who cares about title

5

I’m trying to piece together what happened to Jumin’s mom.

The really popular opinion is that one post that posited that she has mental health issues and is incarcerated somewhere.
Personally, I like that theory. A lot. It’s true to MysMe’s underlying mental health theme. And this is Tumblr. We want to take care of our mental health community.

But I think the story is a different kind of sad.
I think Jumin’s mother is exactly like all the other women. I think she married Mr. Han for money. I think Mr. Han cheated on her a lot. And I think they divorced when Jumin was young, and Mr. Han won custody.

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i don’t care about boys who fear fire: a playlist for Esme Squalor. The title comes from a shitpost I saw once. Cover art by @beedallo (8tracks | Playmoss)

Fame - Irene Cara // They Told Me - Sallie Ford & the Sound Outside // Fabulous - High School Musical 2 // Money - That Poppy // Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend - The Puppini Sisters // Neophile - Unwoman // Boring - The Pierces // Funny Honey - Renee Zellweger // Incapable of Regret - Rasputina

Wow, aren’t we so lucky that three full timers got to bust their asses, show that all three of them are capable of carrying the Universal title, only for them to have to suck it up, and allow some lazy, part time, roided up shithead who doesn’t even care about the business walk out with a title he doesn’t deserve?

The Emerald Necklace

Originally posted by iheartgot

Request: anon asked “hey love could you please write a jon snow imagine? the reader grew up with the starks and somehow formed a romantic relationship with jon during that time. but she had to leave winterfell because her father married her off to some lesser northern lord (one of the reasons why jon decided to take the black). fast forward to sansa and jon trying to gather allies for battle of the bastards, they meet again and they realize their feelings only grew, not forgotten. thank you hun! ((this is long omg))”

Warnings: arranged marriage

Word Count: 1931 (longest thing I’ve ever done!!)

Notes: I LOVED WRITING THIS!!!  PLZ ENJOY

Your name: submit What is this?

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Divided

You have a carnal relationship with Harald, but Ellisif steps in when you are falling in love… She’s his duty, she’s his love. He surely has no place in his life for you, or at least that’s what you thought. 

Set on Episode 19.

WARNINGS: Angst, Smut, NSFW, overly romantic Harald, violence

Originally posted by toherdarkness


You were squirming on the makeshift bed and the rough fabric wrinkled under your weight. Sleep kept shunning you.

It was a dark night without moon. There barely were any fires left and the silence was unsettling. Where were the high spirits of the men and the women who had answered the call, just as you, to avenge Ragnar Lothbrok?

The heat of Harald’s skin between your thighs still accompanied you. His hard fingertips tracing your form with forbidden longing. You knew he hadn’t been thinking about you, but her, for as always, he had shut his eyes.

Some time ago you almost believed he loved you.

His kisses used to be gusts of lust, as scant as precious for you. On your neck, on your shoulders, on your back… But that one was not like the rest.

He was already inside you, moving his hips brusquely. He huffed with each pleasurable brush, while you contained the moans that threatened to wake up the celestial realm. With a final thrust he poured his seed. His eyes, of the colour of the sky, stared at you. It surprised you that he wrapped you in his arms and that he guided your face to his with his hand. His lips met yours. He devoured you with a ravenous hunger. You responded mirroring his manners, daring even to draw the tattoos on his cheek.

You noticed that he hadn’t closed his eyelids. Saliva started to dance out of your mouths, and suddenly he found again your crotch, warm and wet. His fingers sunk inside you without breaking the kiss. His thumb assaulted your most sensitive bundle, driving you closer to ecstasy. When you reached orgasm, he parted from you to admire how your expression twisted in joy. His hand didn’t stop pushing against you until your muscles relaxed.

He didn’t ask you to leave either, nor did he try to speed up your departure getting dressed immediately. He gave you a last kiss on your clavicle, coated in sweat witness of your acts.

You couldn’t stay and he couldn’t request it.

In silence you fled, cursing to whoever had made Harald a king and had given you such an ignoble lineage.

You almost believed then you had touched his heart. However right after the loving revelation, along with his army and the ones of many other kings and earls, she arrived. His pupils didn’t reflect you anymore, but a blonde vision of loveliness whose name was Ellisif. You weren’t able to avoid the jealousy or the sadness which devastated you on those days in Kattegat. No one other than him, the man who provoked and didn’t have the power to mend it, realised your misfortunes; after all, who else were to care about a mere pawn, an unimportant person, without titles, without more possessions than the ones you carried? Who was going to pay attention to you, a nobody?

It was relief what you felt when you observed he hadn’t given up your bed, an uncomfortable relief that shouldn’t have existed. He was aware of your aversion, and knew any attempt of care would only serve as insults for you. On your behalf, you did all that was in your hand to ignore whatever feelings he had except for the sweet anaesthesia of his passion.

Before setting sails, during the journey if the sailors were drunk or either of you was in watch, before battles: those were the moments you used to vent. Your hips ended up sore and his chest, decorated with bleeding scratches and purple marks. There was not any other thing than friction, and the overwhelming delight that numbed everything.

None of those memories could make you sleep in any way. Not when they messed up your head and confused all your being.

You decided to get up. Even if you hated to admit it, Harald was the only one who managed to sooth with his presence the remains of torment of your mind and body. The other two shieldmaidens who rested in your tent were unconscious, completely oblivious to their surroundings. You exited unseen, your tunic held in your firm fists.

You didn’t come across anyone in your way to Harald. None that would persuade you against your will, nor distract you. And maybe it was what you wanted, an exterior force that broke the spell driving you to him. Each step seemed to bring you closer to ruin.

The uncertainty put your nerves on edge. You weren’t even sure about why you intended in seeking your king. There was something beyond carnal desire, and you should have repressed it. You should have disregarded it. Yet there was no turning back; your feet were moving out of pure instinct.

It was a dangerous game to resort to your most intimate emotions. You had suffered, hating yourself and Harald because of it. You could have distanced from him, but he had become an urgent necessity in your life; his touch made you forget everything else. Even though his words hurt, since he affirmed he’d never been in love with other than Ellisif, nothing chased away the love that Freyja had placed in your guts, because for a brief instant you had met tenderness in his caresses.

The cloths composing the shelter of you king popped in front of you.

Your breathing was rugged. You considered to enter. Was this a divine test? Would the stars have the reply for your doubts?

You gave in; you own hand committed treason and had opened the tent. There was a dim light in a corner of the room, near the bed. The rest of the objects weren’t visible, but you had been there many times and you had learnt the distribution by heart. Harald was sat next to the light. He sharpened his sword methodically.

“You should rest.”

His voice was deep and grave. He didn’t have to turn his head around to know it was you. It was obvious he couldn’t sleep either. The metallic sound of the blade filled the place, shy, unable to compete with your respirations.

You approached him slowly and spoke.

“I can’t sleep.”

His scent reached you. He smelt like iron and the soap the slaves used to clean his robes. Hanging from his hair you found his own perfume. It downed your senses when he was stripped from whatever that wasn’t himself. He hadn’t loosen his braid, which waved along his movements.

“And what is it you want?” He discarded the weapon and stood.

His features were covered by the gloom, but you could see the seriousness he displayed. He unconvinced raised his arm. He grazed your cheek with the pads of his fingers. Unlike previous encounters, you didn’t reject him. Confidence started to build, and he used his palm to caress you; you were lost in his touch. You closed your eyes, tilting your head.

“I don’t understand.” He sighed. “This morning you were just looking for a quick fuck, and you spitted at me when I tried to hug you.” You frowned. You didn’t discerned if it was resentment or sorrow, and you didn’t understand what the cause behind was. He didn’t care about you. “What have I done now for you to treat me in this way?”

“Nothing.” You murmured. He took his other hand to your face, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“Tell me.”

“This needs to be out last time.” His jaw tensed and he gulped. You hadn’t planned it, but you heard reason and it told you to end it.

“Why?”

“You killed her husband. You can marry her.”

Harald nodded. He saw the pain boiling within you, yet it was not larger than his. He tried to pay no mind to it; his heart had always belonged to his princess, it was what had to be done. The devotion he felt for you was not appropriate. There wasn’t a happy ending ready for you both.

He sighed and nodded once more.

He closed the distance between you and him with a kiss. The hair of his beard scraped, but it didn’t prevent you from reacting. The taste of his lips began to mix with yours. You opened your mouth out of habit; you knew Harald would be turned on by then. Indeed, his tongue made his way in. His moist muscle conquered everything it touched; he memorised your teeth one by one, strolled along your gums.

He was enveloped in lechery and contradiction. He detached himself from you to observe your countenance, victim of the same desire as him. Another kiss and he led you to his bed, where he laid you. He pressed his body against your, his lips wilder if possible.

You could feel his arousal rising little by little. Each motion collided with your centre, and it was not enough for Harald. He got a mouthful of your cheek, what made you release a groan, and he descended to your neck. He inhaled your essence, squeezing harder. His mouth slid across the delicate skin of your throat, bursting with desperation.

“If you are going to leave marks, they can’t be seen.” You demanded Harald. He didn’t like the idea of hiding what he did to you, of everyone ignorant of who adored you at night. He complained but agreed.

He undid the laces which hold together the upper part of your tunic. Your breasts spilt out of their restriction. His hand grabbed one and knead it. He found delight in the softness of your curves. At the same time his lips seized a nipple, his fingers rolled the other. Content with your moans you tried to restrain in vain in order not to get caught, he glanced at you, completely defeated by pleasure. His thumb tapped upwards and downwards, making insufferable the lack of friction you needed in your crotch.

His manhood was about to explode in his pants. You felt it, harder and harder, but he was determined in taking you apart one last time with his attentions. He lowered one of his clever hands. He gathered the skirt of your tunic on your hips. Like that, exposed to him, he gave the same treatment to your most sensitive bud, torturing it. He circled it, gasps coming out of you. He was rough, pinching it even, and it was driving you mad.

“Harald!” You whispered. Tears were starting to form; you couldn’t take it much longer. He freed your clitoris, instead prodding into your slick opening. He was teasing, soaking his fingers without pushing them inside.

“Do something!” You blurted in frustration.

“You know how to ask for it.”

Please.” He chuckled. “My king, I beg you.”

“What do you want?”

“Fuck me!” You rocked your hips, but he wanted you to elaborate. He liked watching you talk obscenely, displaying shame.

“What with?”

“Your fingers, your dick!” He was enjoying this way too much. Still, you felt his hand creeping up on you, so you continued. “I don’t care, just fuck me, please! My king!”

He buried two digits deep inside you. He moved them, but your need wasn’t pacified. You needed him to be rougher, to stretch you. He was avoiding your special spot and you just found your body asking for more.

“Harald, stop teasing me, you bastard.”

“Since you are asking it so nicely…”

He dropped his breeches. You must have been such a sight, half clothed, your private parts showing. He thought you were the most beautiful creature alive when you surrendered to him. His erections stood out proudly. Its head was bright red, oozing. The veins got lost in a bush or curls. Even if he was of thick girth and certainly not short, it was the way he used his cock what made it delicious.

You grasped his shirt and brought him to you. He ripped though you at last. You were full, and you shared a dirty smile with the man. He hold the underside of your thighs, drawing your legs apart more.

“Does this feel good?” You tossed your head in what you hoped was a yes. He had you at his mercy, and he laughed because of it. He was not going to waste any second of your encounter.

His first thrust was experimental, steady. Yet he knew what he was doing. You moaned loudly, placing a hand against your mouth when you realised you should be quiet. Satisfied, he set a savage pace. He shoved himself deep inside you over and over.

“You love the feeling of my dick, don’t you?” He was hitting your most receptive place repeatedly. The smacking sound echoed. The tingly sensation was spreading through your flesh and your sex was on fire. Sweat was forming pearls on your forehead. The knot on your stomach was getting stronger. He was attempting to take everything in; your spine arching under him, your eyes closed, your hisses leaking despite your hand blocking them, you… He rammed himself in; he was going to come soon and he needed to watch you go undone before.

He fiddled with your clitoris. The bliss exploded in you and you shouted. You hoped nobody heard you, although at this point you cared little about what was happening that was not you or Harald. Your gushing cunt, convulsing around him, was all he needed. His juices mixed with yours, one, two and three more pushes, and he fell on your side.

You didn’t dawdle and abandoned your position in his bed. Liquids were gliding down your thighs. If you stayed it’d be a risk. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to endure more broken hopes. The air got colder, your legs trembled.

Something enclosed your wrist. But, as fleeting as it came, disappeared. You put on your tunic and departed. You didn’t turn around, so you couldn’t have seen him. How he questioned his promises, how he questioned his duty. You sneaked away and didn’t mind the broken man you were leaving behind, too focused on picking up the pieces of you that remained.


The following day, the troops marched. They were searching for a place to camp, a safe one, suited to lead an effective attack and launch the conquering of king Ecbert’s city.

You walked at the end of the long file, composed of the warriors who were loyal to Harald. Your rhythm was slow and heavy. It reflected your own mood.  The man you still loved was somewhere in the vanguard of the line, that is why you were straggling. You carried a standard, a dead weight upon your shoulder; the rest of your belongings were being transported by one of the wagons in the procession.

The site of the camp was chosen. When the way conducted you to the sons of Ragnar, you listened to the words of the youngest brother. You lingered discreetly, interested in what he was elucidating. Undoubtedly, brute strength and the element of surprise had been useful to the ones who put a foot on the island before the Great Army did. However, at the moment the news about the giant horde. He was right: they’d have to use everything they could in their favour, for the failure of the expedition was not an option, and the less casualties, the most possibilities of success.

Everything was happening fast, but the wits of Ivar were ahead of the rest.

You resumed your steps. You were distracted, dwelling on strategies and their utility to the common purposes. Soon there would be more war, which somehow calmed you down. It was you occupation from very young, to kill and to stay away from romantic problems. You realised you had lost your file, so you speeded up. A whisper broke your self-absorption. A whisper as familiar as awkward.

“[Name]…”

You dipped your heels on the ground of the forest, between fallen leaves and humid soil. Beside a tree, the long braided hair of Harald appeared. Your fears became reality, and your flesh shivered, and your pulse raced.

“I don’t want to talk to you…” You muttered. Although necessary, it was a clumsy lie said in an unconvincing tone. He frowned and tightened his fist.

“I know.” He admitted defeated; he trusted that by seeing him, he’d weaken your heart. Had it been any other time, and it’d have worked, but you were determined. “I had to give you this.” He hold out his hand. There were three beads. They were of clear wood, the seize of a nail. Some runes were carved by knife on them.

“Are those for me?” You were incredulous.

With a strong gesture he enveloped your forearm to prevent you from pulling back. You were torn, should you reject him and go or let him explain himself? You didn’t have the force in you from any. You kept your mouth shut, frightened of what words were forming.

“This one,” he picked one and placed it on your palm, “is your name.” It was in fact the first letter of it. It had been engraved with an extraordinary delicateness, not so common in Harald. “This other will protect you tomorrow…” He put it next to the first. The forms were magic, meaning you’d meet no tragedy if you wore it. “And… the last one…”

He was unable to finish. It was a very powerful rune, and a simple mortal shouldn’t play with it. It promised love, a deep and spiritual union that a mere human had not the power to give. And he was offering it to you.

“Why?” You ripped your hand from his grip, you didn’t dare not to accept his gift though. Your voice showed the bitterness you were feeling. Who was he to make your decision hurt even more? You were sure he didn’t love you, why was it so hard for him to let you go? Of course, the venom which dulled your senses escaped through the tip of your tongue. “Why don’t you give them to your fair princess?”

“Because even though my duty is to keep my word, I…”

He was interrupted. A group of Vikings and a wagon passed by. Harald silenced himself, waiting to go on with his speech. Nevertheless you used the distraction to join them and get away. You squeezed the beads as close to you as possible… This is why you never wanted to fall in love.

The camp was assembled in a rapid and effective way. As soon as all the preparations were finished your stomach began to growl. You had been neglecting yourself on nutrition matters, for you were missing the passage of hours. In spite of this, you were not the only hungry one, because of the hard and swift work. Not long after, the smoke of various embers began to ascend.

You shared meal with other fighters of Harald’s army. Some shieldmaidens you accustomed to share the everyday of the raids with were talking, yet you didn’t hear them. The encounter had sucked all your energy, you were angry, hoping the next day would come. Unfortunately, you couldn’t entrust them with your anguish. Maybe it would have melted away easier if you had support… but you were alone. None was to know what had happened between you and your king, and none knew, except Halfdan.

From your seat you could watch him, and so could he. And he was indeed watching you, even though you refused to give him the satisfaction of making visible how much he had disrupted you that morning. Harald had nailed his clear orbs on you. You sensed the dark eyes of Halfdan too. They were eating, around them a thick silence. You chewed a chunk of meat from your wooden dish on your knees while you tried not to cross your stare with his.

Then she walked by your side. Her long, blonde hair upon one shoulder, white skin as the northern peaks. She was wearing a cloak with an intricate pattern, under it a blue dress. She was the beautiful Ellisif. A resigned smile climbed to your lips. Fortune had granted her beauty and good social status. It was not strange Harald had fallen captive of her to the point of making an oath: all Norway in exchange of her hand. Yours, with calluses and scars, you compared it to hers and deemed impossible that any feeling Harald had for you coud be of the same sincerity.

Elegant and graceful, the princess neared him to talk about an issue.

You allowed yourself to steal a look. It looked like the tension could be cut with a blade. Harald stood, and both vanished in seconds. Halfdan did not seem pleased. An angry expression on his face, he demanded an opinion, an answer, as if you had a say. But you did want to ignore everything, you wouldn’t get involve, not anymore, even if it hurt.

You ate without appetite, hardly existing in the middle of the battalion.

The sun set and the night returned. Time slid between arrowheads, spears and axes. The following day would be decisive for everyone; Valkyries were awaiting, and Odin himself would attend the outcome. Men and women were thirsty for blood, for adventure and thrill, for victory.

Before closing your eyes you cursed the gods for having etched with fire his name in your soul. You cured yourself too for having lost what turned sweet the chaos in your head.


The battle arrived before you expected it. You were given strict orders to remain with the rest of archers, independently of whose commands they obeyed.

An unnatural mist covered the field. Dark green and yellow bushes splashed the grass. As the shape of the Saxons was being outlines in the horizon, the drums were ringing. The same earth seemed to be preparing, Hel was going to welcome one of the two armies.

Ivar positioned your group in a pass or relative narrowness in direction to Repton. Hidden as you were it was hard to tell the events, yet the fuss of the cavalry and the infantry wandered around. If the plan develop according to the cripple’s predictions, it would be comical to observe. How agreeable it would have been to study their faces of confusion and indignation.

The wait was eternal; you all were eager to brin your weapons into action. You clutched your arch, the quiver hitting your back and the axe secured on your hip. Everyone was focused, pending any minimal signal to shoot.

Aethelwulf’s troops were coming closer. They had been stupid enough to fall into the trap without any suspicion.

Your arrow flew to the first enemy. It pierce the chest of a soldier wearing a yellowish tunic. Others crashed into the coat of mail in scales, but they did go through. Your arrows were birds of prey hunting their catch. In the bottom of the hill those Saxons imperilled themselves. The archers took full advantage to decimate them. Before they could even think of counterattacking, two other sections of the Heathen Army appeared on the flanks. The leaders of one were the sons of Ragnar, the other’s leaders were Harald and Halfdan. They composed a shieldwall, and Aethelwulf charged.

From the rear, it wasn’t possible to difference the factions. For this reason, those who had been attacking in long distance entered the combat. Your axe destroyed a sword, to break the skull of its owner. You shoot a couple or arrows more, helping your overwhelmed fellows.

Someone tried to deal you a sword blow, which you parried with the metallic part of your arch. You stabbed his eye with the projectile you were about to throw. He was stuck down and you caught your other weapon; the arch had been an imprudence.

The fear and tiredness condemned the Englishmen. Lost all hope of winning, Aethelwulf announced retreat. The corpses piled up on the mud and the brown puddles had dyed of crimson. The fog concealed the flight of the prince; nobody could knock him down. Everyone shouted out of euphoria, lifting their weapons and the heads of enemies. It was a moment of pride and satisfaction. The gods were on your behalf, and the only god of that land was powerless against them. Even if the real victory was far and would take long to achieve, you felt invincible.

Your face was covered in blood and scratches. Apart from that, you were untouched, as the great majority.

You forgot your convictions in the frenzy of the war. You looked for him in the dance of legs and arms; you needed to verify he was alive, regardless of knowing Harald wouldn’t die so easily. Still, you needed to see him breathe. Adrenaline flowed across your veins. Instead you found Halfdan; he’d for sure was familiar with the fate of his brother, and had been within his reach at every moment while fighting.

You ran towards him. What mattered now discretion or decency?

“Is he alive?” Your brow was knitted. When you saw his smile you felt a familiar relieve. You fixed partially your composure.

“Yes, as alive as you and I are.” He rested his hand on your arm. Halfdan dithered about telling you the news. “But Ellisif isn’t.”

“What?” Your surprise was obvious. Questions started to emerge. In what way? What was the explanation? When?

“I killed her.” The blonde, as stained of mud and blood as you, examined your countenance. You did so too, and the lack of regret was clear. “She seduced Harald. She was going to stab him with a knife. I stuck my sword on her back.” You didn’t understand what he was saying. It was not real, it couldn’t be. To get you out of the trance, Halfdan shook you by the arm. “[Name], we’ve known each other for a long time. I admire your loyalty to my brother and we have shared many feasts. I’m telling you to warn you.” He was speaking low to avoid undesired ears. “My brother hasn’t done things correctly… And I don’t think he even knows why… And even though I’m always going to be on his side, I want you to know it because he will try to make you love him again with all his might. The decision to do it is yours and no one else’s.”

You nodded lightly. Once more you were lost in your own mind.

“And if you try to end with his life, I will end yours before.”

“That much I already knew.” Halfdan laughed and you smiled back. “Are you fine? Did they harm you?”

“Not a wound.”

The Great Army moved again. Ivar’s chariot led the way until the city you were to occupy. The doors of wood contained the outstanding building, curious about the arrival of the heathens. This time you didn’t evade Harald. You were by his side, like you had accompanied him in other countless campaigns. He thanked your presence, but he was careful. Danger was latent. There was an onslaught that never got a reply. They opened the doors with a blow of the battering ram. You surpassed the walls; there was no resistance.

There wasn’t a single soul. The courtyard you supposed was overflowing with peasants and merchants on a normal day was unoccupied.

Harald and Halfdan leapt to the interior to check if it was a trap. They came back, Halfdan shouting ‘It’s empty!’ and his brother dwelling on the facts. Immediately the crowd cheered as they had done previously. Your allies entered and destroyed the place. They burnt furniture, manuscripts… everything within their reach. You saw a few carrying chests filled with treasures, goblets and jewels. They wandered through the city tanking in their great deed.

Abruptly, a man in a white robe came out of the flames. He looked old and inoffensive, but none risked it: he was the aim of all your weapons. He had a glint of madness, and you didn’t know if it was senility or wine.

You removed your axe when Harald removed his sword. You were not going to obey Björn’s order if your king didn’t judge it suitable. They knew who he was, king Ecbert, the same one you’ve heard so much about.

They captured him, and the rest of the warriors resumed their pillage.

Harald took your hand and dragged you to a secluded building. He pushed you inside the abandoned stable. You wouldn’t be interrupted there. There was hay and tools for horseshoes.

“Why are you playing with me, [Name]?” He roared. He was keeping a distance and he looked uncertain, clueless.

“It is you,” you broke, “the one who has played with me all this time!”

“You are wearing the beads I-” You touched your hair. You were wearing them because you were not used to fight away from him. You didn’t want to forget, and a part of you refused to let him go. And that was the part of you that hooked his gift however it could in your braids. He changed his approach, accusing, but with a hint of innocence. “You were looking for me. After the battle.”

“I see Halfdan does not lose time… Yes. I searched you.” You averted your eyes from him. “And I found your brother.”

“He told you…”

“Yes.” You still didn’t make eyecontact. His irises were so intense, they were foretelling you’d be absorbed by them completely.

“Then you must know I do not need to keep any other promise. I’m free from my word.” He stepped forward.

“But you loved her.”

“She’s dead, [Name].”

“I have suffered-” The lump in your throat prevented you from completing your sentence.

“Because of my actions. I know.” He brushed your neck. “Look at me. I can’t change what I’ve done and I’m not going to apologise for it. I made an oath and I was going to fulfil it.”

“I don’t expect you to say sorry, Harald. You’ve never done it and you will never do it.”

“And in spite of it, here you are, before me, so wonderful, so pretty…” You turned your face and stared.

“Flattering is not going to help you.”

“But you adore it.” He took another daring step. You walked backwards. “You’ve always wanted me to pay attention to you.”

“Not at this moment.”

“Shall I remind you, you told me you didn’t wish to see me, yet you looked for me.” He was approximating, and you resisted him again. “You care about me. You want me. You love me.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“It does if so is your will.”

“My will? What is your will? What do you wish from me, Harald?” You crashed against the wall. You were trapped between the cold surface and him.

“I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Isn’t it clear?”

“But I am-” At last he found your weakness, the motive of the never-ending hide and seek. It was your own deprecation, and he was sure he could cure it, or at least ease it. He wrapped you in his arms, like a cage so you would never be able to leave him alone.

“I don’t care what you are.”

“You did care in the past.”

“In the past I had to fulfil my duties.”

“Your duty of fucking Ellisif?”

“Yes.” He spitted. It was a cutting response but his patience was running out and he was using up his resources. “Are you listening to me, woman? It is my will to be with you, not my duty.”

“And what will your subjects say?” The corners of his lips rose. He knew in that moment that you belonged to him.

“Nothing, unless they want a taste of my axe… or yours.”

You did what you had been longing to do. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him to you.

He didn’t rush, being swept up in your soft lips. He took hold of your hips. He gave you kiss after kiss. They were long and crushing. Concurrently his thumbs sketched circles on your skin.

He took off his upper pieces of clothing. His broad chest was revealed; it displayed ink in intertwined lines. It would never tire you to watch his naked form. You reached his impressive back, pawing his muscles. Harald deepened the kiss as he took your liberties as a signal to imitate you. He placed his big palms on your arse. He groped whatever flesh he met while his tongue abused your mouth.

Your king proceeded to free you from your shirt and loosened your breeches.

“Do you remember the first time?”

He nibbled your earlobe and you moaned.

“Yes…”

“And what you told me?” Soft smooches covered your throat, your sensitive skin sending enjoyment to all your nerves.

“Shut up.” You giggled. He fondled your boobs and his face travelled. His beard tickled your bust.

Oh, Harald, I will never want another dick if it’s not yours.”

“Stop mocking me.” You saw his grin go wider.

“Then I’ll put my mouth to better use.” Harald got your breeches out of his way. You were nude, and he wolfed you down with his eyes. He mouthed a trail on your torso towards your pelvis. “I haven’t properly eaten for a while…”

He kneeled before you. As he parted your legs, he licked your slit. He was ever blunt, restless to take what he desired. His words and actions had aroused you to a great extent. Your sex was dripping with fluids, a fact Harald noticed. His fingers pounded the flesh of your thighs, red marks already forming under his greedy touch.

His tongue tried another lick to gather your taste, yet he was seeking a different stimulation. He didn’t delay his mouth, which covered your clitoris. He sucked it and spread a warm feeling in your guts. He circled it with his teeth. He tapped your bundle of nerves up and down. The pressure of his dentition was harsh but pleasurable. He wanted more, he wasn’t able to be as close as he’d like from your crotch, so after a few more wipes he separated.

He moved to the hay where he sat and adjusted himself. You were puzzled, inclining your head in question.

“What are you doing?” You called for him.

“Come and take a seat.”

You were going to sit next to him but he altered your course.

“No, woman. On my face.”

You rested your knees on either side of his head. This was new to you, so you didn’t have any idea of what to do. However, Harald had turned to a beast and he was hungry, very hungry; whatever tardiness was unacceptable. He shoved your womanhood against his face. He massaged your butt, directing your movements. The man plunked his tongue onto you; your legs went weak and even though you had been restrained, worried about your whole weigh upon him, you fell. It was what he needed, your core smothering him.

He shifted his tongue inside you. He was rough, his head moved on its own. His nose brushed your clitoris, your lower lips pressed on him, and your opening welcoming all he could give. One of his fingers found your rear hole. You hopped. The force of it, along with the renewed vigour Harald had, made you cum. It was a sweet release. He lapped all you offered, until you were completely finished.

“Harald.” You panted; he helped you off him.

“Was it that good?” You nodded. “But now you need to ride lower, my [Name].” He caressed your face, your clavicle, your stomach. “Will you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

Your unsteady feet drove you to him again. You hovered over him. He was out of his breeches, his erection high. You bowed down to meet him. He taunted your overwhelmed opening. It forged its way into you, and you felt completed. His tip scraped your end. You shouted loudly, shyness or worry shooed away. Harald grunted.

“You are so…” He just let a guttural sound.

He urged you to begin by waggling. He was rubbing the right places; it was going to be too much. You bounced on his manhood. He left you and entered, creating a wonderful synchrony. Each bang of skin against skin drove you both higher and higher.

The way he filled you was delicious. You bent forward to grab his hair and kiss him. His braid was already loose, and your fingers messed it further. He pinched your nipples; your hips hit him harder in a cry for more. He rolled and pushed them, reddening your peaks. Shocks stimulated you, his fingers enclosing with more force. Your bud collided with his curls, increasing your heat.

He pumped, and it was an animalistic exchange. He wasn’t going to last much more, so he frantically prodded your clitoris until you burst. Your orgasm washed over you, your insides convulsing upon Harald. Your wet delight shook your limbs and no corner of your body was dissatisfied. He accompanied you through it, the afterglow budding. You were spent, and your king’s bliss followed.

You collapsed on him. He hugged you, and kissed you, and you became one body. You buried your face on his chest, where he secured you. You laid in silence, catching your breath. You could get used to this.

You tried to comb his hair, which had rests of hay. It was smooth, and of great length. He was enjoying it, so you kept stroking it. Eventually he rolled you over so he was on top of you.

“Does this mean you are going to be my queen?” He intervened. He took a straw from your hair.

“I’ll have to think about it.” You laughed, and he followed. Harald made a wish to the gods; many more long years of battles, feasts, his brother and you. He was determined to repair your past distress, to make you cherished and loved. You just didn’t have to know it yet.

You Never Walk Alone (Spring Day Theory)

Okay y'all so this is my strict opinion on this. Now I know what you might say “It’s not that deep” or “You crazy” well you know what? I’m crazy as hell so this what I’m trying to get across.

So, there’s this short story called “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” by Ursula Le Guin. To summarize “Omelas is a happy, utopian society with a problem: its happiness is predicated on the misery of a child who lives in a cage under the city. Upon seeing the child, a handful of people leave Omelas and never return.”  Now I know you’re probably thinking “there is no child” no there isn’t literally but again symbolism.The concept of this comeback is very dream like and is very much focused on the visual aspect. The aesthetics is you will.

Two things: The background and the blue shoes. “With the clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright towered by the sea.” Now I know ‘Summer’ vs ‘Spring Day’ what the heck? However let’s go back to Le Guin’s story. If you notice how there’s a lot of jimin focus that could imply that he is the child. The tale states that a handful a people left the city of Omelas. Why? Because they were disgusted by the treatment of the child. The child has to remain miserable in order for everyone else to remain happy and at peace. But what if the handful of people took the child and had them leave the city? I feel that Bangtan in a way is bending the rules of the story and its conditions. The setting of this could be before this “festival” is to begin. They want their happiness to stay but not like previously, they want to create their own sense of bliss.  Meaning: helping the child, so it’s no longer miserable regardless of what is to happen. Now then, the blue shoes. No jimin ain’t selling drugs (I actually saw something around this; had a good laugh). The color blue symbolizes honesty, integrity, intelligence, dedication, solace, and divinity. The worn shoes can indicate that you achieve your goals by being attentive, meticulous, and thorough with your tasks. It may also denote your acknowledgement of your true self. So maybe, this can suggest that this is finding your purpose with the help of those who care about you. Hence Bangtan is together, the title “You Never Walk Alone” and in the lyrics of Spring Day “Stay with me” 


Let me know on your opinion of this and please read that story because it’s really beautifully written!!!!

Give Me A Chance

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Prompts (CLICK HERE FOR LIST)

1: “ Give me a chance. ”

30: “ So that’s it? It’s over? ”

A/N: HELLOO! Oh its so good to be writing again! Year 12 is a fucking pain in the backside. I needed a break and thought you all deserved this and though t that there wasn’t enough Bruce Wayne out there so here you little munchkins go. Know that the ask box is open and you may choose a prompt and send it in (REQUESTS OPEN ONLY FOR THE BATFAM, SORRY! + NO NSWF), but I may be a bit slow so be kind to your writer pleaseee.


I sat at my desk, the sounds of the tapping of keyboards and high shrill screams of phone making me sit a little straighter every so often. I had been a cooperate assistant at WAYNE Industries for a couple of years, having started off as an apprentice before working my way up through the jobs.

Suddenly the doors to the elevator of our level opened with a loud ding, making me look up to see who it was before looking back down with a small gasp, praying   under my breath that he hadn’t noticed me. I heard the footsteps creak over the voices and activity in the office, and cursed under my breath. My prayer had gone unanswered, gulping before looking up into the eyes of Bruce fucking Wayne. The White Knight of Gotham, its Prince, its Salvation.

I didn’t think of him as a bad person, oh no. Bruce and I had been going out on a few dates in the past few weeks. And they had been absolutely perfect. I loved them. And, I loved him. But i knew that I couldn’t just dive deep into the relationship, I didn’t want to get hurt … Not again, especially by billionaire playboy, and become the face of embarrassment in the company.

‘Good morning Sir,’ I said courtly before looking back down over the stack of papers in front of me. Bruce couldn’t help but sigh heavily, ‘Morning Y/N.’

‘Is there something I could do for you?’ Once again he sighed. ‘Could I have the itinerary for today as well as the files for this morning’s conference.’ I searched through the piles of paper, taking the manila folder and handing it to him quickly before looking once more for the itinerary. God damn it, of course I had to lose it. ‘I seemed to have misplaced it, just give me a minute.’

‘Seems we work you way too hard, Y/N.’ I couldn’t help but smile a little, but it was gone just as fast as it had came. After pulling a stack of files out of the way, I sighted the itinerary with a sigh of relief. I reached over to grab it before I felt Bruce’s hand brushing against my own, a shiver running down my spine instantly as he hooked his fingers through my own. I looked up into his eyes, the first eye contact we had made that entire day. His eyes were filled with pain as I flinched away from his touch, ‘Here you go Mr Wayne.’

And without another word, I fixed up my desk, and the tapping of my keyboard continued. I only looked up at the sound of Bruce’s office door slamming. With a sigh I slouched in my chair, pushing my hair out of my face. I my line of vision, I caught sight of a bunch of women huddled in one of the cubicles, sniggering and scoffing at the sight of me.

‘What does he even see in her? I mean she probably doesn’t even get a quarter of what he makes a year!’

‘She doesn’t even have a figure like the women he hangs out with, I mean why would he even associate himself with her!’

‘And can you believe the nerve of that girl?! Dismissing Bruce as if he were beneath her!’

‘Perhaps she likes all her men to be submissive like the whore she is—’

That was the last straw. I slammed the lid of my laptop down, making them shriek and many heads turn towards me. I threw the important files into my bag, as well as my laptop before rounding my desk, glaring at the women who had insulted me before entering the elevator. I looked up in time to see Bruce, a deer caught in headlights at the  glimpse of my tears falling as the doors shut.

-

I rush into my apartment, throwing my bag onto the floor hurriedly before racing to the bathroom. I let the cold water run, throwing the substance up on my flustered skin. I gasped for air as I looked up into the mirror, the women’s voices echoed in my head before whispering to myself, ‘Oh Y/N, what have you gotten yourself into?’

I groaned loudly, rubbing the heel of my hands against my eyes gently before deciding on taking a hot shower. I groaned as my muscles relaxed beneath the heated water, wiping my face slowly. After I changed into some sweat pants, a t-shirt and hoodie, all in grey. Wonderful.

Since I was at home I might as well do some work. So I sat down, opening my laptop, and just as my fingers began to tap once more against the laptop when suddenly there was a loud banging upon the front door, echoing lavishly throughout the almost empty apartment.

I rolled my eyes, making my way down the hallway, “Who on earth is it?” I didn’t even bother to look in the peephole, opening the door and ready to curse at who had interrupted my peace. But without another second I slammed the door shut, only for Bruce to shove it back open, walking in without a care in world. ‘Bruce what the hell-’

‘Why have you been ignoring me?’
‘What?—‘
‘Don’t fuck with me Y/N, why have you been avoiding me AND ignoring me!’ I flinched lightly at his tone, taking in the anger in his eyes. ‘So that’s it? It’s over? I mean we had a great time at dinner last week and suddenly this happens? Is it something I did? Something I said? I mean I don’t understand—’

‘No … Bruce-It’s not you!’ I said as I felt the tears already coming up, sniffling slightly. My breathing was uneven as I got nervous, my hands sweaty and wringing each other to distract myself from the current situation. Bruce instantly picked this up, tone of voice becoming much softer. ‘Then … what is it?’

I shook my head. 'Its-Its complicated you see, its too hard to explain …’
‘Just take your time, take all the time you need. I’ll be patient …’ There was silence between us, the only sound resonating was my sniffling. Finally, I spoke, 'I-I’m sorry.’

'What for?’
’For ignoring you. I shouldn’t lead you on like this, I shouldn’t have.’

'What do you mean? What are you talking about?’ He says, coming closer to me, my whole body shaking now as he stood only a short distance away, our feet nearly touching.

'I-I was scared … I’m scared …’ I whispered softly, but I knew he heard me as he took my face into his hands, pulling it up so I would look up at him only to show the tears that fell fast down my cheeks.

'I-I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified Bruce …’ I said softly as he wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, ‘In all the relationships I’ve been in, yeah there’s been something. However with you … I’ve never felt like this with anybody! But I just-I’m scared that I’m not good enough to be standing beside you, Gotham’s prince, their glory!’

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at this, gripping my face just a little tighter in his palms. How could, he thought to himself, this little piece of light not be worthy, it was he who was not worthy. He himself wanted this to be more than a mere fling, saw that the innocence in his hands was something he wanted to uncover and understand like nothing he had ever encountered before. 

'I understand, but just know Y/N. That, whatever you’ve been through before me, know that I will NEVER mistreat you. I know that you’ve heard about me being this billionaire playboy who cares about nothing but his money and title … but I’m different, I WILL be different! We’ll have our bad days of course, but all couples can’t be perfect can they? But most importantly I don’t care about your money, or your title or anything! I just want you, and only you. Just give me a chance, please.’

I nodded slowly, unable to look away as he gave me a small smile, one that I had come to love and appreciate over time. The way his lip curled and his dimples tinted just a little. Slowly, he began to grow closer, his heated breath batting against my lips, his forehead pressed against my own. A gasp left my lips at this, his nose nudging mine delicately. His eyes searched my own, those ocean blue eyes that made my head spin whenever I stared just a little too long.  And in that moment, I just couldn’t help but let myself go.

He pressed his lips against mine softly, almost like a feathers touch against glass. I couldn’t return it, not just yet as I trembled under his touch, gasping softly before letting my hand creep to one of his own that held my face. Bruce pulled away with a grateful smile, kissing my forehead gently before he embraced me into his chest, holding me tightly. 

holyhell-imgay  asked:

Ideal s/o newsboys?

Jack: Someone who’s smart an’ passionate, an’ has a way with words. … Also, good at cuddlin’. That’s a must.

Davey: Someone brave, who gets up even when life knocks them back.

Race: Tough on th’ outside but really a softie on th’ inside.

Spot: … A guy who doesn’ care about the title I hold. Jus’ cares for me instead.

I will never understand why international fans care so much about who carries title of “nation’s girl/boy group” so much.. y'all don’t even live in that nation, and it isn’t always easy for ifans to tell which group is most popular in Korea so why are y'all always fighting over who Korean public likes more? Why do y'all care so much about something that doesn’t even affect you?

anonymous asked:

First of all: have a nice spring break and get some good rest :) Next: how would the captains ask their s/o to marry them? Please? :)

tbh my spring break felt like 3 seconds also Kensei here!

Shunsui Kyoraku: It was actually really random, they were cuddling, and talking when Shunsui got up to use the bathroom, when he came back he had a little box in his hand, his lover didn’t even let him say his speech he wrote out.

Sui-Feng: Sui Feng doesn’t go all out, but she makes her vice captain make the ring for them, she has him make it with all their favorite colors.

Rojuro Otoribashi: Of course Rose has to propose with some kind of music, he would probably write them a song and when they are on a date he will play it for them on his guitar, and when he is done he will pull out the ring and just smile at their cute reaction.

Retsu Unohana: I feel like Unohana is another person who doesn’t care about the title of marriage, her lover actually proposed to her, and even if she doesn’t care for it she is going to say yes.

Shinji Hirako: Shinji is so creative with his, he only wants to get married once so he goes all out for this. He made their bedroom full of pictures of all the times they shared, and in the middle of all the pictures it says “let’s make more memories together” and then he gets on his knees and proposes.

Byakuya Kuchiki: It was during spring when the cherry blossom were in full bloom, him and his lover were walking enjoying each other company when Byakuya stopped them and took their hand, sliding a little ring on their finger, he didn’t even have to ask because he already knew the answer.

Sajin Komamura: Sajin has to think long and hard about this because he is going to be with this person forever, and he wants the proposal to be special. Sajin decides to propose over dinner.

Toshiro Hitsugaya: Rangiku was the one to suggest that he get his lover a cake that says will you marry me, but when it came time for Toshiro to hold the cake out so they could see it, he drops it because of how nervous he was, lucky he had the ring in his pocket….

Kenpachi Zaraki: Kenpachi would probably propse right after he was in a huge fight, and in the heat of the moment he would pick up his lover and, and say “lets get married right now!”

Mayuri Kurotsuchi: Before i have stated that Mayuri doesn’t want to get married, but if his lover is annoying him so much about it he will get married! He doesn’t plan anything, he gets a ring stick it on their finger and says “Happy now” and walk off.

Jushiro Ukitake: Jushiro does it during their anniversary, it takes a lot for him not to cry, but he gets on his knee and pops the question.

anonymous asked:

Would you say Kaiba is attached to Atem?

It’s probably surprising to no one that I think he is. And I think it’s something substantial that Seto was able to form an attachment to someone other than Mokuba. This is a character so closed off, so cocooned in mistrust, who shoves everybody away. As I’ve said before, Seto has difficulty connecting and forming attachments on the individual level. But the attachment he develops for Atem shows he is capable of forming them.

Atem became a focal point for Seto once he defeated Seto at cards, and this encounter would act as the catalyst for so many different things.

Atem became a target for all the boiling rage that had built up inside of Seto like a pressure cooker. But from there, with each encounter, their relationship evolved into something far more complex and meaningful. The obsession with domination and the human connection in the challenge were a duality. It was detrimental and provoking and exhilarating and rewarding all at once.

Something these two share, and only these two share, is a dependence on games to communicate, as both have a stunted relationship with the world around them. It’s something only they can understand.

Keep reading

clearmindcosplays  asked:

This question is to both of you cuties :D Do you and Jack fight over who's the real king? And if so who wins??

Yusei: “Well… I don’t really care about things like a title, as long as people respect me as a person. But Jack keeps continuing to always challenge me to a duel…

Yusei: “On the toilet

Yusei: “While I try to read something to cool down from hard work on the Duel Runners…

Yusei: “Even when I try to sleep!

Yusei: “…and when I was about to prepare something in the kitchen…

Yusei: “…but there he hit a nerve and got defeated, so I won. “

some sort of old timey AU where they get subtextually gay on a balcony

The ballroom was gilded and bright and overflowing with important people. Noblemen with attractive daughters who were all too willing to buy their way into the Grimm-Pitch family; widowed duchesses hoping to find a new (and wealthy) husband; girls looking for men with heavy pockets.

Gods, all of the girls. Shiny, embossed, glossy girls who only didn’t care about Baz, only his title and money. Girls who tossed around flirtatious smiles and girls who giggled at everything Baz said. It was complete and utter torture, especially under his father’s keen eye.

He was meant to find a wife tonight.

Simon’s night was one thing: making the rich people happy. That meant keeping glasses filled with wine and stomachs filled with food. (He couldn’t get over the food. Whole platters crammed with every imaginable pastry, but not one bite was to go to him).

“Excuse me,” drawled a low voice. Simon’s eyes flitted away from the buffet table. The lord’s son, Basilton, stood with one hand resting on his hip, regarding Simon with little interest. “I need a drink.”

He had never seen this servant before. With the shabby brass buttons (not unlike the color of his curls) and sleeves that fell well passed his hands. Baz almost thought he looked too young to be here.

What corner of the street did my father drag you off of?

“I need a drink.” Baz wasn’t particularly fond of drinking, but he was growing weary of listening to men boast about their daughters’ beauty. He could care less about wedding. He cared more about this cute serving boy with the stardust freckles.

The boy nodded curtly, fixing Baz a glass of wine that matched the color of his uniform.

“What’s your name?”

The boy looked up at him. His eyes were an unremarkable shade of blue. “Simon, sir.”

Baz pursed his lips. “Simon,” he repeated, it was a normal name. As normal and unremarkable as the color of his eyes. “Where are you from?”

“The orphanage.” Simon shuffled his feet. He probably wasn’t used to getting attention from the wealthy, let alone the son of Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Baz took a sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose. It was bitter and vile tasting. “Do you want to come with me to the balcony while no one’s looking?”

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch completely baffled Simon. All of these beautiful woman begging for his attention and he wanted to go to the empty balcony. With Simon, the servant he’d hardly spoken ten words to.

“Okay.”

“You’re not very talkative.”

“No.”

“That’s fine.” Baz abandoned his drink on the table. Simon thought he looked tired (and strikingly beautiful). Then he was gripping Simon by the wrist loosely and dragging him through a grand pair of French doors.

The air outside was thick and humid, and the stars glistened like the gems hanging around the necks of noblemen’s daughters. The balcony overlooked sprawling farmland. All owned by Basilton’s family. Simon felt nauseous.

“You’re dad won’t like me leaving my post.”

“He won’t notice.” His finger traced the edge of the railing. “My father is too concerned with me finding a wealthy woman to attach to my arm.”

Simon studied him closely. “You don’t seem very excited about the fact you have an entire ballroom of beautiful woman to pick from. And on top of that, they’re all fawning over you.”

“They’re fawning over my wealth.” Baz waved a hand flippantly through the air. “Besides, I’m not interested in any of them.”

“No?”

“No.” Baz dragged a thumb over his bottom lip, breaking eye contact with Simon. “I’m more interested in boys.”

“I’m interested in both.” Simon watched a star streak across the sky. His face burned.

“Simon.” Baz met his gaze now, hard and steady.

“Sir?”

“Call me Baz.”

Simon smiled. “Baz?”

“I think we should get to know each other better.”