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boizandgurlzinthehouse · 5 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

pairing: coriolanus snow x toxic!fem!reader

summary: someone always throw a spanner in her works, to achieve her biggest dream —being coriolanus' lover, wife and claiming power. luckily, y/n is not on the loser side when it comes to playing.

trigger warnings: mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she's doing nasty things), reader's family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, blood, violence, killing people, hunger games stuff, i just love volumnia gaul, reader hates lucy gray and everybody who's around coriolanus, mental health problems mentioned such as psychotism.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

their peace was harassed. again.

lying on her bed, y/n’s legs were flexing with the same rhythm as her heart beated and her brain ticked.

that bitch. that dickhead. that fucking new rule.

turning onto her back, y/n bruised her hands into her hair. too many things happened today, too fast and she couldn’t do anything. she couldn’t do anything to get closer to her first and only lover, coriolanus. it was the perfect plan she had made; going to the same places he went, organizing her whole life around him and gaining access into his heart. and after that? marriage, of course. and kids, and endless wealth that could be provided by her family and his position, because y/n didn’t accept anyone else as a husband than the president of panem. they could be the perfect couple, and her family almost gave the benediction to their marriage.

only if this fucking day wouldn’t happen.

today, in the school were coriolanus was studying –y/n was a private student, her family only trusted the teachers that educated the former younger members of the family like her older brother, who was now the leader of the first district–, a new rule was stated: students’ grades wasn’t the reason anymore for the plinth-prize, no. they needed to be a mentor for those poor losers who fought on the ruthless game named hunger games. y/n didn’t care about hunger games really much, but when her family was watching it on the tv in the salon, she sat down too, to watch how people’s true nature came out. while her family enjoyed watching it, they got her to take medicine since the doctor of the family stated her as a little bit mentally unstable. he said some symptoms like… lack of empathy, callous and manipulative? she was just like her grandma, astoria. it was nothing special.

coriolanus got to be a mentor, and she got a girl from the twelfth district. it was not only the reason of her rage that that fuckhead casca took most of his chance away from winning the prize, and that he needed to work on this much more so they couldn’t be together, but… he got a girl. a girl named lucy gray. and lucy gray can watch herself if she does anything to woo coriolanus.

y/n got to know him when they sat at the same time in the library; it was love at the first sight. she fell too deep, and from now on, she did everything to get close to him. if she was the universe, coriolanus was the sun; everything was for and about him. she made it known to him even, telling him that he has a big future, and that he needs to watch out because everybody’s going to hunt him down. but she’s gonna protect his safety, not significantly, because she knew how important pride was for men, even if she thought that it was sometimes hilarious. she’s gonna be the shadow around him, the shadow nobody can step over to get to him. y/n knew what’s good for him, and she made real intentions in the past too, from things like speaking with her father so he could soften up casca and give him that damn prize to the even action like being friends with his sister, tigris and his grandmother, the grandma’am. they were nice anyway, so she didn’t mind, same with the money she left in their house ‘accidentally’, or paying for oriolanus’ and hers dinner or snack or coffee when they were hanging out together. her father loved y/n endlessly, because she was just like his mother, her grandmother, but he couldn’t crawl under casca’s skin against the man’s will. while her whole family laughed at that damn girl, lucy gray, who sang and got knocked down on the ground, y/n knew that she was a potential danger. in that moment when she saw the way coriolanus looked at her, y/n decided that lucy gray, this or that way, had to go. there wasn’t any space for others in their love, and anyone that decided to harass it, was gonna pay the prize.

turning on her stomach, she drew out her journal with shaky hands from anger, tearing up the page where she wrote down steps for the plan. she had another notebook for the doctor who read it monthly, and that notebook was full of ‘normal’ thoughts. but this, this journal… this contained everything that was her. and all of her love for corio, with pictures, letters they wrote to each other, little notes they changed through boring library afternoons, her plans for the wedding dress she’s gonna wear when they marry, and the names of the children they’re gonna have, not to mention the plan and the little footnotes she added to make it really, really perfect. scanning through the papers, she knew she hadn’t planned for this. how could you be so stupid? or was casca that dickhead, that fucker, he’s throwing a spanner in my works, but he’s gonna regret it. yeah, he’s gonna regret it, but not now. this was so perfectly worked out, it was truly a masterpiece, and now, some dickhead fucked it up completely. there were two things y/n didn’t like: people who stood between her and coriolanus, and people who thought they had the right to shit into her plan.

throwing her journal away with a scream, her white, beautiful cat, persephone meowed loudly, jumping out from the way. looking into her direction, y/n called the cat closer to herself with bending her fingers. crawling into her arms, she rocked her like a real baby.

“casca thinks he can stop us, sweetheart. but we gotta show him that we are clever, aren’t we, persy?” she asked, stroking the cat’s fluffy fur. persephone was y/n’s best friend; she never gave away her secrets, and always purred when the girl took her into her lap. “we can’t give up, no, sweetheart. we’re almost there, we can’t give up now, and we won’t, will we?”

persephone meowed again, while y/n picked up the journal. grabbing a pen, thinking about the plan, what was wrong with it? was it not detailed enough? was it too straight? or… her cat accidentally tossed down a picture with her big tail, making y/n sigh.

“you need to diet, persy.” muttering, when she lifted up the picture, it was her and coriolanus, her favorite picture. and in the background, there was sejanus, clemensia, arachne and many more of his classmates. in the background, blurred out, just as she liked…

what do they have in common?

they all had a relationship with corio. with her too, but… that can’t be all. what if the plan was wrong because she only focused on her lover? but it’s the point of it, to have a focus on him. suddenly, it hit her like a train her brother came last night with from the first district.

she had to peel them down from coriolanus… one by one. it’s gonna be a little bit tiring and difficult, but y/n always loved challenges. and everything that could lead to coriolanus was worth fighting for –even if this fight was a little bit dirty. but her plans weren’t dirty, and she could never be dirty. she did it all for love, for their happiness.

“you are a fucking genius, persy.” she muttered into the cat’s fur, making her meow again.

before she could really write down the list of the people who could stand in their way, someone knocked on her door.

“dear sister, could you come down for dinner?” it was her older sister, morphia. she was about to wed the mayor of the second district. y/n was gonna miss her, really, but not when she disturbed her mind while planning another masterpiece.

“of course, i’m coming!” she opened the door. kissing the cat’s fur and putting her down to the bed so she could nap, noting in her mind that she needed to bring her food after dinner. morphia saw behind her back, on the bed her other notebook, the ‘normal’ notebook.

“were you writing down your day?” morphia asked while walking beside her little sister on the hallway of the first floor of their home. they had a three floor house, the whole y/l/n dynasty lived together under one roof, including the husbands and wives who got married into the family. the wealth came from her sharp-minded grandfather, dmitri y/l/n, who had enough influence to get the control of the first and second district, getting ten percent of income from both districts for his own family after the war. he could do it because with his help, bombs were useful enough to stop rebellions. that way, the y/l/n house became rich between the richest, and they had enough respect so nobody doubted the wealth they had. did they get it dirty? yes. did they have guilt? of course not.

“yeah, i was. so many things happened today. did you hear that corio has to attend the games like a mentor? he got a girl from the twelfth district, it’s so unfair, isn’t it?” she replied, walking beside the frescos of their deceased family members, facing the big windows shaded by heavy brocade curtains. the whole hallway covered with soft burgundy carpet, between the frescos, vases of beautiful roses stood on marble piles. everybody who took a walk in the y/l/n house, they could almost believe that war never happened.

“you care so much about him, you’re gonna be the best wife. but still, please use your brain, sister. you are so clever, it would be a shame if our family wasted such a perfect mind between children and housekeeping.”

“i already submitted my papers to volumnia gaul. my grades and studies are great from biology and chemistry, maybe i can be one of her geneticists or scientists.”

“it would be great. our family was never one of those who planned the games. father will be proud of you, just like me and everyone from the family.” morphia stroked her sister’s hair, going down the spiral stairs. the rain was softly falling, tapping on the windows. y/n’s smile was moderate; of course coriolanus was important, but her family was just as much. whatever, whenever, wherever you do, do it with pride.

sitting through dinner, y/n formed the list in her mind, smiling and laughing when the others did, eating from the big plates. at night, she wrote down everything with persephone in her lap after her dinner too, a glass of wine beside the picture of coriolanus and a little, heart-shaped candle she got from him.

the list.

1.arachne crane. her family is part of the old guard of the wealthy from the capitol. they work in the travel industry, having developed luxury hotels in vacation destinations. she’ always very loud and always socking people. she’s not behaving like a noble, truly pathetic. relationship with corio: they had grown up together, attending important events in each other's lives, as was natural for members of two families of money who lived close together, but did not really like each other. how to get rid of her: waiting. she got a girl from the tenth district, the tribute-mentor work will probably make her busy. at that time, i can speak on my behalf for coriolanus, maybe angering her towards me, to play victim. coriolanus doesn’t like her anyway.

arachne was an easy prey. otherwise, the first rule of the plan was always to keep her hands clean. never, nobody could know that behind their downfall, there was y/n.

2. clemensia dovecote daughter of the energy secretary. she’s always up coriolanus’ ass, only because he’s the one who she can take advantage of. no original thoughts, only crawling up on everybody’s backs. really, really pathetic. relationship with corio: only classmates. but a really annoying one. how to get rid of her: she’s gonna fail herself either way, always wanting to be tricky, faith is gonna be her end. if not, talking with my father about her bad reputation, so her and her family’s gonna end up warned.

y/n trusted her father enough to not to speak out loud that she was the one who intended on it. the y/l/n house always protected each other at all costs, and she wasn’t an exception.

2. sejanus plinth // DANGER. only child of strabo and mrs. plinth, a wealthy couple from district 2. his father, strabo, made much of his wealth from munitions and weapon manufacturing. rich, has influence. relationship with corio: his parents almost treat him as their own child. really, really dangerous. how to get rid of him: …

y/n stopped while writing. sejanus liked her too, because he knew corio and she was almost a couple, but really… sejanus could stop him if he even said a word. it doesn’t work if she’s too kind, if sejanus himself doesn’t, his father will notice it, the bond is too tight and she didn’t want to suffocate in it. she needs to wait until something happens, and intervene when coriolanus is in doubt.

“we have a lot of work before us, don’t we, persy?” she asked, leaning down to kiss her sleeping cat’s head. looking out the window, the rain fell continually, striking a bolt when she wrote down the fourth person.

3. lucy gray braid // (?) family member of the nomadic group called ‘covey’, coriolanus’ contestant in the 10th hunger games. rumors say that she got into the games because she was messing around with another girl from the twelfth district. relationship with corio: neutral. keep in mind if something happens. her actions may be out from surviving. how to get rid of her: she has to win, so coriolanus can get the plinth-award. other than that, she’s gonna be taken back to twelfth district. keep in mind if something happens.

lucy gray, lucy gray… you’re gonna be in big, big trouble if you take him away from me. you looked at him in the wrong way.

y/n sighed, tossing her pen down. she needed to do some research for the coveys, whoever they were. it’s gonna be a long night, but her happy, perfect life with coriolanus will be even longer if she makes lucy gray gone.

“songbirds can fly high enough to get away from snakes, you know that, persy? but even they can’t get away from a big storm.” y/n giggled, finding peace in the monstrous rumbling above them, heavy droplets banging on the window. sitting at her dressing table, she chose the lipstick she’s going to wear when coriolanus and she shares their first kiss. it was perfect. looking into the mirror, there was a strange glint in her eye, the one she always had only for herself. if she can’t get him one way, she will on the other.

and anyway… her storm is gonna rock the whole panem.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow icons #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fanfiction #hunger games x reader #hunger games imagine #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games fic #ballad of songbirds and snakes imagine #ballad of songbirds and snakes

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infinatenoise · 4 months

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Shakespere plays badly described in one sentence:

Romeo And Juliet - Your "Love had different plans" writing excuse ended with a restraining order and two dead kids

Macbeth - Girlboss uses her sopping pathetic wet dog of a husband to gain political power, ends horribly.

Hamlet - Pathetic emo boy destroys career of his creepy uncle

Titus Andronicus - It's a soap opera because after you watch it you feel the need to wash yourself thoroughly

The Tempest - One man's real person ship fic saves the government from corruption

Merchant Of Venice - The way to make your play where the main villain is a jewish person portraying every negative stereotype is by making the main christian characters the biggest pricks in existance

Twelfth Night - Shakespeare was a COWARD for not making the woman marry the sister and the man marry the brother.

Othello - A commentary on racism slightly ruined by the fact that the main villain shares a name with a cartoon disney parrot

#I don't have anything better to do #shakespeare #macbeth #hamlet #romeo and juliet #othello #the tempest #twelfth night #merchant of venice

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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Ceasefire | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warnings: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, angst, smut, unprotected pinv, arguing

…

When you had read over Bob’s hastily typed note of Bradley’s address, you had failed to consider than number 4c was likely to not be a ground floor apartment. Three floors up, your heels are digging into your feet and you’ve still got the taste of Beau’s tongue in your mouth.

With your jacket abandoned at the wedding, you pad along the hallway of the building and knock politely at the blue wood. Cold breeze, shame, and an entire day spent near an open bar — you’re not in the mood to be playing waiting games. The civility fades from your touch with each bang against the cheaply painted, powder blue front door.

The door to the apartment finally swings open after maybe the twelfth knock.

Bradley’s standing on the other side, his suit jacket and tie long discarded, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbows and the top few buttons popped open. Ignoring you clearly wasn’t going to work. Handsome, hurt — gearing up to slam the door in your face again, you need to work quickly. Words pour into your head and spill out again just as quickly, not a single one of them making it past your lips.

He stares at you, nailing the wounded look. You’re so filled with guilt that it’s already pushing up and spilling out, he rolls his eyes as you start to pour with apologies.

“What do you want, Hyde?” He asks dully, keeping his body between the opening in the door, making it painfully clear that he wants you nowhere near him.

“I’m so sorry that you saw that, Bradley — I didn’t mean-“

He scoffs and pushes at the door, leaving it to swing shut as he turns away. You catch it before it slams in your face, pushing yourself inside and shutting it behind you.

You’re standing now in his living room. It’s a sparsely decorated space, a grey L-Shaped couch in the corner, navy and white area rug in the middle, a big tv with a gaming console plugged into it.

“Rooster, let me explain, please.” You sigh, taking a step towards him. He’s hurt. He takes a quick step back and holds a hand out towards you, keeping you at arm’s length.

“Are you still in love with him?”

It’s a loaded question, and you think that you’ve got the answer to it instantly. He knows what you’re going to say, but after what he saw tonight, he doesn’t want the first answer that springs to your mind. The look in his eyes makes you pause. You sigh softly.

“I’ll always love the memories that we have, the family that we created,” You answer gently, your tone sincere. Rooster stares at you. “But I don’t love him. He doesn’t make me happy, I’ll never be happy with him.”

You take a step towards him and this time he doesn’t move. You rest your hands on his hips, smoothing your fingers along the neat fabric of his white button up, lifting your gaze to look him in the eye. You both know that there’s still a gaping question, waiting for an answer. Does Rooster make you happy?

You trail your fingers up, along his forearm and curl them gently around his bicep, pulling yourself slightly closer to him.

Rooster scoffs, brushing you off of him, “But you’ll let him kiss you in front of everyone when I’m not even allowed to stop by your office anymore.”

“I didn’t let him do anything! — He was drunk and he just did it, Bradley. What was I supposed to do?”

“That’s not how it looked to me.” Bradley answers back, shaking his head. He steps into your space, “You were all over him all night. Look, Hyde, you’ve got kids with this guy — if I’m in the way, if there’s even a chance that the two of you are going to get back together, say it now.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s over between him and I?” You groan, leaning your head back and sighing.

“After he just stuck his tongue down your throat in front of me, you might have to say it again.” He snaps back, cheeks reddening, brown eyes darkening. He hasn’t ever talked back to you like this.

You groan and and follow him forwards again, “Rooster, god fucking damnit — I’m divorcing him, I left him—“

“You’ve been divorcing him since I met you and he’s still wearing his fucking wedding ring!” Rooster bites back.

“He wasn’t — he wasn’t wearing it today.” You answer quietly, brows scrunching together. You hadn’t realised that Rooster had taken notice of that before now. He has, every single time he has seen your husband on base for the entirety of the summer, his eyes have always been drawn down to the gold band on Beau’s finger.

“Fucking Christ, you know what I meant.” Rooster mutters, shaking his head. He turns his gaze back towards you, cold. Your chest aches, knowing that if you reach for him again, he’ll just brush you off. He takes his time to read your expression. It’s clear that you’re feeling guilty, but he knows what he saw today, and it wasn’t two people who don’t love each other.

There’s a long pause. You know that there’s nothing you can say that will calm him down, he’s trying not to say something out of line. Still, after fifteen years of marriage to a man that can count the times he has smiled in the past year on one hand, you’ll be fine.

“I don’t know why you even came here.” He tells you, his voice low and careless. “You should go.”

Unfazed, you tilt your head and squint. Rooster stands firm opposite you.

“So, you’re calling the shots now? — The decision’s all yours?” You challenge, scrunching your brows at him. After the evening you’ve had with Beau, you’re tired of men and their egos, and the blame landing on you every time.

“Yeah, I am.” Rooster answers. “Let yourself out.”

Your mouth hangs open as he turns away from you and grabs his open beer from the end table before heading down the hallway. He makes it to his bedroom and still hasn’t heard the front door slam. He groans as he swings the door open.

The sound of your heels on the hallway floor ring through the apartment. It’s a small space, Javy’s room is opposite Bradley’s and Jake’s is on the other side of the living room.

“Go away, Hyde.” Rooster mumbles, taking a long drink from his beer and setting it down on his dresser.

“No, you listen to me—“

He scoffs, turning to face you, standing in his doorway and scowling at him like he has done something wrong.

“I’m done fucking listening to you!” He snaps. A few steps in your direction, the vein in his neck struggling against the white of his collar. You stand still, turning your gaze towards the ground just so you don’t have to see how much tonight hurt him. “Do I mean anything to you, Hyde? — Do you even give a fuck—“

“Oh my god, can we not do this now?” You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. He chuckles dryly and takes another drink, then shakes his head.

“My thoughts exactly, I don’t have anything to say to you right now, so you should just leave.” He mutters, leaning back against the dresser and folding his arms over his chest. His muscles strain against the white of his shirt, hair messed with loose curls falling down onto his forehead.

The anger slips for a moment and you see just how hurt he is, all of the hurt that he’s holding in those pretty brown eyes.

“Can you at least let me explain?” You bite back, crossing the room and pointing your finger into his stupid, muscled chest.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. He swallows softly and leans back, folding his arms over his chest. An entire summer of trying to convince you that he’s worth the risk, and you crushing it all in the space of one evening. Like you weren’t just laying in his arms this morning, tracing your fingers over each of the freckles on his arms.

Furious is an understatement. His face flushes, throat tightening as he tries to keep his words to himself. Rooster had been wondering this whole time what you had possibly had in common with someone as cold as Cyclone. Now, after a summer of letting him think he had a chance, he gets it.

“No. You should go.” He stands firm, squaring his shoulders and glancing down at your finger still pressed into the fabric of his shirt. Your features tighten.

“Rooster, for god’s sake, it was just—“

He leans forwards and grabs the back of your neck, tugging you harshly forwards and pressing his lips to yours. One hand curling harshly into your hair, he tugs at your roots, taking advantage of the small whimper you let out after.

Lips parted, he slips his tongue into your mouth and grabs at your hip with his other hand. He presses harder into you, kissing at you mouth with a blind passion, your teeth knocking into his as you bump into the foot of his bed.

“Have you thought about doing what you’re told for once in your damn life?” He mumbles against your mouth, curling his hand tighter into your roots. You moan softly into him, pain and pleasure, him and only him. You let him have that one.

His hand comes up, catching hold of your jaw and tilting your neck back, angling your head exactly where he wants it as he drops his mouth down to suck at your throat. Almost painfully hard, leaving purple marks, covering them with his teeth and then kissing softly at the pressure points.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his white shirt, creasing it under your grip as you tug it free from his belt. Rooster curls his fingers tighter around your jaw, cupping your throat in his hand as he sucks kisses against your neck.

Dizzied by his hold on you, his mouth against your skin, you fumble with his buttons, fingers trembling as you try to work them open. As his lips work along your throat eagerly, teeth doing maybe even more work than his lips, his hands are on your chest again.

Knees weakening, you grab onto his shoulders for leverage as he kneads your breasts under his palms, kissing feverishly along your neck. You stumble slightly, finally getting his shirt open. A longing sound slips your lip as you push the fabric back off of his shoulders, almost a groan, not quite a whimper. He pulls back just slightly, shrugging the material down his arms and discarding it onto his floor.

Rooster catches your wrist and turns you quickly away from him, grabbing the zipper at the back of your dress and tugging it down harshly. There’s a faint sound of something ripping, but that’s truly the last thing on your mind when his mouth is attached to your throat and he’s tearing you out of your clothes like a man possessed.

“Rooster!” You gasp, stumbling slightly as he spins you to face him again, letting your dress fall around your ankles.

“You want me to stop?” He breathes out, almost impatient as his hands curl around your hips. You stare at him, silent, blinking and trying to process what is happening in front of you. Slowly, your head shakes from left to right. Rooster nods his head hurriedly, going for his belt. He makes easy work of the buckle, tugging it out of the loops, dragging his zipper down and stepping out of the dress pants, leaving him in black boxers.

Your mouth goes dry, lips parted, eyes widening as he tucks an arm around your waist and pushes forwards, pressing his knee into the mattress and lowering you down onto his bed. He pins your body to the mattress with his, squeezing your hips under his palms.

He lowers his head and kisses at your chest, holding you close with one hand as the other cups your breast. You let your head lull back. You should probably be embarrassed at how easily he coaxes a moan from your lips. He nips at your skin, making his way downwards, glancing up at you with a smirk on his lips as you gasp.

Most of the time, Rooster is careful and tentative with you. Taking his time, taking care of you in every way that he can. Neither one of you is in the mood for that today. You’re his — he wants you to be all his, just his, and he needs nothing more than to let him know that’s exactly what you are.

You gasp again as he grabs your hips and pulls you under him with ease. He plants his forearm beside your head, nudges your underwear to the side, and guides his cock between your legs. You kiss his lips needily, quickly remembering the heavy heels on your feet. You push yourself onto your elbows, reaching for the strap around your left ankle, “Oh, wait—“

“Leave ‘em on.” Rooster pushes you back down, catching the back of your knee and hiking it up around his waist, watching breathlessly as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds. You whine, shifting desperately under him.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take him. You whimper softly, adjusting to the hot, thick stretch of him. He kisses your jaw lazily, fucking into you in short, soft thrusts until he’s buried into you completely.

Rooster barely waits a second before his hands are on your hips, holding you in place as he fucks into you. That gold cross necklace he wears dangles over his pronounced collarbones as he grunts desperately at the feeling of your walls around him.

Your hand trails up his neck, curling into his hair, tugging hard as he rocks harshly forwards. His fingers press into your hips, holding you still so that he can keep up his pace. Filling you completely and then dragging back, rocking you towards your high, making your head spin.

He lets go of one side of your hips, moving it down between your bodies. His thumb presses harsh circles on your clit making you tighten your grip in his hair. Rooster grunts out, moaning against your collarbone. You whine from the added stimulation, squeezing your eyes shut, pressing your heel into the small of his back.

Head falling back against his checkered sheets, your scrape your nails against the nape of his neck, marking up his tanned skin. Rooster grabs your hips and tugs hard, pressing your thighs back so that he can angle himself deeper. He sinks back in slowly, watching your lips part into a desperate, panting ‘o’ shape.

This angle is deeper, but not painful, it just means that the tip of his cock grazes your g-spot each time he’s pulling back.

“Fuck!” You cry out, stomach curling into knots as he drives himself into you. He presses his mouth eagerly against your open mouth, caressing his tongue against yours. Rooster’s palm slides around to your ass, smacking your skin, snapping his hips forwards harder and harder.

Your nails dig into the backs of his biceps, clinging to him, unable to do anything other than cry out his callsign and take it — and you couldn’t be more content with where the events of tonight have led you.

“I’m gonna cum, Rooster — ungh, Rooster, fuck!”

Javy’s walking ahead, stumbling forwards, barely stopping himself from tumbling head first onto the entryway carpet. Jake swings the door shut behind him, brows furrowing slightly as the two of them realise what’s happening down the hall. The rhythmic sound of Rooster’s headboard slamming into the wall, overwhelmed by the incoherent babbling of someone getting their brains fucked out is a pretty good indicator.

Rooster pulls out all together and flips you onto your front, filling you again. He nods hurriedly as your walls squeeze around his cock, nudging you forwards and covering your body with his.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, cheek pressing hard into the mattress as he bottoms out again and again, pounding into you. His hips stutter slightly as you clench around him again. Still, fighting to keep his head on straight, his hand reaches around your middle to play with your clit, rubbing in tight fast circles.

You moan out, curling your hands tight into his sheets as you feel your orgasm washing over you. Dark spots appear in your vision when your eyes are open and white ones blink behind your closed lids, the sound of his skin hitting yours just as loud as your moans for him. You ride out your high, so breathless that your head is spinning, the sound of his desperate groans from behind you.

His thrusts falter, growing sloppier with each movement, groans growing strained as his fingers press hard into your skin. Your eyes roll back, your walls fluttering around him with each thrust. Rooster just about remembers to pull out, knuckles whitening around your hips as he slips out of you.

Rooster’s heart thuds in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he tries to catch his breath. You exhale hard, resting your forehead against the sheets, whining softly.

He runs a hand through his curls, standing up and grabbing the box of tissues from his dresser. He sits down on the edge of his bed, tucking an arm around you and pulling you into his lap. You rest your head against his broad shoulder as you let him clean the two of you up.

“Listen, Rooster, I-“

Rooster shakes his head as he tosses the tissues into his trash can, pressing his lips to your shoulder as he moves on to getting you out of your heels. He tosses them into the same pile as your clothes. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Hyde.”

You nod softly, letting him wrap you in his arms. Still naked, tucked under the checkered duvet, his chest pressed to your back, you fall asleep in his bed. Falling asleep with him is the easy part. It’s waking up with him, knowing how last night went, that’s the hard part.

Afraid of the conversation that’ll come once he’s awake, you lie as still as you can for as long as possible. Maybe forty minutes, just watching the sun rise from under the blind on his window. He groans softly against the curve of your neck, pressing himself forwards and squeezing his arms tighter around you.

You wriggle just a little, letting him know that you’re awake. He loosens his arms. You turn around, pressing a kiss to the scar on his cheek. He sighs softly, pulling back and pressing the base of his palm into his eye socket, rubbing the tiredness away.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” You murmur softly, tracing your fingertips over his bicep, voice muffled slightly from where you’re tucked against his chest. “I’m going to fix this.”

Rooster presses his lips tenderly to the top of your head, brushing his thumb up and down over the small of your back. He exhales slowly and nods his head. “Okay.”

Your heart aches, curling your fingers around his bicep as you pull back to look him in the eye. “I mean it, I don’t want to lose you.”

His lips quirk softly at the edges, eyes scanning over your features like he’s looking for a sign that you mean this. That you really mean it. Rooster leans forwards, kissing you slowly, lazily, fingers pressing into your back as his naked chest presses into yours.

“I love you,” He murmurs, pulling back and kissing the corner of your lips, brown eyes meeting yours as he leans back again. You know this, you’ve known this for going on a week now — it’s clear in the way he looks at you. Yet, it’s hard not to tense up when you’re hearing it for the first time. “And I’m okay with waiting for you to feel the same, but if there’s any chance at all that you and him—“

As much as it makes your muscles freeze up so badly that it’s a pain consistent with having just worked out, you’ve got a feeling that you’ll get used to hearing him say that. There are definitely worse things in this world than letting someone love you like he does. You can handle this. In fact, you want it.

You shake your head, hooking your leg over his hip and shifting closer. He relaxes into you, closing his eyes just briefly as your fingers smooth over his cheek, your lips grazing his tenderly.

“Just you,” You promise, brushing his curls back off of his forehead, kissing him again. Rooster slides his arms around you, humming contentedly as he pulls you closer, guiding your thigh up higher around his waist. “I want you.”

Rooster kisses you, lips moving lazily against yours as his hands grip your waist. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself impossibly closer to him. He grinds his hips forwards, brushing himself up against your core.

“I want you.” You say again, lips grazing his ear. His arms constrict around your middle, pulling you tight against him as he noses at your jaw, pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

He presses forwards, turning you onto your back so that he can slip between your legs. This time is softer than last night, you want him and you’ve got him — all of his attention, his entire heart. He’s trusting you again. Making sure to be gentle after last night’s pace, you’re on cloud nine, content in your decision by the time you’re done.

Even realising that the zipper on your dress is busted and now gapes open at the back doesn’t dampen your mood.

“Yeah, no — Jake and Javy would’ve come in late, they won’t be up yet.” Rooster promises as he secures the safety pin at the back of your dress, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “This isn’t working… um… here.”

He grabs the grey zip up hoodie from the back of his closet door and passes it into your hands, turning around to find a shirt for himself. You slip it over your shoulders, stepping around him to smooth out your hair in the mirror.

“You ready?” Rooster checks, as he slips a white crew neck over his head.

You make the mistake of stepping out first. Your second mistake is walking forwards, confident that he was right about his roommates sleeping because of the silence from the front of the apartment. The second that you round the corner, you realise your mistake.

Coyote’s got the freezer door open, standing halfway in it as he searches for something to cure his raging hangover. Jake, having given in to the feelings of nausea a while ago, is sitting at the counter with a glass of ice cold water, staring right at you.

Not anticipating your sudden stop, Rooster bumps into your back and knocks you forwards. Now you’re both standing at the edge of the hall, Rooster’s chest pressed into your back, frozen.

“Hey Rooster, did you take the last — holy shit.” Coyote’s eyes widen, jaw hanging open as he registers who is standing in front of him. Jake sets his glass down on the counter and tilts his head slightly, taking time to now understand the big picture.

An entire summer of sneaking around, wondering why the hell Rooster was so adamant on keeping it a secret. It all suddenly makes sense.

“Boys.” You greet sheepishly, trying not to stare too much at their stunned faces. You can practically feel the amusement radiating off of Rooster as he stands behind you.

“Ma’am.” Jake nods back, whilst Javy still remains too stunned to speak behind him. Rooster taps your waist.

“Anyway, we should get going.” Rooster decides, nudging you forwards. Jake’s eyes trail the two of you, an amused smirk toying at his lips as you’re ushered out of their apartment. The door swings shut and you turn quickly, smacking his chest.

This is going to make the remaining two weeks of class significantly more interesting.

…

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au

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evita-shelby · 4 months

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Twelfth Night

Or during the Riley Clan's celebration of the Day of the Three Wise Kings at their new mansion, Tommy discovers Franz Kafka.

Mentions of accidental violence, and Tommy’s insecurities and also Kafka’s writing

1923

Tommy had been curious about the traditions Eva’s country had about the twelfth night.

He had introduced her to the English ones on her first time celebrating it by making sure she got the pea in the Twelfth so she could have the paper crown John’s children made for even if he got the clove instead of the bean. Tommy had also played a harmless little prank on her the following morning which resulted in her reacting with her fist right on the kisser.

They laughed about it then ---well he did to make her feel less guilty for punching him--- and laugh about it now as they take a holiday to America to see her family.

They’d bought a mansion in the country, the second largest home in all of fucking America to be exact and would be hosting the entire family now that they had a place more than large enough to accommodate them.

Arrow House as an estate was about twice the size in terms of land, and quite large too, but it looked like a modest row house in comparison to the 19th century castle the Rileys had acquired.

It was a status symbol as well as a home just as much as Arrow House was.

But strangely enough, the Rileys treated the cavernous hall as anyone would treat their home while Tommy still felt a stranger in the bed he and his wife had bought.

Children laugh and play with their parents and nannies, servants bustle about preparing for tonight with the members of the family helping out and while everyone treats him well, Tommy feels as if he stepped through the looking glass.

“I didn’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to check on you before dinner,” she said softly as he hid in the library reading Robert Frost. He’d read Kafka’s short stories and when that made his feeling of otherness worse, Tommy decided to turn to poetry and the whiskey in the crystal decanter.

“If you’d come minutes ago, I would’ve asked you if you’d love me if I turned into a cockroach.” He tries to shove his discomfort away and remembers Eva hardly ever saw her family and they’d be home by next week.

“Kafka is definitely worth learning German for, even if his work is rather dark.” The witch smiled as she joined him on the sofa. She smelled of pastries, even in her fine clothes she was found in the kitchen with the staff.

Hates being idle, a trait that seems to be as common as brown eyes in her family.

If she wasn’t helping about, she was taking care of Charlie and taking him to explore the nearby town or the unending grounds.

“So, would you?” he asks shifting to get comfortable with her, with the army of servants and relatives willing to take one year old Charlie off their hands, it was nice to have her all to himself for a while.

Even with so many roaming about, Tommy and Eva still had quite a lot of privacy.

“I’d find a way to turn you back, and in the meantime, I suppose I’d let you roam Arrow House and eat all the rotten food you want.” Eva answered as if she was powerful enough to undo even something as strange as Kafka’s metamorphosis. “Just imagine the stories of Thomas Shelby, the successful businessman and giant fucking cockroach.”

He laughs at her words and wished they could skip dinner, but formal gatherings came with the life he’s made for himself and Eva’s family was a good place to start.

“Anything I should know before your cockroach husband sits down to dinner with your family?” he asks hoping he is all caught up.

“No matter what I tried to stop it, the tiny Jesus figurine is in your slice of rosca. I’m afraid we’ll be hosting my darling family next year. Or have another baby, depending on who you ask.”

And sure enough, on January 1924 he hosts the Rileys at his home on the condition the tiny Jesus isn't on his slice of cake and convinces his wife to have a second child.

Rockwood Hall was the second largest home in America, remodeled and owned by JD Rockefeller until his death in 1922 and then demolished in the 1940s. It had over 204 rooms and spanned 1k acres. Surprisingly Arley Hall, which is used as Arrow House has 2k acres but the house is smaller.

Kafka’s The Sons ,a collection of short stories that features the Metamorphosis was published in german in 1915. Tommy in this fic can understand German as the translation to English wasn’t made until 1930.

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #evacore

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wishesofeternity · 9 months

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“Few figures experienced such a dramatic and disastrous turn of the wheel of fortune as did Eleanor of Aquitaine in the autumn of 1173, when she fell from her place as Henry’s assistant in ruling his collection of territories to detention as his prisoner in Chinon Castle. Eleanor inspired and participated in her sons’ rebellion of 1173–74 that became a widespread revolt against Henry. Spreading throughout his domains, it was the greatest challenge to his authority that he would face until his last days. The record of the royal couple’s sons for rebellions against their father and for fighting each other is almost unequaled in medieval history, and the queen’s active part in a revolt against her royal husband was near unimaginable to contemporaries. Writers ever since have accused the English queen of fomenting her sons’ rebellion, and the family’s troubles are still so notorious that they are a subject for films and plays. The chronicler Ralph Diceto writing not many years after the revolt admitted that young Richard, count of Poitou, and Geoffrey of Brittany in fleeing to Paris to join their elder brother in 1173 were “following the advice of their mother Eleanor.” He then listed over thirty instances of sons rebelling against their parents, but was unable to specify a single case of an earlier queen rebelling against her royal husband.

The dysfunctional character of the family life of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II, and their sons was no secret to their contemporaries. One late twelfth-century monastic writer likened the English royal family to “the confused house of Oedipus,” and another commented that “this father was most unhappy in his most famous sons.” Courtiers at the English royal court could only explain the intense hostility by recalling an Angevin legend of the Plantagenet family’s diabolical descent, having as ancestor a demon-countess of Anjou. In fact, Henry was largely an absentee father during his sons’ early years, and following aristocratic custom, he was content to leave their upbringing in others’ hands. Once his sons became adolescents, they resented their father’s refusal to share power with them, denying them authority over the lands that he had designated for them in various partition schemes.

- Ralph V. Turner, “Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England”

#historicwomendaily #history #eleanor of aquitaine #henry ii #angevin empire #ig #english history #queue

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haveihitanerve · 1 month

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There is an old tradition, that when a Regalian royal comes to the throne, a random peasant is picked for them, and they have one night together. It has been effective in the past, the royal appreciates their people more and usually the peasant is given a high rank within the military or even a part of the Royals court. One queen even made her peasant her king, although they spent more than just one night together before the choice was made. (this tradition is done whether or not the said royal already has an established relationship, everyone is aware of the tradition and if they chose to be in the relationship before their spouse comes to power that is their choice to make, although an exception was made after a twelfth cousin eight times removed came to power and had already been married for over twenty years, seeing as no one, especially not her nor her husband had anticipated gaining the throne) Most of the time, the random peasant will be similar, if not the same, in age, sometimes older, sometimes younger, but never underage. But for the young queen Luxa, an exception was made. A young boy, perhaps a few months older than the queen, from the city, the most peasant of the peasants, was chosen. (of course, any chosen peasant may refuse, and if the royal feels uncomfortable at any time they may also refuse, but it is not common, most pairings work well enough) Queen Luxa braces herself for an arrogant, preening, whiny older boy who thinks himself above her, cocky with his pick at bedding the queen, and prepares to call her guards to claim she is uncomfortable. (which, if her predictions are true, will not be a lie) instead, she gets gregor, a stumbling, shy older boy who blushes when he looks at her and truly sees her. He, Luxa decides, is a far worse partner. But she cannot call the guards on him. She can’t.

#queen luxa #warrior queen #gregor #gregor the overlander #the underland chronicles #tuc #soulmates #???#i was in the shower and thought of this #went 'what if...'#and here we are #uh enjoy?#up for interpretation #if you decide to write this pls hmu #or tag me

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tansu-bomb · 1 year

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AOS fanfic: Blooming Rose

Summary: A glimpse into the life of newlyweds - Lady & Lord Jang. Where Jang Uk is still yearning for his dead Master/Fiancée but is insanely attracted to his new-wife. Where Cho Yeong finally has the freedom she craves for and a husband she is smitten with, but he keeps her at an arms length. Newly-weds shenanigans.

Pairing: Jang Uk / Cho Yeong / Naksu / Mu Deok

Tags: Romance, intimate, sensual, kisses, hurt/comfort, angst, drinking, chaste tea, divine powers, pining for one and attracted to another, messy, cheating but not cheating, attempts to be canon-compliant, memory loss.

Length: 3600 words, 15 minutes read

Warnings: None but contents may melt your insides 😉

Translation: Seobangnim = an endearment meaning ‘husband’

—————————————————————————

By the twelfth drink, Jang Uk could feel the dizziness starting and he waited in anticipation for what was coming. By the fourteenth drink, it did. As his vision started to blur, her form slowly materialized. He hurriedly gulped down the fifteenth drink and his eyes nearly drifted shut. She was here. At first, she was walking towards him but hadn’t seen him yet. And when she looked up, her steadfast gaze was directly on him, piercing his soul. “MuDeokah…” he whispered softly as he slumped against the chair, his head lolling back. She was in the circle of his arms now and he could see her orbs glowing blue with energy. Her stunningly beautiful orbs – a sight he never tired of, a sight that aroused equal parts awe and reverence, a sight that allowed him a glimpse into the coiled strength of her character. These were the only moments he lived for now – fleeting as they might be. Like always, she blinked too soon for his liking and his vision morphed. He saw a different pair of eyes now – eyes jet black and mysterious, set in a radiant face with full lips that looked as alluring as rose petals. He felt a pull so strong that he was sure he would drown in this woman’s eyes and have no strength to escape. “Seobangnim Jang Uk” she replied with a wide, knowing smile and he jerked awake as if icy water hit him.

—————————————————————————

The past two weeks of her life as Lady Jang were the most carefree and joyous days in her life. She woke up earlier than usual to watch the swift summer sunrise by the pagoda. She spent time with Kim Doju every morning, chatting animatedly with her in the kitchen over tea, and even learning how to cook chicken. She charmed all the helpers in Jang household to do her bidding and got them to make a map of Daeho must-do’s. And like clockwork, every day after breakfast, she would head into the town with her map to explore. She had explored the lakeshore, the bamboo forests, the famous waterfall, the lover’s bridge, and of course the shopping district centered around Chiseonworu. She gorged on Daeho street food, putting it all under her husband’s tab. She spent her afternoons browsing books from her husband’s study and finding a comfortable spot under the groove of trees that lined the back-end of Jang household where she often fell asleep reading until a worried Kim Doju woke her up and served tea.

Evenings! Evenings were her absolute favorite. On her second day in the Jang household, she had managed to climb up to the rooftop of her & Uk’s living quarters, and instantly decided that it was the best spot in all of Daeho. The Jang household was at an elevation providing an unobstructed view – at the front, she could see much of the lighted, bustling streets of Daeho and at the back, she could see the dark hills full of foliage. The summer wind was balmy, carrying to her the hustle of the city and the rustle of trees. On her third day, she carried two bottles of strong liquor to the rooftop and waited for her husband to return home. When he walked in, she whistled to get his attention and dangled a bottle of liquor, motioning him wordlessly to join her. He did. And they spent the evening in comfortable silence, gazing up at the stars, and drinking well into the night.

Soon, it had become their routine to get drunk on the rooftop. She could tell that Kim Doju was dumbfounded at this but the kind lady kept her thoughts to herself. Every evening she demanded her husband to use his energy and carry her up to the rooftop, and every evening he replied with a “Forget it” making her huff & puff her way to the top while he flashed through in a micro-second. Over drinks, she shared with him the exciting things she witnessed that day and bickered with him when his sharp replies pissed her off. All through, he shared very little about himself. But every night, when she would doze off on the rooftiles, she would find herself tucked up in the bed – alone, of course – with no sign of her husband wanting to share their marital bed.

One day, she purchased seeds from the market. “Roses and Bougainvillea” she said, spreading the seeds in the wet sand outside their bedroom window before motioning him with her eyes to use magic and make them grow. He complied with a sigh and magicked the flower plants to bloom while she held his arm and looked up at him in utmost happiness.

A week into their new routine, she brought home a purchased bottle of best-aged liquor from Chiseonworu. “Jang Uk” she called out as they were perched on the rooftiles with the bottle in between them. “Do you drink chaste tea?” she asked brusquely, slightly swaying in drunkenness.

“What !” he turned around startled, nearly dropping the contents of his drink.

“It’s just that…it’s been 11 days since our marriage, and you seem to have no interest in your wife” she said, pouting in disappointment. “So, I counted…” she continued, “the number of heads that turned my way in the streets today is 29. And by the boat dock, a man even recited poetry on the spot” she drawled, confusion contorting her face. “Given the overwhelming amount of proof, the only hypothesis I have for your non-interest in me is that you practice chastity” she concluded.

“You are truly crazy” he stuttered, looking away from her.

“So, it’s not true?” she tried to get a confirmation – pushing the bottle to her other side and scooting closer to him. “Jang Uk” she slapped her hand on the rooftiles in frustration when he did not respond.

He flashed her a look of exasperation that angered her further. “It is true then?” her tone raised a notch “But I don’t see you drink tea…so…is the liquor laced with chaste herbs then?” she prattled away “Wait…but, we have been drinking the same stash and I still feel….” her eyes unwittingly lingered on his lips and her voice trailed away, her cheeks coloring at what she nearly blurted.

“It’s late. Let’s call it a night” he said, trying to get up before she pulled him back to her with force. Looking into his angry dazzling eyes, she asked softly “Seobangnim. Yes?... or … No?”. His eyes moved over her face then and the intensity of his gaze sparked a flame within her. Her husband was chiseled perfection and, in that moment, he was not as composed as he usually appeared. “No” he said inching closer, making her breath hitch, before pulling away.

She held his hand and tugged hard, pulling him back to her for the second time. “Then, can I try something?” she asked her eyes wide and misting over, her earnestness plainly visible on her features. She inched closer and let her lips meet his for a brief, gentle touch. What started as a spark morphed into a lightning bolt when he took her mouth with a suddenness, deepening the kiss. Involuntarily, her body pressed into his fully and barely a beat after, he was gone. He practically vanished into thin air leaving her in an abysmal state of relief and agony.

Her husband did not come home for the next two days.

—————————————————————————

“How does Master Jang look today?” she heard the lanky servant ask Kim Doju as she entered her & Jang Uk’s living quarters after watching a sad sunset by Lake Gyeongchengdaeho. “Worse than usual. I don’t know how long he will be able to hold on tonight. He killed several soul-shifters today” she heard Kim Doju sigh. “Prepare the guest quarters. I will ask Lady Jang to sleep there tonight. She doesn’t need to suffer the chill here” Kim Doju ordered. “Yes, and I will place some extra braziers and liquor for Master Jang” the servant replied in a worried tone.

She quietly stepped out of their living quarters and walked towards the pagoda. Two courtyards separated their living quarters and the guest quarters. Kim Doju retired to her quarters on the north-east end of the house compound after suggesting her to take the guest bedroom. Gripping the pagoda railing, she started into the night contemplating whether or not to visit him when he was suffering, especially considering that he left because of her. An hour passed before she first sensed the resentful energy. Soon, the negative energy hit her in waves – with each wave stronger than the previous wave. She couldn’t stay still any longer, tip-toeing back into their living quarters to check if he was doing alright. It was the night of no moon and the house was pitch black and uber cold, teeming with negative energy. “Jang Uk” she called out stepping forward when she spotted his silhouette. He was seated in a lotus position on his bedding and appeared to be meditating or trying to. In the faint blue glow of the ice-stone within him, she noticed that he was gripping his fingers into tight fists to the point that his knuckles were white. The wraiths swarmed around him, screeching in pain and cajoling him to lose control so they can take over him altogether. He was resisting admirably but she could tell that it was extremely taxing.

She stood by the door helplessly, her tears spilling over, not knowing how to channel her still-nascent divine powers to ward off the numerous wraiths away from him. Her husband shook suddenly then, as if he was close to relinquishing his tight control. “Jang Ukkkk” she reached forward, shielding him completely with her body. He was ice-cold.

“GO AWAY” she commanded in “the voice” – a voice that didn’t sound like her own but it seemed to have bent the will of the wraiths who dared to harm her husband. She felt an awakening in her mind then that she couldn’t control. She laid her husband down in a comfortable position before she rose to tackle the wraiths that were still lurking in the corners of the room.

She picked up his nearly finished bottle of liquor from the bedside table. “HERE”, she commanded again in “the voice”, waving her hand and tapping the wooden bottle with her finger-tips, mentally willing the ghastly wraiths to enter the container. When they were in, she fastened the lid effectively trapping them in a physical barrier. She then left the bottle in a drawer so no one would accidentally disturb it.

She returned to her husband then and covered him with thick blankets before arranging his head on her lap and gently cooing that the wraiths were gone. As she ran her fingers repeatedly through his hair, he relaxed bit-by-bit, unclenching his jaw and fists and insides. Slowly, he curled himself into her, seeking her warmth, and slipping into an exhausted sleep.

While she still didn’t fully comprehend how she accomplished what she just did, she felt too depleted at that moment to give it much thought given how she had trouble sleeping over the past two days. Her last conscious thought as she slipped into sleep was that her husband was strong not because he possessed the ice-stone but because he resisted his mind from being corrupted by every being that coveted his power for over three long years.

—————————————————————————

“MuDeoki…” he murmured into her neck affectionately. “hmmm” she responded involuntarily in her sleep.

As sunlight streamed into their bedroom, she slowly stretched awake from what felt like a long, uninterrupted sleep only to realize that she was in bed, with her husband, who at the moment was embracing her from behind. She jolted awake at that and the sudden movement had her husband curling his hands around her waist and pulling her in closer. A hot flash zapped through her body. Slowly, she craned her around to face him and saw that he was asleep, with the remnants of last night’s struggle still visible on his tightly drawn features. Arousal and anger coursed through her at once.

She was angry with herself for being so vulnerable with him two days ago and possibly making an uninvited advance. She was angry with him for not touching her. She was angry with him for touching her and unceremoniously discarding her soon after. She was angry that even now - after being rejected by him for two days straight - as she watched his chiseled face, her body was responding to his proximity just as helplessly.

Her anger won. She tried to squirm out of his hold again only to have him slide his heavy leg over hers possessively and bury his large head in her neck while his fingers caressed the underside of her breasts in a maddening arc. Her heart sped up and she felt an intense pulse deep inside her belly.

“MuDeokah” he whispered in a gruff voice laced with sleep and full of longing. It took her a few seconds to register how he addressed her as his voice penetrated the dense haze of fluffy clouds in her head. She blinked rapidly as hot tears of mortification suddenly crowded her eyes. Was he only touching her comfortably thinking she was someone else? Her heart crumbled yet another time. She reminded herself that he was just a tool for her freedom and that she was just a tool for his peace and that it was way too soon to feel this intense connection with a man – husband or not. The lump in her throat got heavier. This time, she managed to jerk free all at once, jolting him awake in the process.

Jang Uk nearly protested at the loss of warmth before catching himself and pulling his hand back. It registered that until moments ago he was entwined with this new-wife, and that he was still in a state of painful arousal. Anger zapped through him at how his newly-wedded wife – who in this moment looked no less than a goddess – was threatening his memories with his beloved. He had once made many lofty promises and failed to fulfill most. He had failed to protect his master, his beloved but he vowed to love & cherish her to death and beyond and he intended to uphold the last promise he made to her.

When his wife came to help him last night, he never meant to fall asleep in her arms. But the selfish creature that he was, he accepted the care she extended and allowed himself to think that he deserved a night’s worth of peace and comfortable sleep. Self-disgust rolled off him as he saw his wife rise rapidly. Her eyes were wide and moist with tears and like every time she was distressed, he felt the irrational compulsion to hug her, comfort her, kiss her, distract her. This helplessness made him angrier for he didn’t understand why he felt such visceral emotions towards a woman he just met.

He stood up and pulled her dangerously close, letting their still aroused bodies collide. Their eyes clashed - blazing with purpose, fury, and defiance.

“I am a poisoned man. Don’t you dare come this close to me ever again” he warned.

“And I will personally feed you chaste herbs with every meal for the rest of your life if you dare take another woman’s name when you are in bed with me” she threatened.

He held her gaze for an intense moment before his eyes unwittingly lingered on her slightly parted lips & he nearly leaned in before walking out of their bedroom.

————————————————————————

The next morning, she remained buoyant in the bath water for a long time. She closed her eyes and relished the wetness of the band of white cotton cloth that was wrapped around her torso reaching just below her knees and the sensation of water lapping across her bare shoulders and calves. The image of his eyes – as he held her hand before he cut the tracking bracelet, as he leaned over her on the rooftop moments before kissing her – was never far from her mind. She splashed water around in annoyance. It didn’t help to think of him all the time, especially when he had disappeared again yesterday without offering her any token apology or explanation. He was way worse than a thug, she had decided. She emerged from the hot bath and in the process of pulling out a bath robe from the stand, her hands knocked over a large wooden tumbler which bounced about a few times on the hard floor before creating a big splash in water and causing the red rose petals to scatter across the room. “Aigoo !! the mess…” she mused exasperatedly as she began donning the bathrobe.

Seconds later, the bath-doors opened with a force and she turned around startled. It was her worse-than-a-thug husband. He stood tall radiating energy; his sword unsheathed. “What?” she managed to ask before her throat ran dry.

“Are you okay? I heard loud noise and thought you may have fallen” he whispered hoarsely, taking a step closer. The blood in her veins gushed into her ears and cheeks as she drowned in his sharp, intense gaze.

“…ummm…the tumbler…” she mumbled and any remaining words on her lips died when she felt his gaze leisurely slid down her face and neck and lower. Suddenly, she was aware of nothing but an invisible crackle in the air between them. A curtain of intense emotion was beginning to fall thickly around her.

“Are you in pain?” his voice dropped another octave as his eyes caressed the barely-healed scar on her shoulder with an emotion she could only term as infinite tenderness. She nodded a no, her hands holding onto the wooden column behind her for support.

Jang Uk knew that he needed to step away from her. He wished he didn’t have the power to notice but he noticed it all – all the details that were otherwise too swift for a regular human’s eyes and ears. He could see the responsiveness in her eyes that made him feel like a fucking king, he could hear the sudden intake of her breath as he stepped closer, he could feel the way her pulse jumped when his gaze slid over the slope of her neck, and he could hear the droplets that streamed down her wet hair and body touching the floor. And despite knowing that the best thing was to walk away, he took another step forward standing close enough for their breaths to mingle. He picked up a rose petal that was stuck to her neck and blew it away.

He saw her gulp and look away from his gaze momentarily. He could sense her trying to fight off the spell that was consuming them. When she looked back at him again, her eyes were blazing with purpose. “Why are you standing this close to me?” she asked not mincing words.

“You are going to catch a cold”, he stated calmly hovered a hand over her belly and channeling energy to dry her dripping long bandeau.

“Are you here to spread your poison?’ she asked as he leaned forward to weave his hands through her long hair, drying it with energy. Her body felt languid and she melted back against the column.

“Or are you here for an antidote to your poison?” she finished as she felt him draw in a long breath as if he was inhaling her scent. She felt like she was going to spontaneously combust any second.

For Uk, it was dejavu all over again. He continued to be stumped at how much she reminded him of her. Was it his yearning for his beloved that he was projecting onto his wife? His wife was soft and innocent and bright-eyed – a stark opposite to the woman he loved and yet, he observed such uncanny resemblances between them. Was he loosing his sanity?

“Jang Uk” she rudely interrupted his musings. “I may have told you that I like you but I really do not like to be cheated upon” she stated, indicating that his straying thoughts were not acceptable.

“Did you just offer yourself to be my personal brand of antidote?” he asked, grabbing her around the waist. Her breath released an audible exhale when her barely covered breasts pressed into his chest. The heat was more than she could bear.

“Why? Will you let me?” she replied.

He watched her face as he brought one of her hands closer to him and slowly kissed the pad of each of her fingers. It was such a novel experience for her that all she could do was watch it happen in fascination. His lips moved down to her wrist then and when he kissed the pulse there, it became erratic at this attention. When he pulled bsck, he saw that her eyes were hooded and brimming with intensity.

Her back arched and skin broke out in goosebumps everywhere when he moved her hair aside and nudged a sleeve of the bathrobe off to drop a kiss against the maimed skin of her shoulder. She had never felt anything as good as she did when his lips trailed up from her shoulder to her jaw and his teeth grazed the skin along the curve of her neck. He lingered there and sucked on a residual drop of moisture on her neck. “Seobangnim” she whimpered, arching off the wooden column and hugging him hard.

A beat later, he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up onto her tip-toes to kiss her lips. The kiss was frantic and hard and tender and sweet all at once. The moment felt inevitable – like it was an eternal flame of destiny that was pointless to try and douse.

—————————————————————————

Comments/Feedback is sincerely appreciated :-)

#fanfic #fanfiction #romance #alchemy of souls #alchemy of souls s2 #cho yeong #naksu #mu deok #jang uk #lee jae wook #go yoon jung #jung so min #kdrama #alchemy of souls light and shadow

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 1 year

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I just want to say I've really enjoyed the Previous Husband AU. Not only have the more violent themes been explored with care, but both Lena and Kara's perspectives have been so believable and human and I appreciate it so much. But there's one more thing that just--is so refreshing to me. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's read a ton of fanfic for these two, and have noticed some trends that don't always land for me. Like the trope of putting Lena in danger and having Kara immediately come crashing in for the rescue because she was 'listening for her heartbeat'. Which she never really does in the show--Lena is threatened and kidnapped by multiple big bads without Kara's knowledge over and over and when Kara does swoop in its because she is alerted through more practical means, ie being already on the phone with Lena, someone else playing Lena's mayday call in the DEO, Alex or someone letting her know there's been an attack on L corp, or Lena herself pressing the signal watch. And this isn't to say that this trope of 'Kara always listening in' isn't fun or never works--sometimes it hits the right spot for the particular story someone wants to tell and everyone goes home happy. But I just really appreciate that that's not the route you took here with the Previous Husband AU. It just feels more true to the canon characters and in a way to the cost of Kara's secret to have her wanting to fix things with her fists but ultimately being there to support Lena's decisions and hold her in the aftermath of Tom's violent acts. And having Lena's first instinct not to be to turn to any superpowered or high tech solution for her problem--but having the very real and heartbreaking depiction of her second guessing her own genius and perception of things, and going to her best friend because she doesn't know where else to go but she wants to trust the foundation of their friendship is still stable. And then having her meet with actual police and counselors and not just spirited off to the DEO--like I just cant tell you how much it means to me to have my favorite duo from a superhero show written in a way to deal with a very real and cruel situation in such an authentic way. Like, yes Kara is an alien with super speed and super strength. And yes Lena is incredibly intelligent and resourceful. But even they might sometimes deal with some awful real world problems/situations. And there are real world resources that they can use to deal with and resolve these things. It's just--I think it's really inspiring for anyone who identifies or sees a bit of themselves in Kara or Lena and just the way that your story seems to say 'even if you don't have powers or a twelfth level intellect, there is no shame and there is hope.' I just love it so much. Thank you for writing this story.

Thank you! It's one of the reasons I chose to make it a no-powers au, I really wanted this to be as pedestrian as possible. As you say, Kara's powers are often used as a deus ex machina, and that wasn't really a route I wanted to take here, so that I could take a more nuanced route in navigating this kind of situation.

Thank you so much for sending in this note! It was lovely to read this mornning. :)

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ladyniniane · 2 years

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Powerful queens

“There was a time (between the tenth and twelfth centuries) when the king’s wife acted as a consors regni alongside him, having been delegated a share of real power. During the tenth century, for example, the Queen of West Francia played a real role in diplomacy, as proven by a letter that King Hugh Capet addressed in 988 to Empress Theophano, Emperor Otto’s widow and regent of the empire in her son’s name. In it, he announced that ‘Queen Adelaide [his wife] co-bearer of the royalty with which we have associated her’ would meet with the empress in order to strengthen the pact of friendship that had been concluded between them. Here, the female sovereign appears as a consors regni (even though she did not officially hold the title), associated with the throne and capable of representing her husband in the outside world when wielding public power.

Royal charters equally attest to the Capetian queens’ participation in public affairs. They underwrote numerous acts by their spouses and sons, with 40 royal and seigneurial charters bearing their names between the mid-tenth century and the early twelfth century. On numerous occasions, they gave their consent to royal provisions (approximately 65 times during the same period). As a member of the curia regis, the female sovereign took part in governmental decisions. She was also present during important monarchical ceremonies, assemblies, the crowning of the dauphin and receptions for foreign dignitaries.

During the twelfth century, the reign of Adelaide of Maurienne (wife of Louis VI, d. 1155) and the reign of Adela of Champagne (third wife of Louis VII, d. 1206) in many ways represented the apex of this participation. Adelaide was the only queen for whom the years of her reign were mentioned in the royal diplomas after that of her husband. In total, her name appeared 45 times in the royal charters, attesting to her participation in the kingdom’s affairs. It was notably recorded alongside that of Louis VI on charters guaranteeing churches and monasteries royal protection as well as on acts granting privileges to certain urban communes. Adelaide was also the first female sovereign to issue a large number of acts in her own name, which she stamped with a large diplomatic seal. Adela of Champagne’s reign was equally exceptional. From 1163-1164 and after the death of Louis VII (1180), she granted 110 acts, all of which were passed in her own name.”

Queenship in medieval france 1300-1500, Murielle Gaude-Ferragu

#history #women in history #women's history #queens #france #french history #10th century #12th century #middle ages #medieval history #adelaide of aquitaine #adelaide of maurienne #adela of champagne

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endlessly-cursed · 1 year

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𝘿𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙤𝙛 𝙂𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙜𝙤𝙬

"𝘿𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙭."

BASICS

Name: Dayana of Glasgow

Birthday: 16th of May, 990 AD

Zodiac sign: Taurus

Weight: 70kg

Height: 1.72m

Religion: Atheist

Eye colour: Hazel

Hair colour: Blonde

Faceclaim: Vilda Ataveser ( gif credits to @hurrems )

FAMILY

Mother: Brunhilda of Cologne

Her role model in some aspects, they’re close and Dayana sort of knew who her mother was and was her best defender and supporter. She had founded the school of Hogwarts and was a powerful witch, and Dayana craved to have that power. When she turned twelve, her parents’ marriage broke and went to live near the Dohertys. She’d later be betrothed to the eldest son.

Father: Wilhelm of Paris

Wilhelm wasn’t the most present father, or the most affectionate, yearning for a son and neglecting Dayana for being a girl and reminding him of Brunhilda, he only cared when showing off and wanting to antagonize her mother, though it never worked out. When he tried to marry her off to a much older man, Dayana, her mother and sister packed everything and left. She never heard of him until his death.

Other relatives: Matilda of Essex

Sweet, a bit naive, but ambitious and cunning, Dayana and Matilda were very different, but loved one another nevertheless. They were closer once they moved in with the Dohertys and though Matilda soon married at sixteen Odalric the Red, they remained close.

Younger brother: Louis of Montpensier

Dayana and Louis never got along, for he was spoiled for being the only male son and heir to the fortune, and Dayana hated that she wasn’t him. He was but a child when they left and never spoke. She wasn’t even invited to his own wedding to Aurelia de León.

Friends: TBD

Significant Other: Samhradhan ‘Sam’ Doherty ( @hphmmatthewluther & @camillejeaneshphm )

Dayana and Sam met at Hogwarts, and during their second year, they were betrothed to one another. Dayana decided to get to know her future husband, and, along the years, fell in love with one another and lived a happy life.

[MORE INFO TBD]

PERSONALITY

Overall personality: Cunning, wise, intelligent, hard-working, ambitious and perspicacious, Dayana is a spoiled princess who always gets her way and has a high self-esteem, who is always right and has a mighty presence that can light the whole room. She takes no shit and is a no-bullshit person, but, in the end, like her mother, is soft for those whom she loves, which aren’t many.

Positive traits: Cunning, wise, intelligent, perspicacious

Negative traits: Proud, haughty and mighty

Guilty pleasure: NA

HOMETOWN

Dayana, being descended from one of the founders of Hogwarts, lived in the Scottish Highlands and was born on Glasgow (hence her name) and developed a strong Scottish accent alongside her French. She grew up in an Anglo-Saxon estate, though it was destroyed during the conquest of William the Conqueror, given that her father oppossed them.

BACKSTORY

Dayana of Glasgow was born on 990 AD of Brunhilda of Cologne and Wilhelm of Paris, who were first cousins. She was their first child, and her birth disappointed her father, who longed for a son.

She grew up with everything handed on a silver spoon and had a fairly good childhood when she wasn’t reminded of the fact that she was not a son. Two more siblings joined: Matilda and Louis. They all lived fairly well until her twelfth birthday.

Her father wanted to marry her off to a much older man, and Bruna wanted to betroth her to her old love’s son. They argued, and Dayana heard all of it, and the marriage fell apart. Bruna took her and Matilda with her, though couldn’t take her son with her due to law and never returned. She continued on her education, now betrothed to the eldest Doherty boy. They fell in love during those six years and continued on the legacy.

MISC

Dayana has the gift of oratory and her magnificence helped her to earn the favour of many

She is strong-minded and dislikes being told what to do or how to behave

She is her mother’s supporter and helped her hide her relationship with the Doherty marriage with her own.

At sixteen, she and Sam were married, and after graduating, they lived together a happy life despite the conflict in the Muggle world.

She also can play the cithara and has a lovely singing voice

She is strikingly tall for her age

She could speak Latin, Ancient Greek, Old French and Spanish

She was the one to introduce Matilda and Odalric

Her brother continued the family line that would be born as the Dubois family.

#founder's era #hp founders era #founder era fankid #dayana of glasgow #oc: brunhilde of cologne #wilhelm of paris #sam doherty #lachlann doherty #mathilde coventry #doherty family #dubois family #character sheet #side character

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sucrosette · 5 months

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★— ⋆｡˚ [Dreams Lost]

For Day 11 of Carry on Countdown 23, Side Ships/Alternative Ships. @carryon-countdown

A twelve-year-old Basil thinks about his mother, his father, and the relationship they'd had once upon a time, through the lens of their wedding album.

This is rated G, for General Audiences. For once in my life, Basil's not cussing.

⋆｡˚

Sometimes, Basilton likes to fantasize that he’s at his parent’s wedding. Not just for no reason, no. He supposes it might not be an uncommon sort of fantasy or daydream, but for Baz it comes from less the wedding itself and more the soft memories of going through the old photo album with his mother before that day at Watford. Once upon a time, she would sit him on her lap and point out all the people in the photos, quoting them and letting him flip the pages gently with his chubby little toddler hands.

His mother’s meticulous care of books just one of many reflections of her that live within Basil to this day, her words still echoing in his mind. “Remember where you got it from, what order it was in, be careful with the pages and when you put it back on the shelf.” His memories of every lesson she’d taught him still fresh in his mind and it’s no wonder this old album is a part of where those habits had come from.

“There’s only so many copies of this book in existence, little puff, we have to be especially careful when we handle this one,” She would tell him, and he would lean his little body back against her chest and listen while she rambled on him about all about how she’d won his father’s hand.

So in times when Basil misses her in excess, to the point where he can’t quite sleep, he slips his way downstairs and pulls down the album from the mantel and recalls her voice and her stories. He often finds himself there the summer after his twelfth birthday, recalling her scratchy hands and raspy voice, a contrast to her soft hold keeping him pulled warm against her touch.

Natasha Pitch had always been full of life and that was never truer than it had been on the day of her wedding. Her smile had been all teeth the whole day long, from the dressing room and private glasses of wine with Fiona all the way to the aisle, walking herself down towards her husband to be, purposeful and determined.

The crowd was a small one, the wedding party even smaller, but that’s what happened when an old magick girl married a simple farmboy. You could tell she didn’t care about the difference in their power or families or history though, Natasha’s eyes sparkled only for Malcolm, and him? He adored her wholly.

He was so soft standing there, his face round and full of joy. Malcolm Grimm still had his simple view of life then, nothing there to complicate things in his mind. The only thing he was thinking about on the day of his wedding was how beautiful Natasha’s looking in her dress and how much he couldn’t wait to dance with her after the ceremony.

Malcolm’s caught crying twice-over during the vows, but he was smiling brighter than ever, even as his wife stood half a head taller than him, intimidating in her heels. She had to lean down to meet him in their kiss, her hands holding his tight, that grip showing even in grainy photos years and years later.

Baz would like to ask if he still remembered it, but he knew his father would avoid the subject, especially remarried as he is now. Baz wishes he could remember their vows. There’s no video of the ceremony and his father never talks about the soft sides of his mother anymore, only the expectations and standards she held herself to.

Baz turns another page and her dress whirls in his mind, the skirt taking up half the dance floor even with the train pinned up. She’s smiling bright enough to blind the cameraman, a family friend, Baz knows, but he couldn’t remember who. It’s amateur work, but again, that’s what happened when your very rich family disapproved of the match. Baz can still hear her singing along to the music, like she used to sing in his ears when they reached this page, a soft impression of what had surely been a lively scene.

Malcolm laughed with every other step. Basil wishes often he would do that more often. Fiona stepped in to steal a dance from her sister and Malcolm’s smile ran all the way up into his eyes. It’s been so long since there’d been a genuine laugh between them, a deep smile like that, sometimes he wonders if his father even remembers how.

“Be generous with him, firestarter,” Basil hears her rasp in his mind, as she had told him time and again, “Remember your father is not as rigid as me. He’s strong in his own way, but you have to be patient with him.”

So many times he had tested his father, even before she had… even before everything in Basil had changed. He knows his own obstinance is another reflection of his mother and sometimes he can’t help but wonder if that’s why it’s so hard for his father to look at him properly, because looking at him is a stubborn, headstrong, striking resemblance of Natasha Grimm. He wonders if it’s his fault his father’s gone and tried to steal some of her ferocity for himself– just so Malcolm could stand a chance of survival against his own son’s iron will.

He tries not to linger too long on that train of thought, turning the page to another softer memory. Another softer Malcolm in love with his mother.

In Baz’s long, sleepless nights, looking down at these pictures in the dim light of the singular lamp he’d bothered to light, Baz can see some of that tender heart his father kept hidden so far away. The way his father tucked her thick raven hair back behind her ear, even if he had to reach up to do so, the way he kissed the corner of her mouth and made her eyes go wide with whatever he’d been saying in that photo. He could almost hear Malcolm Grimm telling his wife how much he loves her, if Baz could listen carefully enough.

He doesn’t remember all the little things she’d said about every photo, all the names of their friends and the few family members who had deigned to attend the humble service, but he feels the love his parents had between them vibrate off the page. He feels the dedication they’d had for each other, the deep, deep affection in every careful touch their family friend turned cameraman had managed to capture. More than that, Malcolm is so proud to be the one holding Natasha’s hand, so proud that he won her as much as she won him.

When he had been the Malcolm he had been back then, soft and supportive and probably a little naive, he’d told Natasha about how they’d have the years together, about how much he adored her, all the places they’d visit and things they’d do together. When Malcolm hadn’t had to be the head of house, he’d dreamed a future with Natasha, and in the pages of their book, Basil hears the whispers of the dreams that had been lost to them both.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #my writing #baz's daddy issues strike again #malcolm grimm #natasha grimm-pitch #i chose the hardest way to write this #if the tenses are a mess do not perceive me #this might be the angstiest i've written for this month #i meant to have a more direct gaze on malcolm and natasha but then baz's bad introspection hit #oops #it's still about them though

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dwellordream · 2 years

Text

“...Noblewomen appear in twelfth-century texts as both active subjects and passive objects, in complex ways, pursuing political ambition, as religious, pious wives, mothers and daughters. Such views of women depend very much on genre, date of composition and context of entry of a female character into the narrative. It is important to recognise that medieval writers wrote within convention. When Étienne de Fougères wrote his Le Livre des Manières in 1160–70, he described good and bad women, and used the countess of Hereford as his model of female courtly, aristocratic and ‘good behaviour’.

In the early twelfth century, Baudri de Bourgeuil wrote of the beauty of his subjects within a convention which dated from the poetry of Maximillian; therefore he wrote of eyes that shine like stars or teeth like ivory. Orderis Vitalis’s view of women’s power in the context of their political and warlike activity, like his view of men, is ambiguous, and by no means monolithic. For example, Orderic described women actively engaged in the military campaigns of their husbands. Isabel of Conches rode out to war ‘armed as a knight among the knights, and she showed no less courage among the knights in hauberks than did the maid Camilla’.

His story focuses on the disagreements between Helewise, the wife of William, count of Evreux, and Isabel of Conches, wife of Ralph of Tosny, who caused their husbands to take up arms against each other. Although the female warrior may well be no more than a ‘well-worn literary motif ’, it is striking that Orderic ascribes different personal qualities to each woman. Isabel is praised as a generous, daring and gay character who was well loved. Her opponent Helewise is by contrast ‘clever and persuasive, cruel and grasping’. He later commented on Isabel’s retirement to a nunnery, where she ‘worthily reformed her life’ and repented of her ‘mortal sin of luxury’.

On the presence of women at the battle of Ascalon, he states that women remained off the battlefield with the noncombatants and that they are ‘unwarlike by nature’. The emotional weakness of women is made gender-specific in Orderic’s discussion of the expedition and aftermath of the defeat and capture of Mark Bohemond when campaigning against the Turks. He states that Tancred, the commander in chief, ‘did not give way like a woman to vain tears and laments’ but mustered an army and governed the lands.

This assertion that women’s emotional weakness affects their judgement is a recurring theme in twelfth-century chroniclers. Powerful women who pursued their own political objectives in contexts that Orderic disapproved of, like their male counterparts, usually meet an ignominious end. The image of a powerful widow such as Adelais, the widow of Roger I count of Sicily, could be mutable. Orderic portrays her in a relatively sympathetic light when she ruled with counsellors for her son.

However, he turns her into a murderous poisoner who, after marrying for a third time, is repudiated by her husband and dies ‘an object of general contempt’ and ‘stained with many crimes’. Orderic approves a context for legitimate action which is thus as a widow in the stead of a legitimate heir. Aubrée, the wife of Ralph of Ivry, had built an ‘almost impregnable castle’. Yet this achievement is tempered with the tale that she was killed by her own husband for attempting to expel him from it.

Orderic’s portrayal of such powerful women is complex. Mabel of Bellême is depicted as a cruel woman who deserved to meet a miserable end, murdered in her bed by a vassal whom she had deprived of his lands. Chibnall believes that the detail of a murder of a warrior in a bath lies within the epic tradition. Thus she implies that the story is a fabrication. The historicity of the detail is not as important here as the significance of the way in which Mabel’s death is described.

Orderic depicts Mabel using conventions of the epic genre; such a portrayal adds a certain dignity to her reputation whilst paradoxically seeking to destroy it, and thus he inverts the topos. In recompense for this Orderic records her obituary, as it was inscribed upon her tomb, but he states this was ‘more through the partiality of friends than any just deserts of hers’. The obituary states that she gave good counsel, provided patronage and largesse, protected her patrimony, was intelligent, energetic in action and possessed honestas – honour, dignity.

Orderic’s sharp comment, however, is reflective of the nature of contemporary politics in early twelfth-century Normandy as much as of his distrust of women. The Bellême family were the hereditary enemies of the Giroie family, who were the founders of Orderic’s monastery of St Evroul. Orderic’s portrayal of Mabel of Bellême is therefore reflective of both contemporary clerical distrust of women in power and the nature of contemporary politics in Normandy. Orderic’s attention to human frailty leads him to praise both men and women or condemn them for lapses in behaviour.

Orderic records women’s obituaries on several occasions, for example, Countess Sibyl, who allegedly died from poisoning, is praised for her birth, beauty, wealth, chastity, largesse and prudence. Women are usually praised for their beauty, fertility and religiosity: traits which Orderic admired in women. Other clerics in the twelfth century likewise wrote obituaries for women, including Baudri of Bourgeuil and Robert Partes, a monk, of Reading, who in the mid-twelfth century wrote nine obituaries for his mother which he sent to his twin brother.

Orderic voices most approval for women who act within the context of religious patronage, and who are often depicted as acting with their sons and husbands to ensure the security of their gifts to his monastery. In this respect women are portrayed as having a beneficial influence. Avice, the daughter of Herbrand, who married Walter of Heugleville, is praised for her ‘advice and wise counsel’, her care for ‘widows, waifs and the sick’, as well as her beauty. She was ‘most fair of face’, ‘well spoken and full of wisdom’; he praised her prudence and her ‘golden tongue’.

She acted as a civilising influence on her husband and ‘restrained him from his earlier folly’. Indeed, Orderic copied her epitaph, which was composed for her by ‘Vitalis the Englishman’. Her praiseworthy traits are her nobility, fair face, wisdom, modesty, sound morality, her fertility (she had twelve children ‘most of whom died prematurely in infancy’), her generosity to the church, and her constancy and chastity.

Stephen Jaeger believes that women played a civilising role in society, and that romance literature created chivalric values, values adapted from a social code of courtliness. Orderic thus apparently articulated the civilising influence of women upon their husbands prior to the emergence of romance literature. Indeed, this beneficial role of a wife in directing the morality of her husband is clear in Orderic’s tale of a Breton whose wife persuaded him to give up a life of crime by obeying her wise counsels.

Orderic’s portrayal of women, laced with his perception of the appropriate behaviour of women at different stages of their life cycle, confirms the validity of Stafford’s general approach. Thus a good wife encourages her husband in religious patronage, will offer advice and be obedient to her husband’s wishes. A wife will give good counsel. Orderic’s ambiguous view of women’s influence extends to his view of sexual power.

He describes how Adela, the wife of William duke of Poitou, used the marital bed to persuade her husband to go on crusade: ‘between conjugal caresses’ she urged him to go for the sake of Christendom, and to protect his honour. Orderic calls her mulier sagax et animosa. The importance of the female life cycle underpins Orderic’s portrayal of Windesmoth, the wife of Peter lord of Maule. She is praised for her modesty, chastity, piety, fecundity and her respect for her stepmother.

He approves of the fact that she was young and newly married, since she was ‘unformed’ and thus more open to her husband’s influence. Once widowed, she lived as a virtuous and ‘happy matron’, and remained chaste and unmarried for fifteen years, ‘dutifully supported by her son in her husband’s chamber up to old age!’ This theme of the obedient compliant wife and chaste widow is evident in the portrayal of Windesmoth’s daughter-in-law.

Her son Ansold, when on his deathbed, urged his wife, Odeline, to live chastely in widowhood, and to continue to guide their children morally until adulthood, and he implored her to release him from the marital bond so that he could become a monk. She ‘wept copiously’ and obediently consented to his wishes, since ‘she had never been in the habit of opposing his will’. Orderic praises the obedience of women to their husband and sons, and approves of chastity in widowhood.

The articulation of such values confirms the importance of the female life cycle and gender roles upon the portrayal of the power of wives and widows. The vulnerability of women, and their dependence on their husband or kin, are a recurring theme in Orderic’s history of the great Norman families. It also confirms that wives had important roles to play in lordship. For example, Radegund, the wife of Robert of Giroie, deputised for her husband whilst he was on campaign, but she lost control of the household knights when news of his death reached her.

This example is suggestive of the vulnerability of wives to the vagaries of their husband’s political fortunes, but also their supportive and martial roles. Such vulnerability is reflected in the exile of Agnes, daughter of Robert de Grandmesnil, after her husband, Robert of Giroie, had disregarded King Henry’s will and attacked Enguerrand l’Oison. The difficult position of noblewomen because of contemporary political volatilities and the importance of familial connections is evident in the example of Matilda de L’Aigle.

Orderic states that she shared her husband’s bed ‘fearfully, for three months only, amid the clash of arms’ and ‘for many years led an unhappy life in great distress’ after the imprisonment of her husband. Her second marriage was no greater success: she was repudiated by her second husband, Nigel d’Aubigny, after the death of her brother. The impact that war and political misfortune could have on family members is often depicted.

Orderic’s story of the resolution of a dispute between Henry I and Eustace of Breteuil, a powerful Norman lord who had control of the strategic castle of Ivry, shows how women used kin networks to their advantage. Eustace was married to Juliana, an illegitimate daughter of Henry by a concubine. The marriage was of course a political alliance, but Orderic illuminates the difficulties this could cause women.

Henry had control of Eustace’s castle at Ivry, and agreed to return the castle at a later date. In order to show faith between Henry I and Eustace hostages were exchanged, but on malicious advice Eustace put out the eyes of the boy that he received. As a result Henry I handed over his two granddaughters to the father of the blinded boy, who then had them blinded and the tips of their noses cut off.

This drove Eustace and Juliana to rebel. Juliana was sent to her husband’s castle of Breteuil ‘with the knights necessary to defend the fortress’, whilst Eustace fortified his castles of Lire, Glos, Pont-Saint-Pierre and Pacy. Juliana’s defence of the town of Breteuil was undone by the betrayal of the burgesses of the town. Henry besieged Juliana in the castle and, Orderic states, ‘However, as Solomon says there is nothing so bad as a bad woman’ – because she plotted to kill her father with a crossbow bolt, having requested a meeting with him.

Her bolt missed and she was forced to surrender the castle to her father, who refused to let her leave with dignity. ‘By the king’s command she was forced to leap down from the walls’ into the icy moat ‘shamefully with bare buttocks’; Orderic calls her an ‘unlucky amazon’. Her defeat and loss of the castle were not enough in Orderic’s narrative. The historicity of the tale is less important than the fact that Orderic uses voyeuristic detail to portray her in a demeaning and humiliating way.

Juliana was in a difficult political situation where conflicting family ties made her position as wife and daughter of protagonists difficult: her loyalty to her husband is, however, predominant. The allegation of her intention to commit patricide is indicative of Orderic’s awareness of her pain, rage and anger at the mutilation of her children. The image of women supporting their husbands runs through many contemporary sources.

Three key narrative sources, Orderic Vitalis, William of Newburgh and William of Malmesbury, confirm that powerful women played important roles in the decisive political campaigns of 1141. Orderic Vitalis states that Matilda countess of Chester and Hawise countess of Lincoln acted as decoys in a ruse by which earl Ranulf managed to capture Lincoln castle. They were ‘laughing and talking with the wife of the knight who ought to have been defending the castle’ when Ranulf went as though to escort his wife home.

Ranulf overpowered the king’s guards and seized the castle. This event was a turning point in the civil war and the catalyst of the further events which led to uneasy peace negotiations between the empress and King Stephen. William of Malmesbury in his Historia Novella likewise illustrates the role of wives in supporting their husbands in 1141. He shows that after the battle of Lincoln, which resulted in the capture of Earl Robert of Gloucester and King Stephen, Earl Robert knew he that he could rely on his wife, the countess Mabel, to support his political strategy.

When cajoled and then threatened by Stephen’s supporters to abandon the empress, he remained steadfast in his opposition, able to do so since he knew that his wife would send Stephen to Ireland should anything happen to him. William of Malmesbury also shows Mabel’s concern at the capture and imprisonment of her husband. He states that she was willing to accept a proposal detailing the exchange of the earl for less than his true ransom value, driven as she was by ‘a wife’s affection too eager for his release’.

Malmesbury then adds that Robert earl of Gloucester ‘with deeper judgement refused [the offer]’. Malmesbury is careful to stress Mabel’s reliance on her husband’s decisions even when he was imprisoned. Mabel’s political judgement is thus portrayed as affected by her emotions and weaker than that of her husband. Countess Mabel was an important linchpin in continuing the political strategy of the Angevin cause whilst Earl Robert was imprisoned, having a central role in securing the release of Earl Robert.

John of Worcester portrays both the countess Mabel and Stephen’s queen Matilda as proactively involved in the negotiating process. Both the queen and Mabel are portrayed as supporting their husbands, negotiating with each other through messengers. It is striking that there is no disparaging comment, only recognition of their actions as peacemakers, and indeed power brokers, involved in careful diplomacy.”

- Susan M. Johns, “Power and Portrayal.” in Noblewomen, Aristocracy and Power in the Twelfth-Century Anglo-Norman Realm

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