of listening to the screams of the their father's victims. Their mother/parent tries so hard to keep them from barging out of their small shack.
The eldest faces their father, who has grown grey over the years. However, he is still a scary and strong man, and the eldest falters slightly, it's enough for the Killer to smack their eldest to the ground telling them to go back inside. Reader sees this and just loses it. They have spent a good chunk of their life under Killer's thumb. They have seen so much death and violence they have become almost immune. But to see their child being struck by the man who killed all her friends all those years ago just causes absolute rage.
Reader picks up the old shotgun that they found hidden in the attic, they were always too scared to use it, especially when the kid(s) came. But now its time. Killer doesn't stand a chance.
OR the other way is that once the kid(s) reach maturity they follow in their father's footsteps unfortunately for reader and finally get their father's approval. I like the first idea better.
Hope you liked it! I should have my home invader story out tomorrow!
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere drabble#yandere prompts#oc#male yandere#farmer yandere#yandere oc#oc farmer#dv
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prince not so charming / CL16 / PART 1
Warnings : Mention of death, Mention of sex, Mention of marriage between a minor and an adult (spoken about as a bad thing, not a good thing), Mention of forced marriage, Switching between second and third perspective, Charles acting a bit spoiled maybe.
Summary : Prince!Charles x Princess!Reader - A prince has seven princesses brought to him, and must choose which one he wants to marry.
Author's Note : I've had ideas like this circulating through my head for quite a while, so I figured this would be something good to start my blog off with, especially since I think it's another idea that a lot of other people might enjoy reading. I'm just starting out my blog, so if you read this and you like it, I would really appreciate if you would hit my ask box and request something to support me and help me get going! And of course reblog and follow would be kind too <3 Thank you, and I hope you enjoy my little story.
Requested? : No.
There are six other princesses travelling by chariot today as well, also headed to the same exact castle you're heading to.
When your father, the king of your small island country, told you that the prince of one of the largest countries nearby was sending in for all the single princesses, both you and your father had a plan.
Unlike a lot of countries, yours is just fine with having a woman rule as queen, by herself, so since your mother passed away in childbirth, and you're your father's only child, you've both basically decided that getting married into some other kingdom's royal family is just about the last thing you want to do.
Apparently, this Prince Charles, who is twenty-five, your age, has been being pressured ever since he was eighteen by his family. The story is that they keep trying more and more ladies from all different countries and families, but every single one he sees he quickly dismisses after meeting them, rejecting every single one.
Which, you figure, means he's a spoiled little ungrateful brat, like many of the royals from surrounding kingdoms and countries. Not surprising.
For seven years, his mother and eldest brother have been searching all over for the woman he'll finally accept. Of course, searching only in royal and noble blood.
So now, they're bringing in seven more princesses to see if he'll accept any of them. You're generally not worried about this conceited prince wanting to marry you, but just in case, you and your father have ensured that there's no chance he will.
So you sit in the covered royal chariot, wearing a plain white dress, a men's cloak, your hair very simply down over your shoulders, and dirt smudged on your clothes and face.
Even though it's not your most favourite outfit, it's worth it to avoid at all costs being forced to court with... someone like Prince Charles.
You're sure he'll be disgusted.
Which is good.
You've met all the princesses that will be arriving as well, and you're sure most of them will be more interesting to a prince such as Charles. Apparently, to them, he's known as the most handsome prince around. All of them would be delighted to marry him, and are surely putting forth their best for the prince.
You're sure he just uses his good looks to fake a charming personality, so people like him. That's what all the princes do, but then when you really get to know them, it turns out their personality is really quite devilish in the end, and it was just an act, a show, to get you interested in them.
Soon enough, the chariot you're in stops, and your driver gets out, holding the curtain for you as you lift your skirt to jump out. The driver offers his hand to you for help, but like always, you ignore it and hop out yourself. It's not like when women jump we break our ankles or something. My goodness. You know deep down inside they're just trying to be honorable and kind, but still.
You look up at the castle. It looks very basic, like many other castles you've seen, with it's tall pillars, carved images, and glorious towers reaching up, slicing into the bright merry blue sky.
"Would you like me to walk up with you, or send a servant to go with you, up to the door, Your Highness?" asks your driver with a very low bow.
"No thank you, but I appreciate the offer. I can handle walking by myself. Just carry on."
"Yes, of course, Your Highness," he nods, briskly, with agility, hopping up into the chariot.
You turn away from that, and start walking down the cobblestone path that leads to the third courtyard, which leads to the main gates. When you get to the gates of the third courtyard, a guard grunts at you, not even realizing that you're one of the princesses, because of your means of arrival and presentation, "What's your business here?"
"I'm one of the princesses to meet Prince Charles today," you say simply.
He narrows his eyes. "No, you're no-"
"Listen, guard. This was a message sent only to the princesses, no? How could anyone else know about this? If you do not allow me to enter and go to the castle with all the other princesses here today, I will order my men to go against you in an instant!"
The guard's back straightens. "Right, then, Your Highness! Please, show mercy, and forgive me for my misunderstanding! I'll lead you to where you need to go immediately!"
"You're forgiven. Now, yes, take me there. And let's get this over with."
Charles reclines in his velvet red couch, leaning back as he stares up at the sparkling gold chandelier with a heavy sigh. There's a knock on the door to his room, and he calls, "Who's there?"
His older brother, Lorenzo, enters the room, shutting the door behind him. "Charles, come on now. I thought you were supposed to be getting ready." He ruffles his brother's light, fluffy, tangled hair. "My goodness, Charles, you need to get this cut and washed before you meet the princesses. And clearly you are in need of a shave."
"I don't have to have nice hair or clothes for every last one of those ladies to fall deeply in love with me. In fact, half of them probably are already deeply in love with me," replies the younger with an eye roll and a scoff.
"Charles, you know you have to look more presentable. Stop with all the excuses. Get up now."
"Is Mama gonna cut my hair?"
"Charles, you're just going to have to get it done by a servant. I'm sending one in to get you fixed up now, okay?"
Charles nods, sitting up more with a sigh. "Yes, yes, Lorenzo. Now be on with your day, now, won't you, King?"
"Charles," he says, looking back from the doorway with a sigh. "Do one thing for me, please?"
"Another thing?"
His brother, the king, ignores Charles' little comment and just says, "Please choose your princess today, Charles. Please. Choose the best one for you. I've been trying to give you responsibilities for so long. I think having a lady may help with your..."
"My what? My goodness, Lorenzo, be out of my presence already! Please!"
And with a sigh, the elder brother listens to the younger's order and leaves him to be by himself.
Charles gets up and walks across the room, stopping in front of his mirror to look at himself. His hair is a little tangled, but he doesn't mind it. He always thinks it makes him look better. It reminds him of how he looks after he's won a race, pushed his horses to the limit, with the wind and dust blowing dirt up into his helmet. He's never minded a little bit of danger, and a little bit of dirt. And a little bit of fun.
Yet a part of him loves to look nice, too, for these girls. Not because he's trying to attract any of them.
Maybe just because he feels so strong in those buttoned coats with gold lining, big, black boots, with a beautiful sword at his side.
Maybe all this talk of marriage and pressure to fall in love is a pain, but by now, would he want it any other way?
It's strange the way you get used to the things you hate, so much that you almost start to like them.
The six other princesses sit as far away from you as they can. Naturally, they're disgusted. Not that you care. You figure it's better like that. This way, maybe their sweet perfume won't make you smell any better.
Even the guards in the room seem extremely confused and unimpressed by you.
Which is just fine. It means that hopefully the prince will feel just the same.
Soon, a servant comes in, saying quickly, "I'm sorry for the wait, Most High Ladies of the Land. Our highly respected and honored Prince Charles, the second heir to the throne, after King Lorenzo, may he be honored forever, is still preparing himself to meet you beautiful ladies. I can assure you all that he is very excited to meet you all. Forgive us for the wait."
Of course he's taking long. He's probably quite vain. Just like these girls surrounding you. Quite vain, you know. You can't help but smile to yourself as you ponder upon the fact that perhaps this vain, conceited, self-centred prince could potentially get along quite well with these girls. Prideful people often seem to enjoy the people who are much like themselves, after all, right?
Soon enough, though, they start taking the princesses, one by one, to come and meet the prince. The princesses here are from ages anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. You realize that the younger one's time meeting Prince Charles is much shorter than the older ones, and even then, the longest time before the servant comes to fetch the next princess is at most fifteen minutes.
Of course, they save you for last. Which you're happy about. After seeing all those beautiful princesses, you're sure Prince Charles will be even more disgusted with you than he would've been originally.
You stand up when the servant gestures you to come, and you walk next to him down the hallway. When you make it to the end of the hallway, there is a small passage with stairs leading up. "I am sorry to tell you that Prince Charles' room is on higher floor. Would you like me to carry you up the stairs, Your Highness?" The servant asks with a bow.
"My goodness! How do you treat your women in his kingdom? What a meeting this shall be with the prince! By the name of God, servant man, no. I can walk up a flight of stairs just fine on my own two feet."
"Of course, Your Highness!" the servant says quickly, and you start walking up the spiraling staircase. You don't doubt that all the other princesses accepted the offer to be carried.
The hallway at the top is much nicer than the one you were just in. It has red carpets, gold lining, and windows all across one wall. You pause to stare out them. They overlook the huge capital city, and you think about all the little common people down there, working for their lives.
It's such a sad concept. While you're up here, worried about having to meet a prince, there are people down there worrying about staying alive.
It's not right. And when you're queen of your island, that's what you want to fix. In your country, your father has it all set up for you.
You want the people to be happy and content.
"Your Highness?" the servant says. "This is Prince Charles' room."
You nod. "Thank you."
"I'll be waiting outside here if either of you need anything."
You nod again, and slowly turn the knob to the door, before stepping in, closing the door behind you gently with a quiet click.
You have never been in the bedroom of a prince before.
There's a huge window overlooking a beautiful bright bluebody of water, which you assume must be the ocean. On the wall is a breastplate and two swords. There's a large wooden wardrobe with beautiful carvings all over it, and sitting on top of it are two helmets- one look's like a knight's helmet, shining with steel, and the other a horse racing helmet with red streaks painted on the sides. Next to the wardrobe is a painting hanging on the wall of a young man with dark shaggy black hair and a playful smile, wearing the elaborate outfit of a king, despite not having the looks of a typical solemn painting of a king. There's a wall with lines of different kinds of plaques and trophies on shelves, glass doors covering them. Prince Charles has a huge grand, wooden but painted white, piano. His huge bed has curtains surrounding it, and next to the bed is a little nightstand. There's a huge desk with parchment and ink sitting on it, and there's a soft red rug over the floor. Hanging on the wall is a large, beautiful, tinted, full body mirror. There is a large empty fireplace, and with it a red velvet couch and matching chair. Next to these pieces of furniture is a table on which a map, a compass, and a bowl of fruit sits. The whole room smells like sweet, calming incense.
And then, after viewing the room, you turn to view the much less interesting prince. He looks like every other. Sure, his face is exceptionally handsome compared to the others, but who cares? He's not that glorious. He wears a tall black shiny boots, red pants, and a long white double-breasted jacket unbuttoned with gold buttons and gold furnishing. Underneath his coat he wears a soft looking poet shirt. The whole outfit fits him quite well, and compliments his thin, lean, but very strong figure nicely.
But the best of his outfit is the sparkling gold crown upon his head. It shines with all different kinds of lovely colorful sparkling jewels. You can't help but think about how heavy that must be on his head.
His brown hair is nicely styled, his eyes bright, and his white smile likely fake.
But the smile quickly vanishes as he can't help but express the surprise on his face when he sees you. "H- Hello," he says. "You are...?"
"Princess Y/n. It's nice to meet you, Prince Charles." You curtsy.
"Nice to meet you, too, Princess," he says with a quick bow, obviously trying not to express his emotions on his face. It's hard not to laugh at this. At this little rich prince trying to hold it together. He takes a step closer to you. "How old are you?" is his first question. He speaks with the accent that it seems many people from this country speak with. You can't help but wonder to yourself if this country has it's own native language.
"Twenty-five, Prince."
He nods. "Me as well. What kingdom are you from?"
You tell him about the island kingdom you come from, and, as expected, he doesn't end up having ever really heard of it much. "How far off the coast are you?" he asks.
"It took half a day to sail here."
He nods once again. "Alright... Uh, why don't you sit down here next to me," he starts, walking to the velvet couch, "and I can tell you a bit about myself, if that's okay with you."
"Of course, Prince. Go on," you answer as you sit down next to each other on the couch. You look over his nice appearance once again.
"I'm the second son of my father, may he rest in peace. My elder brother is king of this country, and my younger one, Prince Arthur, rules nearby conquered land. Me and my wife would be the rulers of a section of land that we have just won over in war, across the river."
"So you're telling me that regardless of being older than your brother, he rules more than you and has a wife, while you don't?" You really couldn't care less. You're just trying to make him dislike you.
He clenches his jaw and says, "It's just taken a little longer for me... I guess."
"Why do you think that could be?"
"I... well, Princess, so far in my life, I've chased after things besides ruling and marriage."
"Right," you say simply.
"So... tell me about yourself. What... makes you... you?"
You can't help but softly chuckle at that question, as the Prince's eyes look you up and down. "Well, isn't this meeting really only about two things?"
"Two things? I'm sorry?" he asks in confusion.
"Whether the princess' beauty suits your tastes, and whether she'll be good to make you your babies."
He stares, wide eyed. "Wow... egh, you're honest, now, aren't you?"
"I suppose I am," you respond with a shrug.
"Right..." is all Charles says, at a loss for words at the princess' way of speaking. This is the first princess that's been so... blunt with him.
And he realizes perhaps this is why he has been avoiding marriage for so long.
He'd rather not getting married to a woman for her intense beauty, and only use her for sex to have his children. He doesn't even want children. Or a wife.
He really just wants to be for himself. Adventure. Have fun. Make the most of life.
"So, Prince Charles, you said you've been chasing after other things besides marriage and ruling? I'm curious to know what."
He swallows. "Really, my lady, it should not matter. I'm really leaving that old life in the past." Or at least trying. Really, every part of Charles hates to think about leaving that life in the past. It's a life he loves.
But, as everyone seems to say to him, Charles, you're not a little boy anymore. You're a grown man at twenty-five, and it's pathetic how little you've got done in life.
To them, what Charles has done is pathetic. To Charles, what he's got done is success.
"I still want to hear, Prince Charles."
Charles sighs. He figures it doesn't matter if this girl knows or not. He's sure no one would want him picking her, anyway. So who cares if she has a strange view of him? "I love chariot racing. It's my passion. I love it so, so much. See those trophies in that case? Those are from racing. I love the adrenaline, and the danger. I love the speed. That's one thing. I also love music. I play on that piano all the time. I'm not interested in getting married... I mean, I guess I can be kind of romantic, but I don't want to get married for the reasons everyone says I should. They always bring me these women that all seem to act exactly the same, with the same clothes, same personality... And then they get annoyed at me for loving none of them. They try to put me in armor and get me to fight if I'm not going to marry, but that's never turned out either. Even though I have the strength for it, I don't want to do it. I don't want to go out on battlefields and shed the blood of other men. Maybe that makes me a coward, I don't know. Maybe it makes me 'not a man'. I don't know. But I can't help it. It's just the way I am."
The look on this princess' face seem to be a mixture of extreme curiosity, regret, worry, and empathy. Which is confusing.
"Prince Charles, I'm sorry. You're very unlike many princes I've met. But I think you're just fine."
"I'd say you're quite unlike all the princesses I've met. And I think you're fine, too. The bothersome thing is that I basically have to choose one of you seven today. By the way, Princess, usually I wouldn't be saying this. But I just can see that you aren't like the rest. I can tell I can trust you."
"Why do you have to choose one of us now?" the girl questions.
Charles sighs, glancing down at this rug. "I don't want to make this seem like this is any of my family's doing. They love me, and want the best for me. But I have advisors put in place, that in a way have authority over me, and have told me if I don't choose a princess today, then they'll choose. And I know who they'll choose. There's a princess in a very, very large kingdom very nearby, and they've been waiting until she turns fifteen. She's fifteen now, and I'm sure they'll force me to marry her, because having a marriage with a kingdom as big as that is just wise, when it comes to government. But I am not marrying mere girl who is ten years younger than me. There is no way."
She nods. "That's... That's good. Very wise. There are lots of princes I know of that would do just that. So I respect your decision in that very much. But I suppose the best thing for you to do is to just choose the nicest out of those girls to marry. It's a hard situation to be in, though. I'm sorry for you."
"Are you really a princess?" Charles asks, looking the woman in her eyes.
"Yes, I am."
Charles reaches over and wipes a smudge of dirt off her cheek with his thumb, before holding it up in front of her. "What is this all about then?"
"I didn't want to doll myself up. Just like you, I don't want to marry, really. I'm into other things that are uncommon as well."
"Like what, Princess?"
"Well, racing as well. I like hunting with my bow and arrow. I love swimming, and going for walks, and gardening. Most people think princesses always enjoy indoors more, but I love the outdoors. And luckily, in my kingdom, I'm allowed to spend my time outside. I don't like singing or dancing or reading or knitting or doing makeup or dresses or anything, like most people expect princesses to."
Prince Charles suddenly takes your hand and says intensely, "I have an idea."
You narrow your eyes at him, feeling suspicion sink deeper within you. "What...?"
"If neither of us want to marry, then if we married each other, then we could get along more. Like, I'm not saying we fall in love. I'm just saying if neither of us are willing to fall in love, then we marry each other."
"I see your point, Prince Charles," you start, "but it's quite selfish, what you're planning. While you're being forced to marry, I'm not. So while for you it would be a step up, for me it would be a step down."
He continues to hold your hand, though. "I would let you live in your country and rule it as you please. Please, Princess Y/n. It would be... such a favor for me. Seriously, the only time you'd have to see me is when we're invited to dinners and what not."
"Oh, yes, the only time I'd have to see you is for dinners, and as well, perhaps, to come to bed with you to give birth to your heirs! Prince, I do not-"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"What? It's rude to interrupt."
"I've stopped trying not to be rude by now! Just let me ask my question!"
"Go on, Prince Charles."
He sighs, giving your hand a little squeeze. "Do you realise that if you want to protect your own kingdom, and keep it as it is as well, that you're going to need an heir?"
You swallow.
What a terrible, awful turn this has taken.
You should've just dressed and acted like all the other princesses.
But you had no idea that Prince Charles would be so...
Such a square peg in a round hole.
Much like you are.
This time you squeeze his hand, which is very, very smooth, and would feel nice, if it weren't so sweaty at this very moment.
He barely whispers, "Please."
He's so desperate.
What will your father say?
You suppose you'd just have to explain the whole thing to him.
"Listen, Prince Charles," you say, slipping your hand out of his, standing up. "I do not want to marry you. I ask you not to marry me. But I understand your point of view, and I understand that I should expect that regardless of what I've said, you still might choose to marry me."
He stands up with you. After getting to know him more, he looks much more handsome than he did in the beginning.
And then he says something shocking. "I think you're beautiful."
You stare, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, what?"
He reaches over and wipes the other smudge of dirt from your face. "I think you're beautiful."
"How? I went out of my way to look ugly."
"It's your personality that shines through those lovely eyes of yours."
"Wow... Thank you, Prince... You weren't lying when you said you were... romantic. Although you know if this is some way to manipulate me into wanting to marry you, I'm sorry. I've got my mind set on no."
He shakes his head. "That's not what I was trying to do. I was just telling you that... Showing you that... No matter what you do to your appearance, I still thought you're beautiful."
You stare into those bright green eyes, and for a moment, there's a little pit in your stomach. But not a bad one. Like there's something flying up within you. You take a step closer to him, and say, "Prince Charles, you are a very special person. You really are. To see past all the makeup and dresses and perfumes, and look for the one with the personality you like the most? That's extraordinary."
He gently puts his smooth hand to your cheek and says, "You've got to be special as well. After all these years of seeing all these ladies and princesses that I could choose to marry, and you're the first one I have any kind of feelings for. Your humility is so admirable... You just want to be there for your country. You're amazing."
You swallow, nodding. "I don't want to marry, but out of all the princes I've met, you're the only one I would marry if I had to."
"You're the... You're the princess I would marry, and I have to."
You sigh. "I beg you not to say me, but I understand, fairly enough, you're looking at your own best interest. So if you... If you end up having to say me, please let me be there for your country."
"I'll say you, but I'm putting a lot on the line."
"Like what?"
"If my advisors don't like you, which is likely, they'll make me marry the fifteen year old, likely. But it's worth it. I think putting so much on the line is worth it to be with a lady like you. Because I know I won't meet another princess like you. They likely won't even let me, though, so you're probably safe."
And suddenly, your heart softens as you look at his longing eyes, and you say gently, "Prince Charles, say you'll sleep on your decision. They'll have us princesses stay at this castle for the night. In the morning, I'll make sure I look just like the others."
"Cover up your beautiful face with all that makeup?"
"Just so your advisors accept me."
He stares, wide eyed, before suddenly hugging you.
"Oh my goodness," you breathe.
"Don't tell anyone I've hugged you."
Hugging is reserved for, in tradition, only those who are courting or related to each other, so this in a way fills you with guilt, because you know how much people would look down on you if they knew he was hugging you so tight.
You smile to yourself, though, and hug him back, even tighter.
Who cares if they look down on you?
Prince Charles steps away out of the hug, before bowing to you, taking your hand, and kissing it, before saying, "I suppose you should leave now, Princess Y/n. I'll see you later."
#f1 one shot#f1 imagines#f1 fanfic#f1#f1 x reader#charles leclerc#formula 1#ferrari#charles lecerc x reader#leclerc#leclerc x reader#formula1#formula one#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc x female reader#arthur leclerc#lorenzo leclerc#prince!charles leclerc#f1 fanfiction#charles leclerc fanfiction#f1 fic#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fanfic
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You Are My Sunshine - Jack the Ripper/Jack Smith x Reader
"A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant... Taste of death but once." - Jack Smith.
There was no true middleground between social classes within the Victorian era, and in London, people could feel that suffering the most. The rich only got richer, while the poor starved to death. Women were hardly allowed to work any legal job, thus having to retort to prostitution, while children begged on the streets, in the freezing cold and rain, and men worked themselves to death in factories.
Somewhere, in one of the cheap rooms of a brothel, a prostitute gave birth for the first time, to a rather special child; A little baby boy, conceived with so much love, a precious little thing that would take the name of his father - Little baby Jack.
Though he would live in great poverty, the only money to provide for him being the little coins his mother would get from her work - He was still happy. Not only did he have his mother's unlimited fountain of love for him, but he could also read the book left behind by his father upon conceiving him; It was a book of Shakespeare's most famous works, and little Jack loved reading them, to the point that he would take all of the more notable quotes to heart.
Precious little thing, so innocent, a glimmer of hope in the bleakest world that London was for him. He would go out daily, in his raggedy clothes, to find something to eat for him mum and him - And Anne too, if she wouldn't drink so much alcohol all the time. Every day, for so long, this child had to endure multiple beatings and degrading insults, all to survive; And he did it all with a smile on his face. All for his loving and caring mother, who chose HIM, of all the others of her children, to give birth to and raise! He was the fifth child she could have had, but she chose HIM! He truly as the luckiest boy!
In the back of a bakery, little Jack would often try to get the throw-away pastries and bread that would soon go stale and needed to be discarded; It was just trash, nobody needed it anymore, did they? Still, the chef was angry with him, and with his large, strong body, he would kick at Jack's small and frail little body with such malice that was inhumane. A monster. "You again?! This rubbish bin is MY restaurant's rubbish bin! Whether it's leftovers or scraps you want from it, you'll have to pay! And if you can't, then don't ever come back, you filthy rat!" poor boy was clutching his stomach from the exorbitant about of pain he was feeling; But it was fine, if he could get some food out of it, it was worth it.
"HALT!" the authoritarian voice of a girl resounded through the back alley, followed by the rhythmic sound of heeled footsteps approaching them. Jack dared look up to see who it was - A beautiful girl, radiating like the Sun, was standing tall and proud. She must be a nobleman, Jack thought with a soft blush, admiring that beautifully embroidered light blue dress, the rich leather boots and that pretty long hair done masterfully in ringlets, accessorised with a lovely bow. "You are a man, an adult of all things, yet you dare pick on a starving child? How pathetic are you?" the little lady scoffed, looking up at the man with disgust.
"Why, you...! Who do you think you are?!" the chef was trembling with anger, ready to raise his fist.
"I am a noble lady of high society. I should rather say - Who do YOU think you are, raising not only your voice, but your hand at me also? I could have your business in bankruptcy, if I so desired." she played the insufferable rich brat so well, it even surprised her. "Which would be a pity, considering I quite like the food from your restaurant. Alas, I cannot tolerate the chef being abusive towards the less fortunate. Perhaps I should tell the Queen to take away your Royal Warrant for good."
"H-Hold on a second, little lady! Surely, we can negotiate a little? This boy is just a beggar! He has to pay if he wants to eat my food!" the man became stunned from the awfully condescending look in her eyes.
"If you don't let the starving people eat the throw-aways and scraps, then you are letting the rats and all the vermin group around and infest this place. I could have this place shut by simply telling them I saw a rat in the restaurant - Who do you think they'll believe - You, a middleclass chef? Or me, the young heiress of Duke L/N?" she unfolded her lacey fan, cunningly covering half of her face. "If you offer the discarded food to those in need, however... I might reconsider your position in this tough industry."
At once, the chef ran inside the restaurant, only to soon return with a large box full of food, which he let fall in front of the boy. "There - Is that good enough?"
The lady took out a golden coin from her pretty little blue purse, and she flicked it on the ground for the chef to scramble over it like a greedy man. "For now, yes. Keep up the charitable work, Chef." the lady looked away as the chef bowed and rushed inside the restaurant.
When he was finally gone, the lady let out a sigh of relief before snapping her fan close and giggling. She crouched down in front of the boy and smiled brightly, offering him her hand to help him stand up. "I hope this food is going to fill your belly for a while."
"Ahh, My Lady, you're too gracious! You needn't bother with a sewer rat like me!" the poor boy didn't even dare look at her.
"No, no, I won't have that. It's not your fault you were born under such circumstances. Everyone deserves a chance in life. Unfortunately, only few are born under a lucky star. Without money, privilege and status, there is little one can do to live a comfortable and modest life." she explained as she picked both of his hands in her small, delicate ones, helping him stand up. "Can you carry the food to where you stay?" the boy's beautiful smile and blush made her feel happy.
"Yes, I'll be fine. You really... You're really too kind, My Lady. I don't deserve your kindness." suddenly, Jack felt his face being cupped gently, his silver hair being brushed away from his eyes. "I've never seen such pretty hair on a boy before. And your skin is so soft also. You even have heterochromia! See - One of your eyes is the colour of the soul, a calming blue like the azure sky; And the other is the colour of love, a gentle carmine like the heart that pumps blood inside our bodies. You are very unique and special."
"I-... I don't know what to say, My Lady. I... I'm really happy... Only mum ever said anything so nice about me." the pink blush gracing his features made the girl giggle sweetly.
"What is your name?" the girl asked, patting his hair.
"Jack. My name is Jack." Y/N nodded at him.
"What a pretty name you have, Jack." she praised. "My parents are waiting for me, so I can't stay around for too long. We are going to see a theater play, you see? They are playing Hamlet. Will I be seeing you around?"
"Y-Yes, if you want to see me, I'll be around!" the little boy offered a bright, toothy grin.
"Alright. I will be seeing you around, then." she nodded confidently. "Oh, before I forget - If you ever find the whole world going against you, then you pay look for me. My home is a little out of London, on a pretty hill next to the forest. Ask for Lady Y/N L/N. And give them this." she took off her necklace, placing it in his palm. "Well, I suppose you can sell it if you really want to. Anyway, I'll be seeing you around. Take care, Jack."
With a pretty wiggle of her fingers, the little Lady bid her farewell before unfolding the fan and gracefully waltzing out of the alleyway, back to her parents, while the boy could only stare in shock and awe at what just happened. He was left completely mesmerised and in love with Lady Y/N and the wonderful shade that her emotions radiated around her like a Godly aura. He's never seen such a brilliant shade of blue before, he wondered what it could mean.
As Y/N returned to her parents, she told them happily about her encounter with the young boy named Jack, and how pretty he was, even despite being in an unfortunate circumstance. Though her parents knew that the social standards of the noble class dictated who to marry and even fall in love with, they were content seeing such a glowing smile of happiness on their little girl's face. Perhaps this little boy, despite being from the very lowest class, could be a nice friend for her. Her father, most of all, knew how good it was to have street-smart men as his friends, when circumstances dictated a more shrewd plan.
Likewise, Jack ran quickly back to the brothel, showing his mum and Anne the bounty he brought home, telling them in great detail his encounter with the beautiful Missy who saved him from the Chef and threatened him into being charitable with the less fortunate. He even showed off the keepsake necklace she gave him, as a promise of reunion! He was so giddy and excited to see Lady Y/N again, that he wished to go sleep faster and wake up earlier, just so the time would fly faster and meet Lady Y/N already.
As promised, Y/N would take him on carriage rides and go to the park or on flower hills, just talking about random things. He especially enjoyed it when Y/N would bring literature books over and would read to him - On the few occasions that he knew the piece of literature, he would unconsciously find himself reciting the lines at the same time as she read them. It always made them smile so cutely at each other.
With this, Y/N even started baking some pastries and desserts for him, and he loved everything she made for him so much; Though even he has to admit, her famous Apple Pie was his favourite.
On a beautiful sunset, Y/N admitted that her favourite colour was blue - It was usually a colour associated with the emotion of sadness, but Y/N never once believed so. It's such a calming and gentle colour, how can anyone feel sad when seeing it? She simply could not accept such erroneous symbolism. Jack, on the other hand, said his favourite colour is yellow - The colour of happiness, the colour of the bright, warm Sun... And unknown to Y/N, the colour that Mother's love shone.
One day however, things changed; Jack learnt the truth of Mother's love. He experienced the most painful kind of betrayal, hearing your own mother cursing you and wishing you were never born. With tears and snot running in rivers down his face, Jack watched Gold turn to a marvelous purple of Fear as he killed his mother; And the very same purple he witnessed from his supposed father, Jack Smith.
Drenched in crimson and all alone, Jack knew he had to find a reason for living, and the means to do so - He couldn't beg his whole life. He was a gentleman, and he wanted to grow up and look the like also.
He took out the necklace from inside his shirt and kissed it. He wondered if Y/N would still accept him, even after she sees him in this state.
Although skeptical, the guards allowed the boy to enter the manor, but was only allowed to meet Y/N's father - A pristine man, tall and with a respectable body, wearing a monocle and a rich suit. He was everything that Jack wanted to become.
Upon seeing the boy, the Father asked what happened to him - Jack found himself tearing up, explaining his mum was killed and he ran away in fear. Poor boy, he lost even the little family that he had.
"Would you like to work for us, Jack? I'm sure Y/N would be very happy to see her friend every day." the silky moustache of the gentleman twitched upwards with his smile, and the boy couldn't help but blush deeply, nodding.
"I-I would love nothing more, My Lord." Y/N's Father hummed gently, petting his hair before instructing the maids to care for the boy and show him the servants' room. He will be a great gardener's apprentice. Y/N loved flowers dearly.
Though the morning started bright early, Jack was excited to have such a great place to live at and work; He didn't get to see Y/N yet, but he was told the little lady of the manor enjoys reading whilst drinking her afternoon tea, in the flower garden.
Excited, Jack, under the supervision of the elderly gardener, cut a few pretty flowers and rushed to where Y/N was enjoying her tea. He extended his hands towards her, handing her the flowers. "Good afternoon, Lady Y/N!" his smile was brighter than the Sun itself, and he looked so much more adorable now, properly cleaned up and wearing fresh clothes.
"Jack!" Y/N's calming blue aura turned such a blindingly bright pink of a gentle hue, like the petals of a pink rose, that Jack felt overwhelmed with happiness - He didn't know what that colour meant, but he could easily tell it was a very positive one. She threw her arms around his neck and brought him in a tight hug, kissing his cheek. "I'm so happy to see you! Are you alright? Did something happen?"
Jack simply smiled at her. "I'm the happiest I've ever been whenever I'm with you!"
From the proximity, the mother and father smiled, watching the two children interact so purely with each other. It was no farce, they cared for each other deeply.
For quite a few years, Jack remained as a servant to Y/N's manor, and with the kindness of her parents, he was taught the same things that Y/N was - Although she was supposed to learn more feminine things, to become a proper Noble Lady that would one day marry and what not - They did indulge in her love for science and wish to become a doctor. It was a sad thought, not being allowed to study Medicine because no University allowed women. It was a sad reality they lived in. It mattered little that their sweet girl was brilliant - They'd much rather accept subpar men than an intelligent woman.
But her parents loved her far too much to ruin her dreams.
Jack grew older though, and he didn't want to leech off of Y/N and her family's kindness, so he decided to brave the world for himself; Y/N supported everything he did. They would send each other letters weekly and Jack would tell her of his new studies and work, until finally, he received his first salary and could afford to invite his pretty lady to a nice cup of tea and some cake at his favourite restaurant.
Now in their early twenties, Jack grew a moustache, though still small, yet stylish enough for a gentleman like him, and he bought some nice clothes for himself; He didn't want to embarrass Y/N when they'd go out.
This time though, Y/N's usual bright aura was a little dimmer; A myriad of colours there, some pretty some less so;
That gorgeous soft pink was still there, over her heart, but that brilliant blue was faded. The majority of her spirit was taken over by the colour of deep sadness. "It really is silly, you know? A single woman was able to abuse the loophole in our University system, and they quickly shut that opportunity for the rest of us. Not fair, is it?" she sighed, stirring the tea absent-minded with the honey spoon.
"It's their loss. You would have been a wonderful medic. The field needs someone with your brilliance." Jack comforted her in his gentle and refined tone.
"Well... I suppose all I can do now is to continue studying as a hobby and see if I live long enough for an opportunity like this." the young man picked her small hand in his own, squeezing it tenderly before placing a small kiss on her fingers.
"The world is constantly progressing, My Lady. I am sure, soon enough, such an opportunity will present itself soon. People like you deserve only the best in life." he couldn't help but gaze in awe as that sadness was quickly overpowered by that lovely pink, every time he spoke sweet words to her. Could this emotion be...? Could it, really?
"I dearly hope so, Jackie."
And sure enough, it did happen, once the London Royal Free Hospital School of Medicine was the first to accept women to study and practice medicine in their classrooms and hospital words - It became the first School of Medicine for Women. Y/N was the happiest she's ever been, and her aura looked like the most gorgeous Sunset, with the pink of love and the gold of deep happiness, and a blue of pride and content. She was so happy, in fact, that she celebrated with Jack and her parents at one of the most expensive restaurants in London.
Every time they would meet, she was overwhelmingly beautiful, and Jack couldn't contain his love for her any longer. "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest!" he quoted Shakespeare to her, as they walked through the flower gardens of her home. For once, it was time for her to have her porcelain cheeks all warm and flustered, as they looked at each other, the gentle light of the golden hour caressing them. "I may not have status, nor wealth, but my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." Y/N felt breathless as so deeply in love; If only their beautiful love story won't turn the same way as that of Romeo and Juliet.
"Oh, Jack. I've loved you since the day I first met you, when we were children. There is no one else other than you that I would wish to spend my life with." and her parents hoped to have Jack as a groom, for there was no one alive that could love and cherish their little girl the way Jack did.
All was well, and Y/N was experiencing pure bliss; Not only was her love life perfect, but her studies were excellent. But with practicing in the hospital, came returning home at late hours into the night, and everyone knew how unsafe the streets of London could be, especially for young women, let alone beautiful and rich like Y/N.
Come 1888, a serial killer began terrorizing London, massacring poor women who worked in the sex industry. He wasn't just killing them - He was mutilating them, expertly removing their wombs, and when his sick fantasies were done, he'd discard them on the ground, with their legs open for all to see their shame. By November, already five women were murdered, and for the first time, Jack could see not only the deep Purple Fear taking over his lover's aura, but her unsettling was visible on her face and demeanour also.
"This is horrible, absolutely horrible!" Y/N moaned in distress. "How could one man be so cruel as to torture someone like this - Five someones, no less!" the woman sighed, sipping on her calming tea.
Thankfully, Miss Alice, one of their favourite bakery's employee, came over with their apple pie. Jack's reaction was so childlike and pure that Y/N felt a little more at ease.
"Jack the Ripper is at it again, huh... How scary." Alice agreed with Y/N.
"Present fears are less than horrible imaginings. It's from Macbeth, by William Shakespeare. Monsters created by the human imagination are often scarier than the real ones. If we found out his true identity, Jack the Ripper may turn out not to be that big of a deal, hm?" Jack smiled gently at Alice.
"Oh, that makes sense." she nodded, before being distracted by two journalists working on the Jack the Ripper case, on the table nearby, who ran away quickly to continue their work.
From the opposite side of the street, the trio watched as a young lady selling newspapers was shamelessly pushed aside, causing her to fall to the ground, dropping one of the papers in a small puddle of water, ruining half of it. Her distress was great - She would be losing her money, instead of earning some. But Jack went over to her, and smiled tenderly, offering her a coin for the paper, before returning to his coffee. He knew what it was like, starving and needing to do anything to survive - Now that he could afford a better life, he tried to help anyone who deserved, like this Miss Sophie.
"That girl... Her name is Sophie. She recently lost her mother, and because her father is a drunkard who refuses to work hard, she now does all sorts of jobs in order to support her little brother." Y/N couldn't help but look at her with a saddened look.
"Is there no way we can help her?" she found herself whispering.
"By the way, you're a kind person. You bought the same newspaper as the one you were just reading." Alice smiled proudly at Jack.
Jack simply looked down, hiding his smile. "I just felt... Like reading the same newspaper again." he demurely replied.
"Oh no, it's getting late. Forgive me, Jack, my classes are starting soon. I will be coming home late tonight, so please don't wait for me." she rushed up on her feet, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. "I hope you sleep well tonight."
"I hope you have an easy day at the hospital today, my darling." Jack blushed softly, smiling back and waving her goodbye, watching as she rushed for the nearest carriage.
"You are one lucky man, Mr. She's quite the lovely lady." Alice giggled at him.
"Yes, I truly am lucky."
That night, Y/N wasn't going to be so lucky one night, when she left the hospital at such a late hour into the night, on a rather chilly night. Y/N kept a shawl over her head, terrified out of her mind and continuing to sing a little tune in her head, a lullaby that her mother always sang her. It never failed to give her some courage, even when she was petrified with fear. So was now, as she rushed down the cobbled alleys of London.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away
Her heart trembled, repeating that lullaby over and over again - Until she got called by a man's voice. She gulped. "Oi, missy." she could feel his terrifying breath on the back of her neck. "How much?"
"H-How much wh-what?" her body was frozen with fear; The man could easily run her down and overpower her if he wanted to.
"How much do you sell your filthy whore body for?"
Y/N couldn't even scream for help as the stranger slammed a chloroform napkin over her nose, holding an iron grip on her body. She couldn't even struggle, he was far too strong for her. "Gah, whenever a dirty little slut like you is near me, my whole body gets incredibly itchy." Y/N felt her vision warping and her body growing progressively lax. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll help you. I'll set your soul free from that disgusting body of yours, so that you can go to heaven..."
No matter how much she prayed to be rescued by Jack or her parents, her consciousness faded, and she was left a prey to Jack the Ripper.
The culprit dragged her to his home, stripping her naked and placing her on a wooden table in his work room. The walls were plastered with tens and tens of perverted pictures of the women he mutilated over the years. The killer was humming a little tune as he prepared his utensils and camera, ready to rip her to shreds so that the world can see her for the whore she truly is. "I will cleanse you from your sins. I will cleanse this whole world, on God's behalf." he grinned wickedly, gazing upon the face of the woman afflicted by a deep sleep.
"But you Gods, will give us some faults to make us men." the killer immediately turned to the intruder, threatening him with a knife. "However... From those faults, ultimate tragedy is born. It's rather ironic." Jack hummed softly.
"Don't come any closer! Just what the hell are you doing in another person's apartment?!" the journalist turned killer, Luke Evans, shouted at him.
"What am I doing? I'm here to bring my soon-to-be wife at home, you see. I feared she might run into danger when returning from the hospital, and I wished to walk her back to safety. Alas, you caused her great distress and even endangered her life. That, I cannot forgive."
Luke simply grinned wickedly at Jack, threatening to kill him - He knows who he truly is, so he must be eliminated. He was pretty good with a knife, no wonder, considering how many people he killed. Jack would be the first man he disposes of - Or so he'd wish.
"The colour of the emotions that this eye can see... They are works of art that only I can create." Jack smiled, pointing at his crimson left eye. "Such magnificent malice." his smile turned into a mad hatter grin, watching the blood dripping from his piano wire after slicing off the journalist's arm clean. As he attempted to run, Jack threw two of his own scalpels into the back of his shins, causing him to topple over on the ground.
Jack watched as the killer slumped on the ground, his back against the wall; And he sat on his lap, cradling his face. "There are two things on earth, more beautiful than anything. One, is the sunset colour of pure love that my darling Y/N has whenever she looks at me..." Jack huffed in amusement. "And the other... It's that moment when all other emotions are overtaken and dyed in the colour of fear." he grinned impishly. "Anger. Envy. Hate. Disdain. Arrogance. All this time I've been looking for a person who had nothing but filthy emotions residing within them - And you were superb. Now let me see it, Jack the Ripper." he placed the tip of a small knife in the middle of his forehead. "Now please try to imagine how this knife penetrates deeply... Into that brain of yours." not Luke's shrieks, nor his sobbing and tears could stop Jack from slowly pushing the blade deep inside his skull, until he was reduced to nothing but a blinding purple of Fear, and then death. "EXCELLENT! WHAT A NICE COLOUR!"
Jack's delight was great, but now that Jack the Ripper was dead, he had to get his darling Y/N out of this hell. He gazed upon her, laying there, on the wooden table, covered by a single filthy sheet - What a disgusting wretch, attempting to soil her, even daring to associate her pureness and innocence with that of a whore - As though those poor women were selling their bodies because they wanted to, not out of need of survival. "My darling, I have failed you. Forgive me." though it felt awful, looking upon her gorgeous body, untouched by any man - He had to dress her back in her pretty clothes and return home.
Somewhere on the table though, he found all of Luke's savings, and he grinned. He wrote a quick letter to Miss Sophie, and was ready to make an Anonymous donation.
Jack held Y/N up in his arms like a princess before setting the apartment aflame, along with all of the evidence of the murder... Or the identity of the serial killer. "London bridge is burning down... Burning down, burning down. London bridge is burning down... My Fair Lady." he hummed as he casually walked through the busy streets of London, and towards the manor.
The man felt a bit of stirring in his strong arms, and he smiled; Y/N was awaking. She fluttered her beautiful eyes open, only to squeal and attempt to struggle away.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away
That lullaby... That voice... "Jack?!" she calmed down as she looked up at his smile. "Wh-What happened?"
"I went over to the hospital to walk you home, but by the time I arrived, you were asleep in a chair. Must have been a pretty exhausting night, hm? Don't worry, my sweetling. I got Alice's famous Apple Pie with Cheddar Cheese, and the sweetest tea, just for you. You can sleep after you ate a little." Jack reassured her, speaking in the gentlest voice he could muster.
"R-Really? I fell asleep? Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry, you should have woke me up! You didn't have to carry me so long, your arms must be killing you!" the man smiled at her adorable worrying, shaking his head.
"A gentleman always takes care of his darling Lady." he hummed proudly. "You're always safe with me."
"Oh, Jack." she threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling her face in his shoulder. "I just had the most awful dream. The whole thing with Jack the Ripper must have truly scared me half to death." she was clearly still in distress. Hopefully, for as long as she thinks it was just a dream, she can rest easy. "I dreamt that I was walking home from the hospital, and this guy kidnapped me and tried to kill me. It was awful, so awful."
"I kiss thee with a most constant heart." Jack pulled his lady into a sweet kiss, shifting her mind away from such a nightmare. “A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.”
"If this is your way of telling me not to worry, then I love it." she giggled so adorably, that Jack could see not a single trace of that fearful purple anywhere. What a success.
And as promised, he returned her home, placing her on her bed and allowing her time to change in her sleeping wear as he brought over that famous apple pie and brewed her tea. Though it was already around afternoon, he was content with just laying in bed next to her, holding her close to his chest and soothing her mind, caressing her hair. She looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. So beautiful, so innocent, glowing a wonderous blue, content and calm.
Come the next afternoon, Jack brought Y/N over to the flower garden, her favourite place; As the Sun began to set, and the sky's colours mimicked Y/N's beautiful emotions, the silver haired man fell on one knee. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you. I do love nothing in the world so well as you - is not that strange? Nay, for love comforteth like sunshine after rain. Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life.” he took out a velvety box, revealing a beautiful ring, golden, with a pink gem, symbolising the gentle colour of the love they shared. "Y/N, my darling, you are my most beloved sunshine, in this bleak, grey world. Will you marry me?"
Y/N felt tears streaming down her cheeks as she squealed a loud 'Yes!' and threw herself into his arms. "I love you so much, Jack. There's no one else I'd want to live my life with, but you."
With one true love's kiss, Jack and Y/N sealed their eternal love for each other; Her parents were just as happy for them, completely ignoring the scrutiny and scolding from the other nobles for not marrying their daughter for political reasons. Their wedding was small and intimate, not wanting to involve the whole damn high society and have their perfect moment ruined by the gossips of those jerks.
Life couldn't be better for them; Truly, two souls bound for eternity, in life and above, were to be forever happy...
Though just like the tale of Romeo and Juliet, no love is eternal. Y/N's parents might have allowed them to marry, but life did not allowed them a long life of joy. No matter how much Jack wanted to shield his darling wife from the knowledge of his secret identity, an assassin for the Government, taking down whatever big guy might terrorise the underground... The way he killed Jack the Ripper, the way he took down a cannibal knight who ate children, and a terrorist organisation naming themselves Mother Goose...
Alas, these last ones not only almost killed him by blowing up the bridge he was standing on... But they did the unthinkable.
As Jack returned to Y/N's manor one evening, giddy to gift her the pretty fan he found in a new fashion store that opened on the main street, he saw a large fire up the hill. Though horrified, Jack rushed up the hill and to the manor, yelling Y/N's name desperately, but no one answered. He could barely see, his eyes blurred with tears from the stinging smoke and the scared tears. He foolishly burst inside the burning mansion, searching for Y/N and her parents. They were all lying on the ground, dead, in a pool of their own blood. The poor man had to drag their bodies outside, all by himself, though Y/N's he held on, sobbing as he held onto her tightly, his tears raining down on her.
Why? Just, why? Why her? Why them? Y/N and her family were known to be the kindest of the noble families, so why would anyone want them death? It wasn't fair; Why were the most beautiful souls the ones ripped away from existence so cruelly? Why was he not allowed any lasting happiness? What did he do wrong in this life, or before even being born, that he remained so unfortunate, and continued to bring misfortune to everyone he encountered? His mother, his father, Anne, Y/N, even that little lady Sophie from whom he just bought a newspaper and sent some money. None were safe from him.
“When you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.” were his last words to his wife, the last thing he had in her memory being the necklace she gifted him as children.
When he died, or how, none cared, for Mr. Anonymous was no one; He was just a ghost, a phantasm, wandering about aimlessly, barely surviving, all alone in the world, with the only comfort to caress his heart being the criminals he killed, and the perverted satisfaction he got out of seeing that magnificent shade of purple that only the fear overwhelming them could create.
When next he woke up, he was in a gazebo, drinking tea, and a lady named Brunhilde spoke to him. He was to become one of Humanity's fighters in this fight for mankind's survival - Ragnarok, the fight between Gods and Humans. She explained how he can only hurt a God with the aid of Divine Treasure weapons and what not; Though, when asked how to address him, he simply smiled.
Jack the Ripper, the famous Prostitute Killer.
Yeah, that name suited him well enough.
He will be battling in the fourth round against the mighty Heracles, who graciously agreed to transform the arena into a perfect mimicry of London, and with the aid of the little Valkyrie lady, Hlokk, he had every chance to win - If he played his cards right. He only wondered what Y/N might think, if she were to see him under the alias of Jack the Ripper, the man who almost killed her.
Fairly speaking, because of his involvement with Mother Goose, he DID end up indirectly causing her death, and for that, he is eternally regretful.
The whole lot of humanity was not only confused, but enraged also - Why would they send the scummiest vermin to ever walk the earth to represent them in a fight? His Godly opponent also was disgusted, seeing that he had to fight not a respectable, honorable warrior, but... A bloodthirsty serial killer who ripped the lives of so many innocent women.
"Jack...!" though he couldn't hear through his fight, someone was shocked to see the love of her life having taken the alias of a disgusting killer, along with such witty tricks which he came up with on the go, constantly lying about his weapon, using piano wires along with countless knives, deceiving the God and so much more. But this Heracles was a resilient powerhouse, and when he expected least, Jack got his precious monocle destroyed. Ahh, this monocle he had was to honour the legacy of his dear father-in-law, what a shame. Now the whole world had to see his crimson eye, and that perverted love for colourful emotions he had.
Y/N only stared at the man before her, surprised to see his true character unfold; In a way, he was a complete other person - But in other ways, he was the same Jack Smith he knew. How confusing.
Still, she was going to root and cheer for the man she loved, for her heart would clench in sheer terror whenever he'd get hurt, same as when he climbed up the Big Ben clock, only to make the whole building collapse on the God. What an insanely shrewd scheme, yet it didn't yet defeat Heracles.
Finally, Jack was forced to admit, the true Divine weapons was never any of the things he threw at him, but his own gloves - Practically speaking, the whole arena became a weapon to kill a God.
Heracles, through this fight, figured out that his human opponent can, weirdly enough, see the colours of people's emotions - He was so flattered that he blushed, that Jack! "The colours of emotions that I can see are works of art that only I can create!" he declared blissfully. He spoke not only of the beauty that his wife's love for him was, but also, the excellent shade of purple that only sheer fear could generate.
"You... Have lost." Heracles declared boldly, calling him out for giving into despair, allowing himself to succumb to the hedonistic pleasures of killing. For the first time, Jack could see such a pure colour of a remarkable Gold, like the Sun. Heracles loved humans so much, even despite their flaws and foolishness. He only ever wanted to bring them on the right path, to save them. He loved humans with all his heart.
This emotion... This sunset of colours... Jack never even dreamt that he would see it again! The colour of his darling Y/N! Right in front of him, in the guise of his opponent! "Jack the Ripper - I will save you from your suffering!" with such a bold statement, Heracles called forth the Hounds of Hades; High gamble, high risk, high reward - Though no matter how sneaky Jack was, not even he was safe from the God's mighty hits, and he received a powerful punch to the face. He tried to run away, using the grappling hook, but mid-jump he got punched away by the God, and he fell to the ground, impaling his torso into the metal fence underneath.
"JACK!" his pain was unbearable, but her had to fight through the agony - With a groan, he managed to rip away the metal bar from his body, panting in exhaustion. "JACK, DON'T GIVE UP! YOU CAN DO IT!" what a familiar voice - Was he hallucinating? It couldn't be, could it? His sweet Y/N couldn't be there, watching him die for her, can she? She should see him in such a state, nor should she witness the atrocious trickery he was capable of, bringing down the whole damn building to crush the God.
Heracles' colour remained the same through all this, and though it amused Jack, his body burnt with agony. "Ahh, forgive me - I just missed seeing this colour so much! The colour of true love! I missed it so much since my wife died!" he grinned, using his own blood to paint it even wider. "Forgive me, but I'm going to change your colour!"
"Just you try! Just you try to change my colour!" Heracles provoked him.
"Yes... Let us create the ultimate finale!" Jack theatrically called out; They engaged in a ferocious hand to hand combat, and though Heracles was missing the arm that Jack cut off, he was doing just fine punching away at the human's frail body, sending him flying away, rolling pitifully onto the ground.
"JACK, GET UP! DON'T GIVE UP! YOU CAN DO IT!" is that truly Y/N? She was the only person that would ever cheer on him, right? If she was there, he had to fight. He had to win.
From his blind spot, Jack created a diversion, using the pole he was impaled with to hit away at the God's face - He got roughly punched to the ground, and he wasn't moving. Damn, that was really painful.
"We should have never entrusted humanity on that scum of the earth." one of the humans in the stands spat.
"I don't see YOU fighting for mankind!" Y/N hissed at him.
A woman next to her, drinking heavily from a large bottle, also seemed to sneer at them. "Why don't you go and fight the Gods, then? Think you can do any better?" she held a worried look on her face. "That boy went to fight them, all on his own."
"Miss, do you know Jack?" Y/N looked at her with wonder.
Anne nodded, looking at him with pity. "Yes. He was a doomed child, birthed at my brothel by one of the prostitutes there. The only reason she didn't abort him like the others was a silly promise with some script-writer named Jack Smith who promised to marry her one day. Silly woman, falling prey to nonsense promises from lecherous men."
Y/N stared in shock at the worried woman, though now, some things were beginning to make some sense. "He was the one who killed his parents, didn't he?" Anne nodded slowly. "But he's not Jack the Ripper, I can reassure you of that!" Y/N declared boldly. "I know this because my parents took him in, and we grew up together. We even married at some point. And when Jack the Ripper was at large..." Y/N gulped, remembering that awful nightmare. It was definitely a reality. "It was our Jack who saved me from the real Jack the Ripper." she spoke softly. "It doesn't matter if Jack never really had a real name, or if he just wanted to take the piss out of people by invoking a serial killer's name as an alias. I know my husband, and he'd never hurt any innocent person! My husband has a good heart, and he's the sweetest man in the world! I have faith in him, so Lady, please, cheer on him with me."
Anne stared at the younger one with deep shock, only to end up grinning and pulling her into her side. "What a lucky boy, finding a catch like you. I'm sure our little boy was truly happy with you."
With both Anne and Y/N calling out his name, cheering on him, Jack was able to smile, dragging himself up on his feet. "London Bridge is broken down. Broken down, broken down... My fair lady..." he hummed weakly, looking up at the night sky. With difficulty, he managed to drag himself in front of the God again, reaching to attack with his metal pole, only to get punched down to the ground. Finally, the opportunity arose, and Jack, with his hands covered in his own blood, he was able to use his own crimson life essence to impale his hands into the God's body, bringing forth his death. "Dear... God... That is the name of this technique." Jack smiled weakly. "I dedicated it to you."
"You've been very impressive throughout this whole fight." Heracles' praise shocked the human. "What is the colour of my heart now? Has it changed?"
Jack smiled dearly. "No. I have lost." the God's colour was truly magnificent, even in his last moments.
"I will never change. Don't forget it. At all times I..." Heracles embraced Jack. "Will love humans."
"O God, what a truly stubborn person you are." Jack's voice was filled with love as he watched the smiling God shattering before his eyes.
"That was a fantastic fight. I'm sorry I shouted at you." Heracles was no more.
With Jack the Ripper being declared the winner of the fourth match, the little Valkyrie lady returned to her humanoid body. Though she remained a little guarded around him, with their souls bound, she now understood him better... But Jack had no better understanding of the emotions he was feeling after killing Heracles. "You can't even show sadness at such a sad time, can you? You really are a pitiable person." she declared, only to realise she was drenched in blood and desperately needed a shower. As she flew away, she warned him to rush to the infirmary, his injuries were bad enough.
With every step he took towards the exit of the arena, and even when he struggled to pick his hat on the ground, he could only think of the only two people who ever truly loved him, who ever truly cared for him at all. His mother's love was fake, he hated that pretended colour - But Y/N, Heracles... Never before has he met anyone as genuine as them. "If I could have any wish granted... I would wish to see you two again." he fell on his knees, his body failing him from the arduous fight he just had, though as he tried to stand up, he was hit in the head with a rock, making him bleed. Not only the Gods, but the humans also, were throwing rocks at him, cursing him for winning, for killing their beloved Heracles.
What appears beautiful, is filth, someone said.
"Hang in there, Jack!" out of nowhere, half of his wish came true, as he watched the silhouette of his most beloved person running at him. She rushed to throw her arms around him, but he couldn't hold back the groan of agony from his sustained injuries. "Damn, I'm so stupid - Forgive me, I forgot about your wounds. Come on, let's get you treated. I heard the doctors here can do magic that no human can, when it comes to healing." she put his arm around her shoulder, helping him walk. As more rocks were flung their way, Y/N's mother, father, and even Anne came over to defend them, opening parasols. "Silly man. Taking on the alias of one of the most hated men in the world. What was in your head, anyway?" she scolded him lightly. "Ahh, no matter, I'm just so happy you're alive." she leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"My dear sunshine." Jack smiled, allowing himself to be taken to the infirmary. The medics took care of him, and when he was bandaged up and ready to go, he left the hospital wing. Y/N was waiting right outside, all alone.
With no words spoken, Y/N guided him to the kitchen where she brewed some tea for him. It was just like old times, when they'd have afternoon tea together. How nostalgic. "Aren't you mad at me for lying to you? Or for getting you killed?"
"Nope." she popped casually. "For starters, I have no memory of the time of my death, so that matters naught to me. Even if through some circumstances, I was implicated and killed because of your envolvement in something, it's null. Secondly - I know the man I married. I know you tried to make me believe being kidnapped by Jack the Ripper was just a nightmare. And I know your real name isn't even Jack Smith." she smiled at his flabbergast expression. "But none of that matters to me. I fell in love with you, not any identity you chose to use at each moment of your life."
"I don't deserve your love and kindness." Jack's comment only made her scoff at him.
"This sounds like our first conversation, as children. Let's not have a repeat of that." she huffed. "Anyway, I was wondering - What colours do I have? And do you like them?"
Jack smiled, a soft blush covering his cheeks as he held Y/N's hands, kissing them. "My darling, though you are my shining sunshine, the colours of your pure care for me burn bright like the sunset sky, and your gentle love is as delicate as the gem of your ring."
#record of ragnarok imagine#record of ragnarok x reader#record of ragnarok#ror#ror x reader#ror imagine#jack the ripper x reader#jack the ripper imagine#jack the ripper#hack the ripper ror#ror jack the ripper
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Chapter One: A child’s dream
Catch up on the fic here!
Chapter Summary: You’ve had your previous thoughts on Abraham. Only now he’s come back into your life, they’ve seemed to change to something up can’t control
Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity @anjelicawrites @lexwolfhale
Warnings: Talk of arranged marriages, most likely incorrect stuff about Romani culture, crushes, (if I miss any things let me know!)
Ever since you were young, you have always known that you would be married to a man not of your choosing. It was common knowledge in your community how your husband would be chosen for you by your mother and father, whose decisions you have relied upon for so many years.
It felt almost natural, as It had never been something you'd ever feared. If anything, you were quite calm about the whole thing.
It wasn’t as if you were going through something you didn’t already know. Your mother had taught you young what it was you needed to do to be considered a perfect Romani wife by your husband. Some of your fondest memories from when you were a young girl involved you in the kitchen with your mother, who took great pride in making sure you knew all the recipes needed to cook a proper meal for your future family. Though they certainly each had their moments.
From the burn on your wrist you got when you'd splashed boiling water from a too full pot, to the scarred over cut on your finger when you’d been distracted cutting parsnips. From the many years of life, your skin was etched with memories. Still, like most girls in the community, it was one of the few ways to get the undivided attention from your mother, so you hardly complained.
Your father though, as much as he, like all fathers in the community, expected his daughter to be the good wife for their future husband, he never allowed the idea to pass through his head that you would be possibly disrespected by him. It was very much of a shock to you that when you were a girl verging on womanhood, your father brought you to the camps nearby forest and l taught you what it was you needed to do in any situation gone wrong. Compared to most fathers, It was a rare concern to hold, and yet you were considerably grateful for it years later when you were finally allowed to venture into the nearby villages alone, and found what it was exactly what some men did to women while they were on their own.
Your friends, all consisting of the daughters of other members of the community you grew up with, from what you could tell did not seem to have fathers who shared the same concerns as yours did. If anything, it was as if their fathers were fully prepared to give them away to the man who presented the best gift/reason, so he could intertwine his and their daughter’s familiar ties. Most fathers it seemed wanted to use their daughters as a way to better contribute to the community of travellers you all lived with.
Yet when you’d asked your friends on their opinion of the matter, they didn’t seem to care very much. If anything, they seemed a little too eager by the prospects of a marriage outcome like their parents to think of any possible repercussions of what could happen.
It had even become a game to the lot of you. Where one girl would name five random men, some belonging to the community some not, and a girl would need to list them in order of how much they’d want to marry them. It was what the lot of you were doing now whilst you all hung out round the back of one of the caravans, sitting wherever you could to avoid staining your clothes on the muddy floor. At the tender age of fifteen, giggling your hearts out as you all hoped for a future like your parents.
“Okay! Now you need to pick between…. Karl, Lee, Lucas, Jamerson and… Abraham!” One of your friends said, pointing to you to answer whilst you begin to mindlessly laugh with your mates. It was nice to do this. To be so close to girls you knew would be living practically next door to you for your whole life.
They all began to join in laughing loudly though as you proclaimed your preference name by name with a small smile. And when you got to the last name of the list, they’d looked shocked and gasped most loudly of all when Abraham’s name was spoken.
“But he’s so handsome!” One wide eyed girl had said.
Another chimed in, “Have you not seen his muscles? He helps my father with the log cutting and believe me when I say, those muscles were something else...”
“Of course I’ve seen him!” You say, sipping at some random drink that may or may not be yours. “He’s got the hair and personality of Elvis damn Presley!”
Like it had begun, the girls all began to giggle in unison once more. And when Missy Ferguson became raving about her dream man needing to be over six foot, laughter echoed and the cycle began all over again.
It had been nearly a year when you crossed paths with Abraham again.
Your father, now unable to physically help to provide for the family, took it upon himself to enlist the help of a fellow man in the community to do the tasks he himself was no longer able to do. Aka, chop the wood and help hunt the livestock.
He hadn’t told you of his decision, which is why you made such a shocked face when you heard a knock early one morning, opened the door, and found yourself face to face with Abraham. Who much to your appreciation, didn’t seem to show his reaction to your very poorly hidden gawking.
“Abe my boy!” Your father happily shouted from the kitchen table, not even giving you a clue as to what was possibly happening. Still, you step aside with your mouth practically hanging open and let Abraham in, finding yourself strangely timid over his sudden entrance into your home.
You quickly retreat back to your small room to allow the two men to talk, and yet the curiosity naws at you desperately when you hear the two usually stoic men laughing like the oldest pals in the world in your kitchen.
Your ears stay perked as you lay your head against the door. Annoyance bubbling within you as very few words could be made out.
Who knew such a shabby caravan has such great soundproof walls…. You muse, quickly stepping away to look busy as you hear footsteps come close to your door, before passing and opening the front door and closing it again soon after.
You peak your head out after couple minutes to be safe, and the first thing you see is your father with a hot cup of tea in his hands. A sigh falling from his lips as you make your way over to him.
“So what did he want.” You ask, adding a tea bag to a random old mug as you pour your own cup of tea with a smile.
“Nothing much bullet. I asked him to come over to ask him a favour or two, and the bloke accepted them.” Trust your father to give you no extra information. If only it was your mother who’d made the arrangement and talked to him. Then she’d be talking for Britain.
You give a small hum as an acknowledgement, and try to distract yourself by mindlessly sipping at the tea in your hands after pouring a splash of milk in.
Humming as you taste it, but only to burn your tongue and yell a loud swear not even a few seconds later.
“Always tell you to wait a minute...” Your father says, almost teasing you as he calmly sips his own tea. The smug thing…
“And I always ignore you!” You smile, allowing yourself to sink into the sofas comfy mismatched cushions beside him.
It’s strange, as whist you sip at your tea, your brain it seems cannot allow itself to stop thinking of Abraham, no matter how hard you try and think of something else.
What was it your father wanted from Abraham of all people? It was probably to help with chores he can’t do anymore, you thought. The injury he’d sustained earlier in the year making it so your father couldn’t do the hard labouring tasks as he used to anymore.
Hopefully you wouldn’t have to see him anymore though, you think, gulping the rest of your drink with vigour. Even though a minute later your gasping like you suddenly were about to breathe fire with how hot the tea was.
The afternoon of the next day, a knock rang through the whole home. And when you opened the door, to your surprise, you were greeted by four dead pheasants and a small rabbit hanging from a piece of string in Abrahams hands.
“I’ve got some wood to give you too, it’s down there beside me.” He grunts, seemingly unphased by your look at bewilderment that you cannot seem to be able to hide no matter how much you try.
“Thank you very much...” You choke, slightly disgusted by the sight of floppy carcasses as he hands the string that holds them all over to you, before stepping away to grab the medium stack of wooden logs by his legs that he now holds in front of you.
If you’re honest, you’re sort of in the deep end as you have no idea what to do. So you just put the animals where you can in the fridge for your father to hopefully deal with later, and awkwardly try to get the wood from his hold without directly touching him.
“I’ll be back in two days with some more logs, and in four days with more food.” He says, before leaving as quickly as he came. The sound of his boots hitting the muddy ground echoing loudly, excluding the sounds of your own inner thoughts that just scream utter nonsense at you. Abraham name loudest of all.
Abraham seemed to be a man of his word, as he came just like he said he would. On the second day of with a whole pile of wood in his arms, and on the fourth with more dead animals hanging by a string between his fingers.
You somehow managed to control yourself by answering with a simple nod and a small thanks, to which he’s begin to acknowledge with a distinct nod and leave soon as he came. Your mother however, when you’d pass her the items whenever she was home, always made sure to sing his praises for what he’d been doing recently.
“Oh what a good boy he is!” She praised whilst she began to prepare one of the many pheasants he’d brought for dinner that night.
“He’s a man mum, not a damn dog!” You snap whilst you cut up the potatoes into small pieces. You don’t know why you’re all of a sudden so spiteful towards him. Why should you? He’s only being treated like he’s all of a sudden your families favourite child for gods sake...
“Hey now! Watch that mouth young lady!” Your mum says, sending you a sharp look out the corner of her eye that already manages to send shivers down your spine. In her eyes, the discipline of a child never gets old, no matter how much they age.
“He’s doing us such a favour by helping your dad out! You know what, I think we should send him a home cooked pheasant pie as a thank you present! That boy sure needs a home cooked meal, I’m sure of it!”
You groan in annoyance, and it’s brought on with yet another sharp look, but joined with a quick yet sharp tap on your knuckles with her wooden spoon that makes sure to stop you quickly in your bad mood.
Though much to your annoyance, dinner was made and cooked not as slow as you’d like. As not even a couple minutes after you and your parents finished your dinner and placed the plates by the sink, your mother quick as a fiddle nipped to the freezer where she whipped out a smaller pheasant pie to place in your hands with an annoyingly smug smile.
“Make sure to tell him thank you from all of us!” She shouts, leaning on the edge of the doorframe still in her apron as she ushered you off to the direction of where Abraham lived. “And make sure to tell me when you get back exactly what he says when you give it to him!”
“Yes mum!” You answer back, practically grumbling with a face liked a rotten peach while you walk to the other side of the camp with the dish still in your hands.
The dish is still cold in your hands from being in the freezer, yet to your liking it seems to effectively bring your thoughts away from the man you’ll be quickly visiting. Away from the thoughts involving his eyes, that somehow have gotten bluer over the course of the years you went out of touch with him. Or his arms, that appear to have even more tattoos tattered on them from when you last properly looked at him at fifteen.
Before you even know it though, you’re at his door, knocking at it with the tip of your feet as you make sure not to drop the ceramic dish in your hands. If you did, you think you’d never hear the end of it from your mother.
Still, no matter how tightly you held it before, you almost find yourself dropping it either way when Abraham opens the door, and you find yourself face to face with his bare naked chest decorated in various ink in various places. The golden glint of his chain around his neck contrasting almost beautifully against his skin.
You can’t speak as an awkward silence manages to overwhelm you, while Abraham’s own face moulds into that a cheeky grin. You can feel your own face turning a deep shade of red as you realise he’s caught you gawking like an absolute idiot.
“We- I mean, my mum, made you a pie from some of the meat you brought us. A-as a thank you present for helping out with dad.” You stutter, thrusting the dish into his hands while he continues to grin almost spitefully at you. If there’s one thing you remember, it’s that he’s most certainly kept the same smugness from when the two of you were teenagers.
“Thanks pretty girl. I’ll see you in a couple days with another delivery.” Is all he says, turning to give you an almost teasing glimpse of his naked back, before using his own foot to shut the door behind him with a sharp slam.
You can’t find yourself able to move as you continue to stand on the steps like an idiot. Your feet feel as if they’re frozen, with your mouth somehow finding itself hanging slightly open, and your mind screaming at you only one thing.
Abraham has a tattoo on his fucking back.
It was a strangely delicate looking thing on his right shoulder blade. You couldn’t tell what it was with how quickly he moved away, but you could tell it was about the side of your palm. What it was supposed to be though, you can’t say, but you’re way too focused on the body itself rather than the tattoo to even think about it. You already knew he had some. He hadn’t exactly hidden them when he’d opened the door shirtless showing the ones he had on his arms and front of his body. Yet still, that tattoo on his back stood out to you compared to all the others. It looked almost delicate. Soft even.
But fuck. Why did he have to be so attractive now of all the times?
You walk back home confused. Yet soon as you get through your door you’re immediately bombarded with questions from your mother with her ever raging nosiness.
“He said thanks for the pie, not much else.” Is all you get out before you manage to shut your bedroom door behind you, your mother’s disappointed sigh somehow managing to make it through it. Even though somehow days ago you couldn’t even manage to make out Abraham and your father’s conversation in the room next door.
You fling yourself across the bed and in pure exhaustion lay on it face down. You shut your eyes and attempt to sleep the days confusion away from you, but you can’t. Abraham somehow manages to consume you whole without even trying.
At fifteen, to you, he had just been this cocky little shit who went round annoying all the girls with his smirk and his charm. The only time you’d seen him break the usual facade of cockiness was when he asked you to date him when the two of you were younger. It’d been an awkward thing even you had to admit, but you were practically still a kid at the time. So no particular grievances were exactly made from his change of heart when you rejected him. but it was for the best. It never would’ve worked out. Right? Besides, before you knew it, he’d moved on to some new, curvy looking girl from the nearby village.
Yet now…. now he’s oddly a man. A man with tattoos and such a sudden involvement in your life that it’s almost like a sort of slap on the face. And somehow it’s cause of your father of all people.
The only thing you manage to think off though, is what the hell are you going to do now…
#abraham grantchester#abraham fan fic#abraham x you#abraham fan fiction#abraham fanfic#abraham fanfiction#abraham smut#abraham imagine#abraham x reader#abraham#grantchester smut#grantchester#ewan mitchell character#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#Ewan Mitchell#ewan mitchell x reader
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The lost honor of Badger's crossing
Paring: Abraham x reader
Synopsis: you are adjusting to your life as Abraham’s wife. Everything seems to be perfect, when two strangers come knocking.
Warnings: reader has burn marks, angst, fighting, Abraham’s possessiveness, reference to arson, reference to murder, reference to prejudice against the Romanichal community, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, kissing, scratching, overstimulation, conceive kink if you squint your eyes.
A/N 1: I don’t know anyone from the Romanichal community and used Google for my research for this fic. I tried to be as accurate and respectful as possible. Please let me know if I’ve written something wrong so I can make the needed corrections!
A/N 3: Abraham doesn’t have a surname, I had to use Google to look for Romanichal surnames and pick one.
A/N 3: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.
Abraham stares at you with a small smile on his face as you put some more wood inside the stove; the vardo is paneled with thick wood, but you like to be warm all the time, for this reason you're wearing one of his oldest cardigans: a ratty thing you had stitched back together with love and patience, that you wouldn't let him wear outside but it's perfect to stay indoors while doing chores.
NSFW and 18 + only under the cut!
Quickly you finish putting together his lunch and give him the tight knotted cloth, hoping the food will not get too cold by the time he eats it.
His big hands cover yours and he kisses your forehead gently; Abraham is such a different man in the privacy of your vardo, more affectionate and less aggressive than anyone has the luck to see him.
“Are you staying here today?”
You can see the worry in his eyes, he doesn't like when you wander around on your own, even flanked by the dog he bought for your safety.
“Yes, I have so much work accumulated I will have my hands full for the whole day.”
You’ve been elbow deep in your own old book trades, the only thing you bought with you from your old life, that you let the normal chores slip a bit and you don't want anyone to think that you're not taking care of your husband properly.
“Good.”
His warm lips find yours in a deep kiss and you have to force yourself not to slip out of your clothes: the horses need him, he has his share of work to carry out.
He's near the door when you stop him hastily.
“Wait! Put this on, it's awfully chilly already!”
You wrap his long neck in the warm scarf your adopted mother knitted for you when you were a child, using thick, red wool and a simple, yet elegant, pattern.
“You worry too much.” He jokes, but you can see in his eyes that he appreciates your care.
“It is my job, you know. Take care of you.”
“My perfect little wife.” He growls, his free hand lands on your hip to grab the soft meat there.
“Oh no Mr. Heron. Off you go!” You laugh as you walk backwards deeper in the vardo. “I’ll see you later!”
He stares at you with a burning stare that tells you he's not going to let you sleep tonight.
The commotion happens later in the afternoon. You’ve been a busy bee for the whole day: doing the accumulated washing up, deep cleaning the vardo and cooking yourself a quick lunch. You had just put the heatless curlers in your hair and pulled out your sewing kit to start working on the random array of ruined socks that needed some mending, before the sun sets, that you hear shouting outside and the dog at your feet starts growling.
You step out of the vardo and mingle with the women standing behind the wall of men partially shielding you all; you can still see the two men dressed in cheap suits and the car they drove to the field where you are all currently living.
Between the shouting and the drove of buzzing chatting all around you, you can barely make out what the men are saying and froze when you pick up that they are policemen and they are looking for you; when they shout your maiden name, your instinct is to step up, but Mrs. Lee grabs your arm to stop you from moving and her husband shouts that there’s no one with that name living in the community: it is a technicality, you’re now Mrs. Heron and those men don’t know that, yet, but they will.
Without having spoken to them you know they will come back with questions about Badger’s Crossing.
You scuttle back into the vardo to curl on the bed and cry: for how long will that place hang over your heads?
You catch a whiff of Abraham’s aftershave and the tears come out harder: you wish he was here to keep you safe in his arms, but you know it’s better that he wasn’t around: he’s so protective of you and aggressive with the outside world, that you fear he would attack those men and put himself in a ocean of troubles just to keep them off your scent.
He’s not going to like any of this: you know he’s deluded himself into thinking that the matter with Badger’s Crossing had been resolved, but it’s always going to come back and haunt the whole community, even though none of them had anything to do with it.
Your fears have been proven right when he enters the vardo like a storm; likely Mr. Lee has already spoken with him and he’s charged himself up with rage, which explodes in a shouting match between you two.
“You’re not talking to these men!”
He orders and boy how much that doesn’t sit right with you!
“You don’t tell me what to do Abraham!”
“You are my wife! You will do as I say!”
“I’m not your possession! And I do whatever I feel it’s better!”
“This is not your decision! The community will decide what’s better!”
This is something you still struggle with: you are used to shoulder the consequences on your own, make your bed and lie on it, as your adopted mother used to say, do what you think it’s right regardless of what others think (and if you hadn’t followed this mindset, you would have never met Abraham in the first place), now you have to do the polar opposite. You understand that your circumstances have changed, that gadji see the community, not the person and all excuses are valid to perform violence and persecution, but those policemen came for you and, to protect the community, you should do your part, even though the idea makes you sick.
You go to the assembly still angry at Abraham and stand stiffly by his side, only to slip away as soon as voices are raised: you know where this is going and you know you’re going to say something you’re going to regret.
You walk to the edge of the camp, Cyril the dog flanking you the way Abraham teached him and you scratch his head; the animal is still young but he’s big, a mongrel with some shepherd dog in him, by the way he tries to move you towards the path he thinks it’s the safest for you to walk.
You can hear in the distance the sounds of the assembly and you desperately wish for a pack of smokes.
“Penny for your thoughts’” Mrs. Lee says from behind you and you jump out of your skin.
“Jesus Christ!”
“I didn’t mean to scare you child. I didn’t see you back there, I thought you wanted to express your opinion on the matter.”
You try to look into her eyes but darkness has fallen and you can barely make out her form.
“If I were to voice what I think, I would regret the words immediately.”
You can’t see Mrs. Lee, but you can sense her gaze weightining you. She’s an impressive woman who commands respect not because she’s married the head of the community, but because she exudes a charisma you’ve rarely felt from other people.
You’re not sure she likes you, she’s accepted you and helped you when you had no one else, like everyone else has done, but you wonder if she just did it out of affection for Abraham, or if she saw something in you.
You often ponder about this matter, if Abraham’s extended family simply tolerates you because he’s imposed you to them through marriage; on some levels you know you’ll always be the gadja that’s now living in their community, who tries to adapt but will always be something else, bought up following a different set of rules.
“What would you say that’s so scandalous, child?”
You take a deep breath and try to organize your thoughts.
“There shouldn’t even be a discussion happening at the moment: those people came calling for me, I should address whatever issue they have with me.”
“It became ours when you joined us. And we were at Badger’s Crossing as well.”
“None of us did anything wrong!”
“Are you so naive to think that truly matters?”
The ice in her voice stops you: you still forget that the privilege you grew up with has never extended to them.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” You hang your head. “I still don’t think pretending I don’t live here or, God forbid, leave, will solve the problem. Those men will come back time and time again, until they’ve got what they’re after.”
Mrs. Lee hums and you feel her heavy gaze on you again.
“We should have never stopped in Badger’s Crossing, it was never part of our atching tan: we should have known better and now it’s our problem to shoulder, not yours alone, child. You didn’t bring that in our lives, if that’s what you fear, it oozed in our direction the second we stopped.”
You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“I don’t trust the police.” You tell Mrs. Lee. “Half of the problems at Badger’s Crossing would have been solved if our constable had done something. I don’t know why they want to talk to me, but they didn’t come guns blazing, perhaps if they get what they’re after, they’ll leave us be.”
Mrs. Lee's hand curls around yours; her palm is dry and work hardened, still is gentle and holds the faint memory of your birth mother’s touch.
“I’ll talk to my husband, just promise me you will not do anything without talking to him. The discussion is still ongoing.” She clutches your hand tightly. “You should do the same with your husband. He means well.”
“I know he does. We’re both stubborn like mules.”
When you get back to the vardo Abraham is nowhere in sight, he is still discussing the matter at hand, probably, and you wish a final word hasn’t been said on the matter.
You enter and go to the stove and put some more wood in there, before you light some candles and start undressing.
The vardo is bigger than the one Abraham used to live as a bachelor and far more decorated than the masculine, but simply furnished old vardo even was: you two want to expand your family and will need the space one day.
You two had decorated it as newlyweds, you wanted more colors and painted all the wooden paneling with botanical designs and put pretty fabric everywhere, Abraham letting you because he knew he couldn’t stop you and helped you with all the patience he had: it had truly been a work of patience to live in an ongoing project and isn’t that the perfect metaphor for marriage? Still you don’t want to talk to him right now because you’re reeling from the fight and how he addressed you as his property and not his wife, the memory stroking anger and sadness in your chest, so much so that you can feel the tears already forming in your eyes: you need to sleep on this before you can even start to think about addressing the situation with him.
Abraham comes back later to the silent vardo. The fire is dying in the stove and the air is not as chilly as he thought it would be; you’ve left all the stubs of candles you two own to illuminate the vardo for him and he smiles at your thoughtfulness. He undresses as quietly as he can and slips inside the bed, next to your form.
You’re facing the wall and pretend to be asleep, you don’t see the way Abraham’s hand lifts towards your form, before he turns on his side to try and sleep a handful of hours: if he were a more courageous man, he knows he would curl his arm around your sleeping body, making sure that you know he’s still here for you, your fight be damned, but he fears your rage and can’t stand your rejection, not today, not when the world of the gadji came back to hurt you and he’s afraid of not being able to protect you.
So close, he had been so close in Badger’s Crossing to lose you, he feels like the air is escaping his lungs at the mere thought of harm befalling you: he needs to keep you safe, whether you want it or not, he’s too selfish to think of a life without you, why can’t you see it?
You wake up alone and cold, not because the stove isn’t burning, Abraham left it going at full mast and he’s put some more covers over you, but because you haven’t slept in his arms as usual and it feels wrong, as it had been going to sleep still angry at one another. You and Abraham haven’t been married for too long, shy of a year and you don’t want that to happen ever again.
You quickly eat your breakfast, your heart swelling when you see that Abrahams has brewed tea and left the pot on the stove to keep it warm for you: you will talk to him as soon as he gets back, loathing that the fight has lasted this long.
You feel the nervous energy pervading the whole camp and are glad that your chores are outside, for the day, having decided to go look for mushrooms and special herbs for old Mrs. Doe: she’s ancient and her poor knees and ankles don’t work anymore the way they should, you’re happy to help her any way you can.
You’ve been walking for the good part of three hours, Cyril unleashed but never wandering around and with a big basket at your hip, full of mushrooms and herbs.
To go back home you have to walk the last leg on the country road and leash Cyril just in case: there aren't many cars around but you don’t want to risk it.
You’ve almost arrived when you see the two policemen, they are smoking next to their car parked on the curb and are eyeing the road.
“Mrs. Heron, it has been difficult finding you.”
As you approach you can observe them: the one addressing you is tall and lanky, with a long, thin face and piercing eyes, his colleague is as tall but bulky, with a fat face and small, dark eyes.
“Who are you?” You stop at a distance and Cyril stands in front of you.
“I’m DCI Anderson and this is DS Thomas. We would like to have a word with you about Badger’s Crossing.”
You stiffen, even though you expected that to happen.
“There’s nothing to talk about. The whole matter was sorted by the coroner.”
“I still would like to talk to you. I’m curious to understand what happened.”
Both men are moving closer to you and your first instinct is to step back, keep the distance between you three.
“I think you can easily access all the documents you need. If you don’t mind, I have some work that needs to be done.”
“Actually, we do mind.”
As if on a cue from his boss, DS Thomas’s hand curls around your wrist, stopping you from sidestepping them, Cyril growls at him.
“Keep that mongrel at bay!” He barks.
“Then keep your hands off me!”
You try to pull your arm away and his hold only tightens painfully.
“There’s no reason for violence. We’re here to help. We're all friends: let Mrs. Heron go.”
The brute does as he’s told and that’s all you need to know about their dynamic.
“As much as the paperwork was informing, I very much like to know what had happened from one of the survivors, and why you left.”
“I don't wish to revisit that and it's none of your business the reason why I don't live there anymore.”
You don't like this DCI Anderson, the more you look into his eyes, the more the coldness there seeps into your bones.
“We decide what's our business, not you.”
DS Thomas barks in your face and your mind goes to the small knife in your pocket.
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“No one is accusing anyone of anything, Mrs. Heron. I'm just curious to know why an Oxford graduate decided to change their life so drastically.”
“Then again, not a crime. We all need a change of scenery.”
DCI Anderson stares at you with unreadable eyes and you know he’s like those dogs who don’t stop chasing their prey until they’ve grabbed it.
“Take my card, Mrs. Heron, there’s my phone number, if you ever need it. I'm not here to cause you any harm.”
“There’s no need for that:”
You three were so focused that you didn't see Mr. Lee and some of the other men arrive; you use the sheer number of them to put as much distance between the policemen and yourself: hopefully they’ll let you go.
“Don’t be afraid to ask for our help, Mrs. Heron!” DCI Anderson says with a cold voice.
Someone takes the basket from you as Mr. Lee asks you if you're alright; you don't truly know what to answer, something in the interaction irks you.
As soon as you all arrive at the vardo, you can see Abraham pacing in front of the door.
“What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” You blurt out.
“Did they hurt you?”
His hands land on your arms and curl there to stop himself from checking all over you in front of the whole camp.
“How? Abraham? I'm fine.” You half lie to him.
“I’ve sent Paul’s children to collect him. We need to discuss this.” Mr. Lee interjects.
“Yes, of course.” You say, opening the door of the vardo.
The two men sit around the table and you wish you were alone with your husband: now, more than ever, you need the comfort of his embrace.
“Cuppa?” You ask, unable to sit still.
“Thank you.” Mr. Lee answers
You zone out from the conversation and focus on what you're doing in the vain attempt to understand what irked your brain so much.
Like an automaton you fill the kettle and put it on the stove, the drone of the men's voice not truly entering your brain as you try to decide which tea to brew and which biscuit to offer to Mr. Lee.
“They think you stole me.”
You say, putting the tray with the teas on the table, cutting through the men’s discussion.
This is an old habit of yours, losing yourself in your thoughts to simply blurt them out, something both your birth and adoptive mothers used to scold you about
“That horrible DCI saying that he wants to help me. Yes, he wants to know about Badger’s Crossing, but he thinks you’ve taken me against my will, even married me into the community in the same fashion.”
The two men stare at you as if you’ve sprouted a second head.
“That's why he was so pushy yesterday and ambushed me today. He believes me captive.”
Abraham stands up abruptly, almost sending the tea set flying around the vardo.
“I’m going to kill him!”
“You're not going to do such a stupid thing, son!”
Mr Lee is already on his feet, back against the door of the vardo, ready to stop Abraham from doing something stupid.
“It is not the worst thing gadji accused us of. They have no honor, they can't understand.” Mr. Lee adds.
“That's why I need to talk to them.”
You stand in front of your husband with one hand on his beating heart, Mr. Lee stands behind you, forgotten.
“I'm not letting them steal you away!”
Panic and rage tinge your husband's voice, more than ever you wished you two were alone.
“I'm not going anywhere but the matter needs to be addressed or it would truly appear as if I am a prisoner here.”
“Do you truly think those men will believe you?” Mr. Lee stares at you dubiously.
“The only opinion that matters is that horrid DCI’s, the DS is just his guard dog, I don't even think he has a brain.” You pause to let the information sink in. “And me not being a romni could probably help: they’ll never believe any of you, they might me.”
You can feel Abraham's chest vibrate under your palm, his strong muscles shifting.
“If they put a hand on you!” He growls.
You hope no one will ever tell him that's already happened.
“No one shall ever touch your bride, not with all of us ready to protect them.” Mr. Lee says.
“No, that can't happen or it will truly look like I am not free to talk with them. And I don't want them in our space.”
“I'm not letting you be alone at their mercy. It is not negotiable.”
You recognise the possessive tone in Abraham's voice, understand that's his way to express his concern, and guilt envelops you like a blanket: he shouldn’t be suffering for you. He shouldn’t live in fear for you.
“The clearing is surrounded by trees.” Mr. Lee’s voice is reasonable. “We can easily hide there, they'll never see us.”
Abraham keeps you in his arms, after Mr. Lee leaves, his masculine smell, mixed with the horses’, fills your nostrils and calms you.
“Do you have to go back?” Your question is muffled against the wool of his jacket.
“No, Ben and his children can manage for today.”
Abraham’s arms tighten around your body, his face finds home against the curve of your neck.
“You don’t have to go. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. I hate it.” It comes out more broken than what you’d like.
“I’ll never let them take you from me. Never!”
“That will never happen. I’m yours Abraham.”
His arms tighten to the point of pain and you wish you’d never have to leave the safety of his hold, of your vardo, to face the past again, after the onslaught that had been the inquest.
You still wish you were in Abraham’s arms, instead of standing in the clearing, having to endure the small talk of DCI Anderson.
“I’m glad you called, Mrs. Heron.” He says with a flat tone: now that you’re here he doesn’t have to pretend.
“I didn’t feel like I had any other choice, DCI.”
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Mrs. Heron. My job is asking questions, even when people don’t want to answer them, it is no one’s fault.”
“In this case, your enquiries are about a matter that has been closed and that reopens a wound, DCI Anderson.”
You know all your answers are stiff, but you can’t help but feel the same wave of pain you did when Badger’s Crossing was set ablaze, killing many of the people you used to call friends.
“It wasn’t my goal, Mrs. Heron and I am truly sorry.”
You want to ask him how much truth there is, since his DS snorts at your words, but you don’t want to derail this conversation.
“You should ask your questions, DCI Anderson.” You try to inject as much steel as you can in your words: those men don’t need to know how off putting this whole conversation feels.
DCI Anderson’s cold eyes bore into yours, trying to assess you.
“Badger’s Crossing was an idyllic place to live. Why not go back?”
You bark an unhappy laugh at his face: you can’t help yourself, this man is far more of an imbecile than you thought he was!
“I think you should scrap that ideal country village image from your mind, DCI. Badger’s Crossing has been my home for years, but it wasn’t an idyll. What happened was a long time coming.”
“The arson? The murders? It is hard to believe, Mrs. Heron.”
“To you, maybe, who live in the big city. I have been living there since the war, I knew those people and the violence was simmering.”
“Mr. Simmons was a decorated official…”
“Who used to beat his wife into a bloody pulp.” You don’t let him finish.
“A bit of behavior correction never hurt anyone.” The DC adds, and you know he pulls that at home constantly.
“Truly? She mustn't have gotten the idea when she decided to leave, instead of risking her life every day!”
“You shouldn’t exaggerate, Mrs. Heron.” DCI Anderson intervenes.
“I am not and this is the truth. Take it or leave it, I don’t care if you like it. Mr. Simmons was a cruel man who loved bullying anyone smaller and less strong than he was. From the moment his wife left, he started raining his violence on the whole community; constable Smith knew and did nothing to stop him.”
“I don’t see how scolding two gypsy girls is raining violence.” the DC adds with a scowl. “They were going to steal anyway. He did what any good man should.”
“What happened to be considered innocent until proven guilty? He berated those girls without any reason and didn’t like it when I told him to stop. It happens when you act the asshole in public!”
“I didn’t go to war to hear this disrespect!” DC Thomas advances towards you and you fear the men would do something stupid. “A man has the right to protect his community!”
“Well, both my parents died during an air blitz, this gives me the right to protect anyone, according to your logic.”
“Mrs. Heron, my colleague doesn’t want to offend anyone, but we all know how those people are.”
“Oh, so you know all of them. You probably know the whole of humanity. Did you know that Mr. Simmons attacked and threatened his neighbors for no reason? That Mrs. Ashtown and her son were two blackmailers and that the wife of the vicar had intercourse with half of the men in town? Badger’s Crossing was my home and had many secrets.”
You take a big breath as you let the men absorb the barrage of information.
“We all had secrets, only exacerbated by living in such a small community. Mr. Simmons needed help, he came back from the war a different man, more cruel than he ever was and lived among us, until he did the unthinkable.”
You will never know why he did what he did, what did the Ashcrofts did to deserve to be annihilated and if Mr. Simmons ever wanted to destroy the whole village, or if he couldn't control the fire he set at his neighbor’s home.
No one will ever answer those questions.
“You want to know why I chose this life? Because that place is cursed now and I can’t live in another village without thinking about Badger’s Crossing, without imagining the horrors hiding behind the nice cottages and farms.”
You move the patch of hair you use to hide the burn marks on the side of your head.
“I have to live with this. I have more on my body and I was lucky enough to find a way out of the burning village.”
Abraham saved you. He faced the flames and the smoke to pull you out of the inferno that was your home, when you were too frightened to find a way out yourself; you often wonder if your birth parents felt that way during the air blitz that killed them, if fear petrified them as your home caved on them, or if your dad had tried to save you mum, and failed in the process.
“Is this enough of a reason?” You ask, removing the fingerless gloves you always wear and roll your sleeves to show the extent of the damage.
Both men are visibly repulsed by the mess that’s your skin and whatever questions they might still have, die on their lips: DCI Anderson’s cold demeanor seems to fall as his eyes land on your body and you know he’s trying to imagine if there’s more scars that you’re not showing, DC Thomas looks haunted and you wonder if he’s seeing someone else, someone who never made it home.
“It was my husband’s people who nursed me into health, as the inquest went on. They went against their own interests to keep me safe and sound, no survivor of Badger’s Crossing ever came forth to ask about me, how I was fairing, and those people knew me ever since I was evacuated there. They saw me grow up and be adopted, they came to me at the library asking for reading suggestions, they bought their antiques at my adopted dad’s shop. I was part of the village life and no one wondered about my health.”
Slowly you cover your scars and adjust your hair.
“And you ask me why I don’t want to go back to that life?”
You don’t know what those men came looking for, or if your answers were what they wanted, the only thing you know is that you feel drained, that your feet barely carry you away from the clearing and that those men let you go with haunted eyes; not that you care.
You seek Abraham’s embrace as soon as you’re away from the clearing, ignoring the men around you: you’re shook and need to be with him, as he does.
Abraham had to be stopped by the other men as soon as he sensed DC Thomas’s animosity towards you, his rage the only way he knew how to express his fear for you, and the pain, when you had to show those men your scars, as if your words weren’t enough to justify your decisions.
Ever since the fire, he lives with the fear of losing you, of harm befalling you and him not being able to come to your rescue again. In his life before you he had never thought he would care for someone as much as he does for you. He was raised in the knowledge that he needed to be the good man who provides for and protects his family; the fire had showed him that there’s a limit to what he can do to fulfill this, that anything can happen to you and he would not be able to protect you: how is he supposed to live with this? When the buried past comes haunting you and you have to relive it, and he is powerless against it?
Abraham helps you up enter the vardo and gently removes your thick jacket and boots, he seems to be unable to keep his hands away from your body to show his brain that you’re real and alive, and still with him, that those men hadn’t kidnapped you to bring you back to that accursed place.
You let him remove the pins in your hair and the bandana you always wear and follow him to the sofa in front of the stove, where he makes you sit and covers you with a thick blanket, one of the memories from his own mother and he makes tea for you.
He feels big and clumsy with the dainty tea set in his hands and the biscuit box that you two are supposed to replace, but he needs to move, to do something, anything to ward his fears away.
“Abe?” You raise your hand to grab his trousers. “Abe, come here?”
He falls between your splayed legs to hug you and you hide your face against the side of his neck to muffle your sobs; you can’t control your emotions anymore and simply let go, opening the floodgates as you grab your husband with desperation and he hugs you as tight has he can, crushing you against his body in the vain attempt to absorb you within himself, the only place he knows you’ll ever be safe.
He knows he’s possessive and that it’s hard for you to accept, free as you are, but how is he supposed to show you that he cares? He is a simple man, words don’t come easily for him as they do you, he has to make sure that you know how important you are for him, in any way possible.
His big hands caress your head and back with a gentleness that’s still foreign to him, he murmurs in your ear the same nonsense he does with the horses when they are skittish, until you stop crying and are silently hugging him with all your might.
“Abe?”
Your voice sounds so small it breaks his heart.
“Yes, my love?”
He tries to keep his emotions under control for you, because that’s what you need, but he hears the tremble in his own voice and hates it.
“Will you make love to me? Put your child in my belly? Show anyone who comes knocking that I belong with you?”
You two have been trying since your wedding night, without any luck. You asking him this, now, it’s your way to show him how much you care, your unwillingness to be parted from him, to change your body irreversibly, this time on your own terms.
“Yes, I will.”.
Abraham unfolds his body and stands to his full height, before he lifts you up, bridal style, to carry you to the bed.
With infinite care he sits your there and starts removing your clothes, kissing your scars as they come to light, until you’re naked in front of him, in all your glory.
“I don’t know how you can stand looking at me.”
“I don’t have to stand anything. I chose you for myself and that’s all it matters to me.”.
The certainty of his voice, the blaze in his blue eyes tell you that he is not lying; perhaps another man would wax poetic about your ruined skin, he touches you with reverence and love, calloused hands that become feathers where he knows you still hurt, chapped lips that leave butterfly kisses everywhere as he undresses himself, until he’s naked in front of you, strong muscles born of hard work and his cock, hard and leaking already, just for you.
“I need you Abe, don’t make me wait.” You beg, spreading your legs to show him just how much you need him.
“Never.” He growls from between your thighs.
His hands are strong on your hips when he pulls you towards his mouth, his tongue thirsty for all the sweet nectar you’re about to give him and he feasts on you, his lips everywhere on your cunt, sucking, kissing, nibbling; he moans when your juices hit his tastebuds, making you shiver in his hold and his lips fasten around your clit, sucking harshly, hungrily for more as his fingers explore your depths, looking for that special place that makes you kick against his face and he fucks against it, fast and unforgiving, needing you as wet as possible, mad for him as he is for you.
Your hands grab his hair and pull, desperately, trying to control his movements, how fast he’s throwing you in the throes of your own orgasm, to no avail: you’re at his mercy, your hips are pushing against his face without your control, seeking the pleasure he’s giving you, rubbing against his nose and chin, until he’s drenched and fucking your hole with his tongue becomes a need and you keen, muscles clenching desperately around the intrusion, your own legs manacles around his face and he woudln’t want to die in any other way but drowning in your juices.
He removes his face with a grunt and you cry out, your orgasm so close.
“Ride me. I want you to feel me in your throat. Remind you whom you belong to.” He growls, low and hungry, as he lays on the bed.
His cock is proud and red, small pearls of precum bubble on the tip and you swiftly lick them, not wanting any of his essence to go to waste.
You’re so wet when you straddle him, your hole loose already for him that his broad head breaches you easily as his nails rake down your unburnt skin, his hands explore your body possessively, one finding home around your throat, the other grabbing your hips to help you move with gentle figures if eight that make his cock burrow inside your cunt all the tighter.
You grind against his body, your clit sending shockwaves of pleasure with every pass, his hand curls around your throat when you start begging for his cock, to go faster, please! He intends to savor you properly, suck on your breasts as you move over him and keen and moan when he finds that spot again and bullies it mercilessly.
“Abe please!” You sound so pitiful and lost, luckily he’s here to keep you safe. “You’re spitting me in two! Abe please!”
His hips move faster now, a trot that has your breasts sway over his face and your cunt squelch around his cock, your muscles pulling him in with every pass and his hands are the only thing keeping you up, now that his hips are pistoning inside of you and your vision blurs with tears and pleasure.
“Pleasepleaseplease.”
You beg and you feel yourself tighten painfully, your cunt barely able now to house his massive erection and he keeps going, fucking you mercilessly, opening you up to his invasion, spurred by your desperate keens of pleasure.
You come with a scream, your body rigid as he keeps fucking you, prolonging the pleasure until he has to slip out: he’s not done with you.
You’re still trembling over him when he rolls you on your back and bends your legs against your chest, before entering you again with a grunt of pleasure.
You choke on your words as he fucks you hard and fast, your legs around his hips, his hands grabbing the mattress to propel himself inside of you and you’re reduced to a puddle of pleasure and tears, your cunt sore and hungry for his cock and seed, his head reaching so deep inside of you it almost hurts with how full you feel.
You can feel another orgasm surging, stronger than the one before, your whole body curls around him and he has to be brutal to keep fucking you, opening you up again and again, deaf to your pathethic sounds of pleasure, spurred on by your nails on his skin and the small pain they’re causing him.
You’re crying now, your whole body arching under him, your cunt strangling him when his thumb brutalizes your poor clit and you beg him, pathetic and desperate for what you don’t know, needing the pleasure and fearing the band tightening in your belly.
You come abruptly, and he follows you with three sharp pushes and stays rooted inside of you, his weight carried by his arms and legs, his face hidden in the curve of your neck.
“I can’t risk having any of it going to waste.” He groans in your ear.
You kiss him, hungry for him as your cunt is for his seed.
“I can’t wait to have your baby.” You pant, body still shaking.
“I can’t wait to see you full with my seed. Time and time again. See your belly swell and your breast fill out. Show everyone that you’re mine.”
“Yes Abraham, yes. Let everyone know I’m yours.”
He kisses you again and you try to push your heel against his lower back when he moves to dismount.
“Don’t go anywhere. I want to feel you grow hard inside of me.”.
He groans, eyes crossing at your words: he’ll do anything for you, anything you ask, as long as you’re happy and safe.
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