#can I kin a service bell?

[adonis-koo]

wicked • 18

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 12k

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tags: oral (f), tiddie sucking…love kink?, teasing, vaginal fingering, begging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting (yeah…), soft dom!kook, loss of virginity, penetrative sex, it doesn’t fit, but only for a moment, size kink,  possessiveness, multiple positions, slight spanking, corruption kink if you squint, creampies (wrap it before you tap it, condoms don’t exist in this au so…yknow)

Note: this chapter was not supposed to be so horny but the brain insisted 💅

Chapel bells could be heard, a somber cry of the hazy day ahead, you sniffled trying to get the smell of ash out of your nose, squinting as you glanced through the cracked tent, the sky tinted and hazy.

You didn’t remember the sun looking quite that color, it was distorted from normal, another bell chimed and you could hear the camp from even this distant, a crackle of the fire and a sob.

“Focus!” Baba Enàir slapped the stick in front of your desk making you jump.

“Sorry Baba.”

“You can say sorry to all the folks who rely on your hands to save their kin,” Her eyes glowered down at you, “As for me, you will do good and well to pay attention.”

Your lips twitched as you stared down at your desk, eyes slowly squinting into a glare before briefly glancing behind her once more towards the open flap of the tent where you watched the girls, hands all joined skipping in a circle.

“Why can’t I be excused?” 

Baba Enair’s eyes followed yours as she sighed, perhaps taking pity on you, though if she did her eyes didn’t show it. 

“You are the Princess of Eunoia, the people look to you for hope, not the court girls.” Baba Enair replied, “Your dryad blood allows you to heal in a way other girls cannot, that other people cannot. It isn’t fair, but it’s for the war, the amount of lives you can save alone compares to ten of the court girls. It’s imperative that your skill is honed. Now focus once more.”

You sighed, you had heard the same reason again and again, one day you hoped it would finally mean something to you though, today however, was not that day.

Regardless of how you felt, you stuck your hands back into the moon water, a small beautiful red fish, evidentially dying as it struggled to swim around. 

You closed your eyes.

“Now start your three part breath, calm your mind.” Baba Enair instructed.

You took a deep breath from your stomach, slowly expanding it to your chest and then your throat, finally letting it exhale, after a few more breaths you began to speak.

“Ni esta- upon I cemen, eless- mama na- laiva,” 

“Louder.” Baba Enair commanded.

“Let your coiv- mauime- celusse minna -yes’s eala-“ you winced as you yanked your hands from the water, the water boiling and your lips parting, feeling a piece of your heart crack at the fish, no longer swimming, but floating.

Your eyes watered as your lips trembled, you wanted him to have a peaceful passing, but all you caused was pain…

Baba Enair slapped the stick on your table, “You were too fast, too hasty! Rushing your studies will only make them last longer. Save your tears child, you will have much to cry for if you cannot even heal a fish.”

Your eyes only closed letting the tears stream down your face, the scene shifted, the tent no longer over you, but the sky above.

Thick with clouds of ash and the fire raged on, the sickening smell of death in the air, people groaning in agony and cries of mourning.

“How could you let him die you bitch! He was only a child!”

Your mouth was ajarred as you took an unsteady step back, “I’m- I’m sorry but I tried everything-“ the tent behind you being prepped for the fire, there laid a boy no older than four, a head wound that he had accidentally reopened when he fell down, attempting to play with his friend.

Blood was everywhere, even now covering your hands as tears gathered in your eyes, “I’m sorry.”

The older mother only glared as if you were nothing more than a speck of dirt under her shoe, “You’ve no right to cry!” She screamed out, reaching out as she grabbed your hair making you yelp, “You are no princess of this country! You are nothing! The dryads have abandoned your veins!” 

Guards had already pulled her off but she made sure to shove you down, gravel digging into your palms as sharp jagged pain entered your body.

Tears dripped down your nose as you heard the woman scream and cry, throwing curse words your way only for her voice to be guided elsewhere as her son’s body was carried out of the tent.

Placed into a bag but it was evident he was in there, you glanced at the large bonfire, cowardly. You looked back at the ground, unable to watch them toss his body in.

You heard her wails and cries as the fire burned bright.

And suddenly, it was surrounding you, suffocating you as you cried out, the plead of a child, the skin melting from your hands and-

You gasped, sweat dripping from your body as you sat up in bed, wincing as if something of ash still lingered in your lungs, coughing you grabbed the water carafe from your nightstand, pouring a drink.

Leaning your back against your bed board, it was just a dream…you took a shaky breath, attempting to close your eyes,

‘blood covering your face, skin hanging and cartilage visible’

Your eyes shot back open upon being greeted with Di Jin’s dead face.

It had already been difficult to go to sleep, his cold dead face showing up every time you closed your eyes, or in your dreams once you had finally slept. Tonight had been different though, different difficulties deciding to present themselves this time.

All better forgotten nonetheless.

It had only been two days, and yet, it felt as if no time had passed at all, slowly you peeled the covers off yourself, shivering as you grabbed your nightgown cover, putting the long sleeve on as you walked to the door.

The room suddenly felt too closed in, too suffocating, you needed air.

Opening the door, you were greeted with your personal knight Yoongi, his injuries still healing, but he was doing far better than you.

When the unfortunate event of Di Jin and Seohyun showed up, Yoongi had shown up the morning after, bruised and battered, the entire operation of the tower being sieged a guise to bait him out and even better if it killed him, and worst of all it worked. 

Well, the bit to draw him out, but evidently he was still very much alive.

“Your Highness?” Yoongi raised his brows a little, not surprised to see you up, but a little concern evident in his eyes.

“I wish to go for a walk.” Your voice was a quiet croak, shaky even.

“Of course.” Yoongi replied.

“Can it be…as if I were by myself?” Your lips turned into a small frown.

Yoongi gave you a weak smile, “You won’t even notice me.” 

You nodded before walking past him, a little ways ahead before you could only assume he melded into the shadows, trailing behind unseen but still within a safe distance.

The corridors were empty, save for a few guards who bowed for you before giving you no grief, everyone looked at you differently though. 

It was evident in their eyes, the way they all warily kept a distance. 

Once upon a time, you had gotten used to your title, the Bitch of Eunoia.

But now they had all taken to calling you something different, something new, the Blood-Devoured Bitch. It was a hybrid name, both of Penumbrian and Eunoian background, sickening and yet flattering all the same, it suited you, you supposed.

Stepping out into the courtyard you innately shivered, ice cold air penetrated easily past your cover, wrapping your arms around yourself you took a big breath of air.

It’s crisp cool entered your lungs like new life, and for a moment you felt better.

Sitting down on the bench you curled into yourself, and suddenly the weight of your soul felt heavy again, you were so tired. A type of tired that sleep would not make go away.

Staring at the moon, you let its light be your only comfort, surely better days would come.

Jungkook couldn’t describe his level of worry for you, you had woken up physically fine, a minor wound to your chest where Di Jin had attempted to kill you. But you yourself were not fine.

You looked haunted, any food put in front of you was left untouched, and even if you did eat, you were unable to keep anything down.

Jungkook thought once Wheein was safe, things would get better. But it was clear to him this was hardly the case and what made it worse was you were isolating yourself now, refusing to talk to him or anyone else.

Wheein had desperately wanted to see you but Jungkook firmly sent her back to Skol demanding she take some time to herself, being in the dungeon for the last three weeks was no good for anybody mentally, especially her.

Meanwhile he was left to pick up the pieces of whatever had happened at the estate, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

He felt horrible, he wanted you to go to the estate because he thought it was safe, but as it turns out, he nearly sent you to your death. He hadn’t pushed the topic with you, left you alone if you didn’t respond.

He just wanted you to be okay, it pained him seeing you like this. 

You felt unreachable, and it made him feel as if he was literally losing his mind.

But tonight was Sunday, the day the family gathered together for dinner, Jungkook’s hopes were low but he could only hope that you would show up, he was worried and even more so at a loss of what to do, or if he could do anything at all.

You killed Di Jin. 

The Eunoian Princess, who had sworn an oath to never kill, who came from a pacifistic nation, who had divine dryad blood running through her veins, killed someone. 

And Jungkook knew you wouldn’t listen to him, it mattered not that you did it in self defense, it didn’t change the fact that you still broke your oath. Dinner had been quiet, nobody talking and this was to be expected, after all, everyone almost murdered your hand maid, you almost died, and then not only killed Di Jin, the kings oldest and dearest friend, but also Seohyun, Jungkook’s old fiancé.

Guards had gone to the estate to clean up the mess only to find her mangled body, torn apart by a wolf- namely yours.

Perhaps it wasn't directly you, but it mattered not, you would still take the guilt.

The doors opened and Jungkook straightened in his seat, you gave a short courtesy before taking your seat next to him, your eyes looked sunken in and it was evident you hadn’t slept a single night. 

Jungkook could feel it clawing at his chest with the urge to do something, anything, but he knew all too well this would be something you would have to reconcile with yourself, in your own time.

Dinner was quiet and his uncle and aunt only murmured conversation, Jungkook could only let out a quiet sigh as he lifted his goblet to his lips, wine almost never solved his problems but it did help him relax. 

“Yes, apparently a wild pack of dogs attacked Vail yesterday,” Jeong Dae’s voice was quiet, Areum’s eyes on him as she took a sip of her wine.

Their voices were the only one’s at the table that have yet to talk, after all they had always managed to keep the conversation going in these awkward events.

You were twirling your soup in its bowl, having not attempted to eat, eyes strictly somewhere between the table and your food.

“Well there needs to be more guards posted in the outer district’s now that this whole assassin business is finished,” Areum replied, leaning back in her chair, “They had four fatality’s which could’ve been prevented with adequate soldiers number’s.”

“Or perhaps we just need better soldiers,” Jeong Dae mused, “Perhaps our War Matron should make her return.”

You finally gathered a spoonful of your soup, watching the steam rise from it’s surface before you pushed it into your mouth. Jungkook wasn’t trying to stare, but it was difficult to look away when you were having to force every drop of broth down.

Areum scoffed, “Unless war is on the horizon I would rather rot. There was only one guard there, and he was passing through on his patrol.” 

You gathered another spoonful, looking at it once more as if having to mentally prepare yourself. 

“Is a shame though,” Jeong Dae sighed, “It was an absolute mess when I arrived, blood everywhere, one of the poor lad’s had his throat ripped out-”

A loud cough cut off the conversation, all eyes on you as you grabbed your mouth, lurching in your seat as if attempting to not vomit, “Excuse me.” You didn’t even so much as wait for a reply, shoving yourself out of your chair and promptly exiting. 

Jungkook was immediately pushing himself out of his chair, not even saying a word as he quickly followed after you. You probably didn’t want to see him, but he simply couldn’t stand watching you like this. 

He needed to do something, anything. 

“Y/n!” He called out as you rushed down the hall. 

You shook your head as you took a sharp left, going down the stairs towards the cellar, Jungkook quickly stepping down the stairs as he called your name once more. 

It was dark and only candles lit the air, dust could be seen if one got too close, walls of wine and dry goods stored as you turned the corner of a storage wall, weaving towards the very back where surely no one would go. 

Jungkook quickly followed behind, turning the last corner of the storage wall before he sighed out, a dead end with you at the last wall, back still turned but your sobs evident, hands covering your eyes as you tried to regain your breath but struggling to do so. 

It came out in choked wheezes as you coughed and gagged, struggling to calm yourself down, flashes of blood, images of flesh and gore, no matter how many times you washed out your mouth, you could still taste it. 

Raw flesh going down your throat. 

Jungkook finally stopped at your back, unable to find any words, he could only pull you to face him, and he hated it, how it always seemed your face was filled with tears more than smiles, “I can’t get it out!” 

You felt like a helpless child all over again, unable to help yourself let alone anyone else, but you felt so lost, you didn’t know what to do, you had all of these new feelings, all of these new sins you had to carry. 

You let out another sob as Jungkook pulled you in, and you could do nothing but collapse against him as you cried, “I can’t get the taste out! No matter- wh-what I eat, what I drink, I still taste it!” 

Jungkook only soothing hushed you, pressing his lips on top of your head, “I know.” He ushered softly, “I’m sorry.”

His arms wrapped around you tighter as you cried, resting your head into his shoulder, after a few minutes passed you had finally managed to calm your breath into steady.

“I can’t go back, I can’t undo everything I’ve done, I don’t know what to do anymore,” You tried to not weep but the tears slowly began to trickle back down your cheeks as you lamented, “My whole life i’ve been told I’m supposed to save lives,”

You pressed your hands against his jacket, looking up at him, “So why is it, all I ever seem to do is take them?” 

Jungkook tenderly cupped your cheeks in his hands, thumbing the tears away as he pressed his forehead against yours, “I can’t speak for all of your past doings, but I can speak for what happened at the estate, your survival was dependent on your ability to defend yourself. You were forced to do what anybody would do.”

You shook your head in remorse, closing your eyes as you stifled a sob, Jungkook tenderly stroking your cheeks as he continued, “Humans are instinctive creatures, though you are part dryad, it seems violence runs in your veins.” 

You sniffled, “That’s terrifying! You should be terrified. Everyone looks at me differently now, certainly you do as well, I killed the woman who was supposed to be your wife!” 

Jungkook sighed, tenderly tracing your jawline with those long fingers of his, “The only thing that truly terrified me? Was when you walked through those gates covered in blood, and I realized I had unknowingly sent you to your death, unable to be there for you, unable to protect you, failing as a husband. That terrifies me.” 

Your lips trembled as Jungkook’s fingers traced down your neck to your collarbone, “But you? I told you to show me all of you, and that I would take you as you are, my words still stand.” His fingers trailed down the center of your chest, stopping at the covered wound, the mark where Di Jin had attempted to make his finishing blow. 

“How could I be afraid of someone I love?” It was nothing louder than a whisper. 

It caused your gut to wrench as you violently shook your head, “Don’t say that, please don’t say that Jungkook.” You immediately escaped his arms, every step you took back Jungkook closed the gap with another forward. 

“I don’t expect it to be requited, you don’t have to say it back Y/n but I’ve went through all stages of grief about it, I can’t change it,” Jungkook wasn’t backing down though, “I am in love with you and everything I thought I knew about love, everything I thought I knew about women, feelings, all of it, you came into my life and taught me that I was a fool to ever assume as much. I love you.” 

“Stop saying it! Please, you don’t mean that, please don’t say it so easily…”

Your back was pressed against the wall as you shook your head, Jungkook standing tall in front you, delicately leaning down, both his forearms on either side of you as he whispered, “I love you Y/n, and you will not dictate to me whether that is the truth or not. My love for you has been anything but easy, don’t discredit how I feel because I’m the first to admit it.”

“You can’t love me,” You whispered, eyes blurring once more as flashes of Seohyun’s mangled body appeared in your vision. 

“Loving you is like loving the sun,” Jungkook replied softly, “Effortless, and if I’m meant to burn in its light, then I'd die happily in doing so. My precious sun, the light of my life. Let me love you, let me take care of you, let me protect you, let me never leave your side again.”

“Jungkook…”

“I failed you, let you leave my side, sent you to the estate. It’s ultimately my own fault, and I’ll spend the rest of my life redeeming myself for it. But please, don’t punish me anymore,” Jungkook’s eyes sombered, a sort of tender plea in them, “I can’t be apart from you anymore, I’ve tried to give you space, time to think, to heal, but just as you need me, I need you. I need you just like the moon needs the sun.” 

You had no words, unable to speak, overwhelmed by so many different feelings, but one thing you knew for certain was that when you looked at Jungkook, you felt at home. You said nothing, only gently laying your forehead in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around him. 

Trying to drown out the voices, the memories in his warmth, you were so terribly homesick, and Jungkook was surely your only remedy to this. 

His arms wrapped around you in return, holding you tightly as he pressed a kiss against your head, “It’s selfish, but please, don’t deny me, love me, lay with me, we’re married, but I want you to be my wife.”

“Take me back to our bedroom.” You whispered to him, curling into his warmth as you shuddered, trying so hard to not let the vivid grotesque images back into your mind. 

There was nothing quite like the warmth a bath could offer, steaming wafting from heat and dipping your body in made you realize just how chilled you had become throughout the day. Perhaps the best part was sitting perched in your husband’s lap, head laying on his shoulder as he tended to you.

The warmth of the washcloth running along your body, his hands that had easily taken tens if not hundreds of lives tenderly running through your hair as he washed you, he of course didn’t miss the opportunity to feather your neck in kisses. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered in your ear, you nodded wanting nothing more than for him to keep making you forget, you didn’t want to remember anymore. 

Jungkook was still tenderly cleaning you up, lips occasionally going back to your neck with a few gentle kisses and eventually after bathing you both settled in the water, just enjoying one another’s embrace. 

His fingers tracing circles on your back before running down your waist, squeezing your ass for a moment before his hand would return back up your waist, touching you however he wanted, simply because he could. 

It was a comforting gesture, but it was also evident how aroused you both were, every time his hand would dip under the water, it made your body just a little more excited, feeling his hand gripping your flesh tightly, making you shift a little and the first tiniest audible moan escaping your lips. 

You could feel it briefly, his hardened cock resting against his chiseled abdomen, Jungkook’s lips pressed against your neck once more, this time suckling the skin as his other hand trailing down your waist before gripping the other side of your ass. 

A soft moan escaped your lips, making your hips shift, nudging his cock once more making his lips suckle your skin a little harder, he released the skin after a moment, as if not wanting to mark it, “Let me make you feel good, my little sun.”

His fingers digging into your skin, his tongue dragging on your neck, “Please.” You ushered out a small moan. 

Jungkook’s hand’s suddenly grabbed your waist, “Hold on,” He said and you didn’t understand for a moment until he suddenly picked you up, bringing you out of the water, grabbing one of the towels from off the stool he laid it out on the bed to not get it wet before dropping you down. 

The fire crackled on, the only light source in the room, leaving it dark and warm, but the silhouette of Jungkook’s body was still very evident, his hard cock even more so as he stood tall in front of your figure. 

You felt so small in comparison in this moment, but it didn’t last long as Jungkook leaned down, “You’re so perfect.” He whispered, lips pressing into yours as if he could sense your anxiousness, your body was so pliable though, having his hovering over you protectively. You moaned into the kiss, body relaxing as one of his hands found your thighs, pushing them apart tenderly as you opened them for him.

Your cunt was throbbing and wet, eager to be touched by him as Jungkook broke the kiss, letting his tongue drag down your throat and to your collarbone before he feathered more kisses, pausing at your breasts. 

Jungkook couldn’t resist wrapping his lips around your left tit, this forced a moan from you, hips shifting in need as a hand steady them, as if telling you to be patient, he traded for your right tit next, moaning softly against your skin as if relishing in it. 

“Jungkook…!” You whined softly, watching the explicit sight, your thighs spreading a little more in need. 

Jungkook’s eyes almost glowed in the dark, that icy blue piercing gaze, hazy and filled with lust as he released your tit from his lips, a small lazy smirk tugging on his lips, “Yes, my love?” 

It felt like knots were forming in your stomach, “Love me, you keep saying it, show me how it feels.” 

Jungkook gave you a small smile, “You don’t need to ask me twice.” His lips pressed down your stomach and your body was reacting in all the ways he could hope as he made his way down to your hips, tenderly, slowly, licking up every reaction he got before he settled himself between your thighs. 

Still he seemed to enjoy getting you worked up, lips pressing against your inner thigh making you squirm, your cunt dripping wet as you whined, “Jungkook!” 

His tongue dragged just a little closer to where you wanted it, “What do we say when we want something?” 

“Please…!” 

Jungkook moaned softly as his tongue pressed against your cunt making you let out a moan of relief, his hot wet tongue mixing with your arousal as he pressed against your little opening before dragging it up your slit, right where you wanted it. 

You moaned softly as his tongue pressed against your clit, you shifted onto your forearm, your other hand reaching down to bury in his wet dark locks of hair, his tongue swirling around the tender bud as pleasure shot through your body making your thighs open further for him.

His eyes closed as he moaned against your clit, wrapping his lips around it as if suckling something sweet, it made a sharp whine escape you as you yanked his hair hips lifting for him. 

“Mm Jungkook.” You ushered out softly as his lips parted, tongue lathing against the little bud that had you squirming in pleasure. 

“Relax my love,” Jungkook moaned into your cunt, “Let me make you cum as many times as you please.” 

His fingers snuck down to your cunt as his lips wrapped back around your clit making you whine, his tongue having found a particularly sweet spot that had you grabbing his hair.

His fingers toyed with your little hole at first, letting them get nice and sticky from your arousal before he pushed a digit in, your body immediately reacted, walls clenching around him as a strangled whine left you. 

His lips parted as his tongue lathed your clit, continuously flicking the sweet spot of your bud as you whimpered, your cunt throbbing in pleasure as his finger began to pump inside you, “Relax princess, I got you,” Jungkook’s lidded eyes met yours, and briefly you could see his finger, knuckle deep in your cunt. 

As if noticing this as well a small smirk curled on his lip as he pulled it out, before gathering both his middle and ring finger, pushing it back inside you, it made you wince a little in discomfort, “Shh, give your body to me, I’ll take care of it my love,” Jungkook moaned softly, his cock was rock hard at watching you moan and wither beneath him in pleasure.

Your walls clenching tightly around his fingers as he thrusted them inside you, his lips tenderly pressing into your thigh to soothe you as your body slowly relaxed just as he said.

Your hips slowly lifted in sync with his as you whined, Jungkook buried himself back in your cunt once more, tongue lapping at your little clit, getting the exact reaction he had hoped. 

A loud cry escape you, thighs suddenly wrapping around his head just the way he wanted them too, wanting to be suffocated by your cunt and nothing else, his fingers immediately began pumping rougher inside you as you whined unable to keep yourself supported anymore as you collapsed back against the bed. 

“Koo! Mmm! Please Koo!” Your words were mumbled and whiny as his tongue viciously swirled and suckled your throbbing bud, his fingers suddenly lifting inside you as if in search for something. 

Pleasure was becoming more consistent, more intense as Jungkook's moan vibrated against your clit and his fingers pushing all the way inside you as they lifted once more, the pleasure that suddenly snapped through your body was indescribable, a loud whimper escaping you. 

His name came in shambled shorter variations as you whined and moaned, your walls rapidly squeezing around his fingers as he kept thrusting into the same spot again and again.

Jungkook kept lapping at your clit, finding that sweet spot once more as you withered beneath him, back arching as your mind blurred with pleasure, “Oh..! Oh god, please! Yes! Mmm!” 

Your voice echoed throughout the bedroom loudly as fits of moans  escaped your mouth, lips parted at just how good you felt, “Cum for me, cum all over my fingers sweetheart,” Jungkook moaned before his lips parted against your clit, lazily rubbing into that little spot as his fingers ruthlessly rubbed into that spot inside you. 

And you did. 

Your walls rapidly wrapped around his fingers as he kept shoving them inside you, his tongue attached to your bud, milking your orgasm as unholy noises escaped your lips, mixtures of thanks, of his name, cries to the empty sky. 

It just kept going, the pleasure only heightened as you squealed out, hands digging into his hair as his tongue swirled over your clit, fingers refusing to stop as they hit that same spot inside you over and over again. 

It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your thighs trembling as you completely gave your body up to him, relaxing into the building sensation inside your cunt as your walls kept squeezing around his fingers, his tongue not stopping on your clit as he suckled it once more. 

His tongue finding just the right spot as it all spiked once more, your moans were shaky and cried out as blind pleasure washed over you once more, cumming all over his fingers but not only that liquid suddenly spewing lewdly from your little hole. 

“Fuuck,” Jungkook moaned, lifting your hips suddenly as his fingers abused your little entrance, hitting that spot over and over again as your body withered against him, “Such a good girl.” 

His fingers finally pulled out of your cunt, your thighs trembling as he set you down, moaning as he kissed your thighs, hands dragging against your waist, “Fuck, I want you so bad sweetheart, wanna fill you up, wanna feel you cum all over my cock.” 

You were heaving deep breathes, trying to comprehend the pleasure you just experienced, you were hazy still as your hand tenderly combed through his hair, “Then do so…” You gazed at him, hazey and the darkness made it difficult to make out his expression, “You said you wanted me to be your wife, then make me your wife.” 

Jungkook’s gaze shot up to you as you weakly smiled, “I want you to be my husband, but we’ve never consummated it. I want to.” 

Jungkook moaned softly, his cock throbbing as he crawled up to you, arms hovering on either side of you as he stared down at you, “You mean it?” 

“Of course I do,” You whispered, hands creeping up his neck and back to his hair once more, pulling him down for a kiss that he would never deny you. 

Jungkook moaned softly into the kiss before he broke it, pressing a kiss against your neck, “It’ll hurt,” He whispered, “But I’ll make sure it doesn’t last long.” 

Jungkook shifted you further up the bed as he sat on his knees, between your thighs as you parted them for him, feeling nervous, but you felt so safe with him, you wanted him, craved him. Jungkook’s fingers brushed over your cunt, puffy and wet as you shuddered. 

His hand was soaked in your arousal as before he wrapped it around his cock, just as big and fat as you remembered. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he pumped his cock in his hand, it made you feel shy as you shifted beneath him. 

“Are you sure?” He murmured, you nodded. 

Grabbing your thighs he pulled you closer to him before he grabbed his cock once more, rubbing the fat weeping head of his cock against your cunt as you let out a shaky exhale, you knew he was big but…he was really big compared to you.

Just the size of his head was nearly as big as your cunt itself, “Jungkook I don’t…-”

“It’ll fit.” He reassured, a little amused, pulling the head of his cock to your little entrance before attempting to push it in. 

You winced in pain as you shifted, you weren’t sure how you expected this to go, it really wasn’t something you had ever fantasized about. But the first attempt was lackluster due to the fact that he indeed was not getting it in.

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled, “Ugh fuck. Hold on,” He whispered, shifting a little more, setting your thighs a top of his a little more, lining his cock back up to your entrance as he pushed once more. 

He pushed the fat head of his cock against your entrance once more, this time however, you let out a yelp, the sensation almost burning as you shifted in discomfort against him, “Ah…! Fuck that hurts.” You let out a weak whine, biting down on your lip hard. 

And it did, all you could focus on was how much it ached and burned having your walls pushed open by something so large and foreign.

Jungkook leaned down, arms on either side of you as he pressed feathery kisses into your neck, “I’m sorry, my love,” His whisper was strained, “Just let yourself relax, it won’t last long.” He let out a slight shaky moan as he pushed himself just a little deeper inside you.

You tried to let yourself relax as much as possible, but your brows were still pinching together and it was difficult for it to not hurt when he was just really that big. 

Jungkook suddenly pulled out of you making you sigh in relief, Jungkook pressed another comforting kiss against your neck as he pushed the head of his cock back inside, only this time, it wasn’t nearly as painful, a little discomfort of having something foreign inside your body. 

But it wasn’t nearly as bad, Jungkook’s muscles were completely tensed and his breath was shaky as he buried his face into your neck with a moan, “Fuck sweetheart, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” 

Jungkook his deep raspy words in your ear made your walls squeeze around him, making him push a little deeper inside you as you let out a soft whine, shifting your hips as if trying to take more of him. 

Jungkook could feel this, immediately pushing his cock deeper inside you, “Oh my god,” He whispered, “Fucking perfect, perfect cunt, perfect body, perfect for me. Look at that little cunt, taking me so well.” 

You whined at his hips thrusting a little, as if testing the water’s, “Koo…mmm!” Your eyes snapped shut at feeling his cock splitting your walls open, hitting all the right places.

Jungkook moaned as his hips slowly began to thrust, his cock still not fully inside you but with each thrust it got a little closer, “Feels so warm, so little, fuck, keep wrapping around me like that love.” 

His shaft rubbed right into that sweet spot that had you moaning, legs wrapping around his waist, your cunt felt so full and yet wanted so much more, Jungkook’s hips were becoming a little faster, “Such a perfect cunt, mine. All mine.” There was a hint of possessiveness in his words. 

Your hands dug in his hair, “All yours.” You whimpered out quietly as your body started jolting, his hips becoming rougher at the words, “Your cunt, yours.” 

Jungkook let out a rough moan, deep and raw as if those words made him all hot and bothered, “Fuck yeah it is,” He suddenly growled in your ear, “You’re my fuckin’ wife, my cunt to play with, my cunt to make cum again and again. Mine.” 

You suddenly whimpered at feeling his cock going deeper inside you, your eyes shutting as you moaned for him, knowing he wanted to hear them, knowing how much he liked to see you in pleasure, “Mmm! Like that.” 

“Oh? Like this?” He smirked against your skin as he thrusted particularly harsh, his cock going deep inside you once more, your walls rapidly clenching around him as you moaned, nails dragging against his back. 

“What about this?” He murmured in your ear, pushing his hips all the way until they met yours, his cock completely buried in your warm little cunt as you shakily moaned, eyes squeezing shut at how deep he was inside, how thick and fat his cock was, completely splitting open your walls. 

“Mmm fuck, yeah.” You ushered softly, creaming all over his cock, arousal coating it as your walls squeezed around him, you had finally found heaven, it was Jungkook buried inside your cunt. 

Jungkook moaned as well, feeling how tight your walls squeezed around him in pleasure, as if suddenly starved Jungkook grabbed your thigh, bringing it over his shoulder as his hips shifted, rapidly thrusting into you as you yelped in surprise. 

But pleasure was immediately blooming side you, his shaft rubbing all the right spots, balls slapping against your skin as you whimpered for him, “Oh! Right there, yeah! Yes, god…!” 

Jungkook moaned, “Fuck yeah, squeeze around me baby, know you wanna cum on it, cum all over this fat cock, gonna fill you up until your dripping.” 

Your hips lifted with his, moaning at how good it felt, his cock roughly dragging in and out of you, pushing your walls open with each thrust, “Mmm wanna cum all over it.” 

Jungkook moaned, thrusting particularly hard this time making you whine before he suddenly shifted, letting go of your thigh as he suddenly sat up right, but dragging you with him, his cock pulling out of you as you whined. 

Thighs trembled and uncertain of this new position as Jungkook sat you in his lap, immediately grabbing his cock as he pushed it back inside you, except you were a little awkward, “Mm Koo I don’t-”

“Like this love.” Jungkook moaned, grabbing your hips as he lifted them, this new position made you feel him in an entirely new way, your lips parting as an involuntary moan escaped you, trying to mimick the way his hips guided you. 

Sliding down his cock as you moaned, feeling how deep he was inside you, your walls rapidly clenched, Jungkook’s hands tightened around your ass, “Fuck yeah sweetheart, can feel you wrapping around it, cum.” His head suddenly dove down, lips parting on your right tit as he suckled it harshly making you cry out, walls clenching around him as you lowered your hips all the way down. 

Your arousal dripping on his balls as he lifted you, fucking you on his cock as you whined pathetically, not of much use when he fucked you like this, his lips suckled your tit harshly once more, “Cum,” He growled, his hand suddenly smacking your right ass cheek making you yelp. 

Your body however, loved that feeling of pain, your cunt squeezing around his cock as he roughly bounced you on it, “Like that? Like getting spanked sweetheart?” Jungkook grinned deviously, suddenly smacking your ass even harder, your body reacting to it as your walls clenched harder around him. 

“Mmm! M’ gonna cum..Koo!” You whimpered out, all the sensations overwhelming you as Jungkook continued to bounce you on his cock, pushing you deeper on him as he smacked your ass once more, this time hitting just under the cheek, the pain mixed with the pleasure as you moaned loud, walls squeezing rapidly around his cock. 

Your lips parted as you came all over his fat shaft, being bounced roughly as Jungkook moaned, “Fuck yeah, thats it princess,” Jungkook moaned, wrapping his around around your waist as he laid back on the bed, bring you with him a top as his hips lifted, rapidly thrusting up inside you, this orgasm was much deeper, more powerful as he continued to bottom out inside you making sure he was completely buried inside you.

“Fuck my love, that’s it.” Jungkook ushered a moan, you felt it before you heard it, something indescribably warm shooting deep inside your cunt, “Mm that’s it, take it like the good girl you are.” 

You let out the tiniest whine, burying your head in his shoulder as he let out a deep sigh of contentment, relishing in his orgasm, how long had he imagined holding you like this?

His lips tugged into a lopsided smile as his eyes opened, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world, as if in deep admiration, love.

You supposed that look in his eyes, could only be described adequate as love, “My goddess,” He mused, fingers trailing your face, his hand trailed down your side before grabbing your hand, the skin discolored in large patches. 

Jungkook pressed his lips against the palm before tenderly planting a kiss on each finger, the gesture was so full of love it made your eyes fill with tears that did not shed, his lips pressed against your wrist, “The love of my life, I know I cannot change the past,”

Jungkook laid you both on your side as he wrapped his arm around you, “But we will get through this together.”

You weren’t sure what it was, the earnest look in his eyes, the pure devotion in his voice, but you believed him, you wholeheartedly believed him, “We will.” You whispered back, leaning in to press your lips against his.

It was filled with nothing but sweetness, tenderly pressing over yours as he let out a soft moan, his hand finding its home around your neck, not squeezing but simply holding it, “My wife.” He moaned against the kiss, “My beautiful wife. I don’t think there will ever be a day I don’t love you. Sleep, and if you wake, I’ll be here to hold you.” 

Sleep did not come easily, Jungkook had managed to get you both under the warm covers, scaring off whatever little coldness that had tickled your skin, the last hour before he fell asleep had been silent, his fingers tracing circles against your back, enjoying one another's warmth. 

You had eventually fell asleep but dreams you could not remember had plagued you back awake, your eyes were tired but you could see blue light streaming in from the window, it wouldn’t be long before your day would begin. 

Still, you laid dozing off enjoying your Jungkook who hadn’t let go of you the whole time, skin to skin contact soothing, you had rolled onto your stomach, letting the weight of his body near on top of you soothe your eyes back shut. 

Shifting a little to get comfortable this must have accidentally awoke him as you felt a gentle kiss press on your shoulder a sleepy groan escape his lips, “How long have you been awake?” He mumbled, his voice quiet, deeper and raspier than normal. 

“...Not too long, I’ve woken up multiple times though.” You whispered, keeping your eyes shut as you felt his hand slowly stroke your waist. 

You would never say it out loud, but you could definitely get use to being petted like this.

“You should’ve woke me up,” Jungkook pressed another kiss against your skin, this time your neck, “Let us lay together in silence.” 

“We could be laying in silence right now.” You offered a tiny tired smile though you weren’t sure he could see it. 

“We could.” Jungkook murmured, his lips pressing onto your neck once more, this time parting as his tongue tenderly lapped over your skin, the act itself made your breath hitch, body stirring as you tilted your head, letting him have more access to your skin. 

You kept your eyes closed, allowing him to give you open mouthed kisses over your neck, not too long in each spot to be mindful of marking, his tongue delicately tracing over each patch just enough to tease. 

It seemed he finally got what he wanted out of you, a tiny moan as he shifted you both, now spooning you, your bare ass promptly snug against his hard cock, his lips suckling the skin of your neck as his hand snaked over your waist, grabbing a handful of your tit as he pinched your nipple. 

You whined as you rubbed back against him a little, this made his hand immediately grab your hip, squeezing it to stay still before it hooked over your thigh to lift it, your cunt glossy and wet, dried cum staying your thighs no doubt. 

Your face felt hot and flush and suddenly the covers that had kept you warm were like an inferno, Jungkook shifted, grabbing his cock as he let his fat weeping head rub along your puffy slit. 

A small breath escaped you as he rubbed it over your sensitive clit before back to your little entrance, and then pushing it in, your brows pinched together in discomfort, his size still big for your body to adjust too. 

“Shhh,” He whispered against your neck, moaning softly as his hips started thrusting, his cock pushing further inside you as you whined, “Fuck, can’t believe this pussy is all mine,” Jungkook ushered quietly, “Mine to fuck, mine to love, mine to cum inside. Mine.” 

You moaned against the pillow, your walls squeezing tight around his cock as he thrusted further inside you before pushing all the way in, his shaft rubbing just the right way inside you, “Mmm, Jungkook.” You moaned quietly. 

You could feel his wicked smirk on your skin, hips suddenly thrusting rough up into you, his cock throbbing as his balls smacked against your skin, “Moan my name, only mine. Want everyone to hear, to know how good I fuck you.” 

You bit down on your lip at his hips thrusting at a steady but rough pace, each time pulling almost out of you only to shove all the way back in, the fat head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you each time. 

“That's right sweetheart, cream all over it, wanna feel this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock,” Jungkook moaned in your ear, that deep rasp in his voice had your clit throbbing and your walls wrapping around him as you whined. 

Overwhelmed by how big he was, how good it felt you nearly cried out at the feeling of his cock pulling out of you, your muscles tensed as your eyes snapped open at being robbed of your pleasure. 

Jungkook had a sleepy smirk on his face as he sat upright against the headboard, pulling the covers off to reveal his fat, proud cock, glossy with your arousal as he offered you a hand, “Come sit on your throne my goddess.” 

Your body felt hot in all kinds of ways as you took his hand before slowly crawled to him, Jungkook however manhandled you to sit on his lap, your back pressing into his chest as he pried your thighs apart, the position was all too familiar as you whined. 

“Jungkook…!” 

“Remember what I said last time?” Jungkook pressed a long kiss against your neck, shifting you as he grabbed his cock, gleaming coated in your arousal as he pushed the head back inside you, an audible moan from you echoing in the room as you watched in arousal and horror at how much he was splitting your cunt. 

Your body could do nothing but sink down on it, whines and whimpers escaping you once again at just how thick his cock was, finally meeting the base as your body rested against his, Jungkook however had different plans, grabbing your thighs to lift them a little as he suddenly starting thrusting. 

His fast pace took you off guard as you gurgled a moan, eyes unable to look at anything except his cock pulling in and out of your cunt, covered in slick arousal as you felt his shaft squeezing past your soft warm walls each time, hitting up into your sweet spot that had you moaning. 

“You like watching?” Jungkook grinned, a breathy moan escaping him as his chin rested on your shoulder, eyes hazy as he watched his cock push all the way inside you, “Like being made to take this big fat cock while being made to watch.”

Jungkook’s eyes squeezed shut at how hard your walls suddenly clenched around him, taking everything in him to not cum this very moment, “You’re so fucking little,” He groaned, fingers digging into your thighs, “Love feeling that pretty little cunt wrap around me, heh yeah like that fuuck.” 

His fingers found your clit rubbing them as you yelped out, walls rapidly clenching around him in a feeling that he was quickly starting to familiarize himself with, it made his cock throb in pleasure as he lifted once more, shifting you both a little so you laid back more against his chest, thrusting harder and faster this time as he pressed your clit between his fingers. 

“Mmph! Koo-! Fuck, ah! Yes! Oh god, like that, please! Please!” Moans escaped you incohesively, surrendering your body to him as he fucked you roughly, hips snapping up into yours, his cock stretching out your walls each time. 

Jungkook’s fingers toyed with your throbbing clit, “Thats it, moan, let them know who’s taking care of this pretty pussy, who’s filling you up with cock right now,” His hips drilling into you as he watched his cock snap in and out of your cunt each time, “Look, watch.” He growled in your ear. 

Your eyes opened as you moaned, your cunt puffy and wet, stretching for him with more ease now than before, Jungkook’s hips slowed down, “You like watching yourself get fucked?” 

Your throat felt dry and your body hot as his hips sensually moved, slower, deeper, making sure you felt every thrust of his hips as his cock buried deep in your cunt, “Answer.” 

“Yes,” You stammered, whining a little at his cock burying inside you once more but this time not pulling out immediately after, “Like watching.” You whined quietly. 

Jungkook had a wicked grin on his lips, “You like it? Being fucked by the wicked prince?” His thrusts were short, keeping his cock as deep inside you as he could, your walls clenched at the short snapped sensation, “Like it when I cum deep inside this pretty virgin cunt of yours?”

Pleasure was building rapidly in your body, your walls squeezing tightly around him each time, watching his long thick fingers rub into your clit, finding that sweet little spot that had you gasping a whine.

“Yes, yeah, fuck, mmm! Fuck Koo, gonna…!” Your body was contorting as his cock pushed all the way inside you once more.

“I remember that little mouth of yours our wedding night, remember wanting nothing more then to bend you over and stuff you full of cock,” Jungkook moaned, hips becoming sloppy, thrusts uneven, some slow, some rough, “Fuck you so hard all you’d be able to do was thank me. But look at you now.” 

Jungkook smiled against your shoulder, “My pretty wife letting me fuck her tiny little cunt, letting me ruin the little virgin dryad princess. Fuck yeah, that’s it, cum all over it my love. Cum all over this cock.”

You were moaning so loud, surely people out in the halls could hear, and it only turned Jungkook on further, his cock buried inside you with the need to make sure you kept moaning, needing others to hear, to know that you were his. 

His thrusts were short, keeping buried deep in your cunt as his fingers kept rubbing into the sweet spot of your clit, your walls rapidly clenching around his base as he buried into you once more before you came. 

Jungkook let out a loud moan as your walls squeezed him so tight he was unable to thrust, pleasure was contorting in every part of your body as you came all over his cock just as he wanted, your clit throbbing in pleasure as Jungkook tenderly rubbed into it, milking every last bit of pleasure he could.

“God I love the way your cunt wraps around me,” He murmured, eyes tightly shut at the sensation, what he had dreamed of for so long now, the feeling of your cunt squeezing tight around him, begging to be filled with his cum. 

The feeling was still foreign, having something warm and slightly sting as it roped inside you, his hands squeezing your thighs tight as he came, moaning softly in your shoulder, you both were heaving breathes.

Jungkook pressed a flutter of light kisses against your neck, fingers tracing your thighs, is fingerprints still prominent in them, “So that’s what you meant…” 

“Hm?” Jungkook hummed out, nose nudging your neck in a loving manner, his fingers tracing over the skin that was slowly discoloring. 

“You…once told me bruising could be attractive, is this what you meant?” You whispered, voice raspy a little humored. 

You could feel the tiny smile on your neck, “Maybe. Maybe not, do you find it attractive?” 

“Do you?” 

Jungkook’s fingers continued to trace over the marks, “When they’re mine,” He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, “They’re the most attractive.”

You had gotten distracted though, his cock slipping out of you and cum oozing from your entrance you squirmed in discomfort, your face felt warm at the lewd sight.

“Mmm, that’s even more attractive though,” Jungkook moaned softly, his index finger scooping it back up before pushing it back in making you squirm.

“Jungkook…!” You whined out, immediately closing your legs.

He chuckled as he pressed a kiss against your head, “Let me grab a washcloth and get you cleaned up.” 

Jungkook shuffled you out of his lap before standing up with a groan, grabbing his undershort that had never gotten worn last night as he put them on, grabbing a washcloth from the stool, walking back over to bed where you had shuffled, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed as you sat naked on his bed.

It didn’t matter if you both had just finished laying together and his cum dripped between your thighs. 

Jungkook looked down at you for a long moment before a smile curled on his lips, “Are you going to let me see?”

“I…can clean myself.” You replied flustered, unable to look at those pretty blue eyes of his. 

“What kind of partner would I be if I made you do that?” Jungkook snorted, grabbing your legs as he pulled you closer, it made you squeak now at the edge of the bed.

You thighs parting only a little for him, but he had quickly made it more as he pulled them further apart, his tongue grazing his lips at the sight before the warm wet cloth dragged over your thighs, his hands were attentive and gentle as he cleaned you up. 

Jungkook had gotten himself halfway dressed and had just gotten your slip on just in time for the timely knock on the door, Taehyun’s voice on the otherside.

Jungkook had allowed him to come in, bowing to you both before going to Jungkook’s wardrobe, “Would you like for me to send for a maid to help the Princess?” Taehyun asked, you could tell he had to have known something was up but obviously not about to ask. 

“No,” Jungkook replied, leaving your side as he walked over to Taehyun, “I’ll help her get ready for the day.” 

Taehyun said nothing more aside from going over the duties Jungkook would need to attend today as he got him dressed, you had fidgeted in bed, eyes glancing at the window as light began to filter in, brighter than usual. 

You would be expected to carry out your duties today as well, the rebuilding of the market had slowed down since winter had approached and Jeong Dae had warned you the building would be very slow in the winter, but to be patient. 

You also had to meet with a few noble houses today to discuss resources once more, just the idea exhausted you. It had been nearly a week since the incident and yet it felt as though a day hadn’t past. 

You hadn’t even noticed when the door had been shut. 

“You’re in your head again.” Jungkook frowned, staring down at you, fully dressed in black today.

“So much has happened since we married,” You frowned as you looked at the window once more, “It’s difficult to not these days.” 

You parted your lips but no words came, uncertain of how to express your feelings, Jungkook patiently waited as he turned away from you walking to your wardrobe, most of your clothes had been taken out, but evidently he had somehow managed to keep most of your winter wardrobe here. 

“I knew it would be difficult, when we married and I would move here, leaving my land behind. I had two years of mental preparation for what may happen,” You sighed softly as you glanced at your hands, flipping them over to look at your discolored palms, “I had mainly prepared myself to be killed here. And yet…somehow, it never occured to me that living might possibly be worse. That living and yet, unable to recognize myself, would be a thousand times worse than death.”

You felt alienated from yourself, perhaps deep down you always knew you were capable of murder, the rage so deep in your bones that certainly it would strike a god down, but to have done it? 

To go against everything your nation stood for? The oath you had so proudly taken as a little girl, your mothers eyes beaming down at you with pride. 

Jungkook set the material out on the bed he had gathered before kneeling down in front of you, gently taking your hands in his, “Or perhaps this is just another side of you, something different, something new, change is uncomfortable. Growth is painful. I remember my first time…” 

Your eyes slowly moved, meeting his as he frowned, “I was nothing more than a child, holding a sword too big, he was a grown man. It was one of our drill sergeants in training, he had despised the Jeon name and had taken to treating me as nothing more then dirt beneath his boots.”

Jungkook sighed, “He had been ruthlessly sparring with me, going as far as kicking me into the ground well past my attempt of surrender. And then he stopped, and just stared at him before laughing, saying I was pathetic, that I’d never live a day in battle. And like that he just turned his back and walked away.” 

Jungkook’s eyes dropped, “I don’t even know what possessed me, but he kept laughing as he called out to his little friend that he was done with the Jeon Scum, suddenly I had unsheathed the dagger in my hand and ran at him.” 

“And?” You whispered out.

Jungkook shrugged, “I don’t remember much of it anymore, I’ve been told I stabbed him over fourteen times though, I was covered in blood by the end of it and I only remember crying in the bathtub while washing myself.” 

Your heart painfully squeezed for him, he couldn’t have been older than ten? Nobody would ever be fit to kill, let alone a child, “Were there consequences?” 

Jungkook shook his head, “Areum had given me a light slap on the wrist, extra watch duty, less rations, things of that nature. But being the prince gave me certain privilege,” He a bitter smile grew on his face, “I think that was the first time my father ever told me he was proud of me. Said I had great promise on the battlefield and that I was meant to rule.” 

“You say it with such disdain.” You frowned. 

Jungkook sighed as he stood up, grabbing the dress he had picked out for you, a purple dress with long thick velvet sleeves, the material was sheer and thin but he had grabbed a thick under slip to pair with it. 

Jungkook pulled the slip over your head, “Do you want my honest words on it?” 

“Of course I do.” You whispered out, eyes meeting his as he pulled the material down. 

“I’ve never had the desire to rule,” Jungkook said it no more than a whisper, “I don’t want the crown, I don’t want to be king.” He ushered it as if it was a crime, but suddenly he looked a little relieved as if this was the first he had ever voiced it, “I don’t want those responsibilities that come with it…”

Jungkook held your dress in his hands as his brows furrowed, “...I don’t want to be like my father.”

He spoke it as if that was the underlying reason, you stood up in front of him before wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him, “You’re nothing like him.” You whispered out, his hands wrapping around you as he squeezed you tight, nose burying in your hair. 

Jungkook broke away only a little as his forehead pressed against yours, “But then I think about you, crown on top of your head, the way you visit the outer districts, redistribute what's left that the royals waste, how you sacrificed something so sacred to you…” His hand grabbed your own, pulling it towards his lips as he pressed a kiss against your palm, “And I think about how you were made to be a queen, and if I were to rule by your side…then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“Truthfully?” You whispered back, looking up at him with a soft smile, “It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I’m with you.”

Jungkook only smiled, fingers tracing your neck as he gave a flutter of kisses to the palm of your hand before he let go of you, grabbing the gown as he helped you change, tentatively lacing the back of your dress before turning you around. 

A sort of satisfied look on his face as if he had made the right choice, “Leave your hair down today, it looks nice like this.” 

“Jungkook…” You gave him a look, you felt incomplete if you didn’t have your hair braided or styled at all. 

“Indulge me today.” Jungkook replied with a sort of saccharine dripping off his tongue you had never heard before, pulling the velvet gloves over your hands.

You hated how much he had so easily convinced you as you sighed, shaking your head, “Very well, anything else.” 

He nodded walking to your jewelry box once more, “I didn’t say anything, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t notice.” Jungkook walked back over to you, gently grabbing your left hand lifting it up as he held out the large black ring, your wedding ring, “Wear it with pride.” 

Jungkook slid it on your ring finger making you smile as you glanced down at it, you had worn it a few times in the past, but it felt different letting him put it on you.

Your lips slowly fell though, “...I’m not ready for today.” You whispered out, Jungkook had been completely taken you away from your sickening thoughts for the last twelve hours, and soon you would have to return to reality. 

Jungkook frowned as his fingers traced along your neck, “It’ll be over soon my love.” He ushered quietly before leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips, your eyes closing as you leaned into his warm touch, fingers curling around your throat as you let out the softest moan. 

Jungkook refused to let this go further though, letting his hand drop as he broke the kiss, “If the day gets hard, you know where to find me.” 

Your day had become tones of gray, monotonous without having even realized it, your mind was elsewhere and nobles had looked at you with mixed reactions, some in fear, some in disgust. After all, they had all seen you, seen what you had done, what you were capable of.

You had been hold up in the library the last hour and a half though, reading up on some of the policies for building that had a headache beginning to turn up in your head.

Flipping the page you had went to drink your tea only to find it ice cold, the fire crackled at the far end of the library, but here in the nook you had found it towards the window was cold. 

Time had passed more than you had realized when you found your husband standing at the front of the table, looking at you expectantly. 

You glanced up from your book, “Are you finished with your duties already?” He usually worked later than this.

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled, “I’ve been done for over an hour, it’s nearing seven Y/n.” 

Your eyes widened as you glanced out the window, realizing it was dark outside before you looked back at him, “I’m sorry I didn’t even realize…”

Jungkook rounded the table, fingers dragging to your book before shutting it, “Enough of burying yourself in work.”

You frowned before you glanced up at him, “Do you have something in mind for us then?”

“Dinner,” Jungkook replied with a tilt of his head, “But first come, we should check on Fenrir and…you’ll enjoy the walk.” 

You took the hand he offered you before hooking onto his arm as you both walked down the hall, it was a quiet night but the glances maids and nobles alike didn’t surpass you, the looks never went away. 

You tried your best to ignore them as you entered to the courtyard, lips parting as you both stepped out.

Large fluffy snowflakes fell from the sky, almost shimmering against firelight as they softly landed on the ground, small piles of powder already forming as you looked around, enchanted at the sight, “It’s snowing…!” Your lips twisted into a smile, “I’ve never seen snowflakes so large…” 

Jungkook’s eyes softened on you as he smiled, “I figured so, it’s our first of many snowfall to come this winter. I thought you might like to see it.” 

Jungkook had led you down to the stables but your eyes were still captivated by the sky, filled with little white puffs that gracefully landed onto the ground, a loud whine however brought you back as you frowned. 

“Oh my sweet boy,” You ushered out softly at the sight of seeing Fenrir limp towards you, large tail wagging behind him as you reached out for his face, tenderly rubbing his snout before planting a kiss atop his head, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you today.” 

“I saw him this morning, I let him loose while watching the guards spar,” Jungkook said, “He’s healing, by the time we travel for Yule he’ll be good as new.” 

He reached out, giving a firm pat to Fenrir’s side, “We’ll be taking him with us?” You glanced back at him in surprise. 

“Wolves will be roaming for food no doubt by the time we leave, it would be most safe to have him with us to scare off any predators.” Jungkook replied with a nod, “...He’s also bound to you, the grief he’d give royal staff would be something I’d never hear the end of from my father.” 

You gave him a guilty smile, “I wouldn’t want to part with him either.” Fenrir had managed to lick your face causing a quiet giggle to escape you as you leaned away from him, lovingly stroking his neck. 

You had gone inside his pen to straighten out his blankets and to pull out one more thicker one, now that it was snowing you were certain the winter nights would be long and cold, you truly did wish the castle would let him stay inside. 

After spending a few minutes with Fenrir you let out a soft sigh, wishing to not have to depart from him so soon, but your duties had kept you all day, and tomorrow would most likely not be much better. 

Fenrir as if sensing this let out a whine, his ears flattening against his head and his tail fell, “Don’t look like that,” You whispered out, your heart aching for him as you rubbed his ears, “I’ll be back tomorrow, and maybe Jungkook will let you out again.”

“We’ll see,” Jungkook replied neutral, “Inside Fenrir.” 

It was a soft command the Fenrir hesitated to listen too, “Inside.” Jungkook repeated more firm making the wolf whine once more as he went back into his pen, making circles before he laid down, another high pitched whine escaping him. 

“I’ll be back soon.” You whispered before kissing his head once more, closing his gate as you tried to not let his whines make you sad. 

Jungkook had extended his elbow out to you once more as you took it, sighing with a frown as you gave the pen one last look, “It’s only a day, he’ll survive.” 

“I still don’t know why we can’t keep him in the castle…” Your words trailed off at the sight ahead. 

A silvery cloaked figured and…Wheein, bundled up in a green cloak, cheeks rosy pink from the chill as you both paused, it hadn’t been fair that you hadn’t even gotten to see her since she had been trialed. 

You had immediately left Jungkook’s side, “Wheein!” 

Tears filling your eyes as she met you halfway, “Y/n! I’m so, so incredibly sorry!” She whispered out as you both embraced, tears of joy, tears of relief, you weren’t sure, but seeing her in person, being able to tightly hug her. 

It had all suddenly rushed in your mind, that what you had committed, why you had done it, it wasn’t just for your own survival, but it was for the survival of someone else, your arms squeezed around her. 

You broke away from her, grabbing her hands in our own as you both looked at one another, Wheein immediately noticing your tiredness, “Are you okay?” She whispered out. 

“You were nearly executed, I should be asking you that.” You frowned. 

“But you…” Wheein couldn’t bring herself to say the words, the silence loud as you looked away from her. 

Your eyes dropped down to her own gloved hands before finally back at her, “You are alive, and so am I. I will be okay…with time.” 

“You should be at home resting with your family Wheein.” Jungkook had decided to step into the conversation, words softly reprimanding.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer, not after everything that has happened. I owe you both my life, and I wanted to give my thanks for all you have done for me. As well as…” Wheein frowned disapprovingly as she turned to the cloaked figure.

Taehyung. 

“I’ve heard about the ill-spoken words.” Wheein stared him down as she let go of her hands, taking a few steps back as she gestured the man over. 

Taehyung frowned, scratching his cheek as he shuffled in front of you, “What I accused you of Princess…I cannot take back my words, but all I can do is ask for your forgiveness.” 

You gaped as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head, “I spoke without thinking and let my emotions get the better of me.” 

“Taehyung…” You whispered softly, true his words had wounded you but you couldn’t entirely blame him, you had no idea what would do if Jungkook was in such a similar situation, “While your words hurt, being upset like that is understandable. We were all afraid of what would happen, I would never hold it against you.”

“Stand up Taehyung,” Jungkook spoke, his eyes not quite as kind as yours but it seemed he had a similar line of thought, “While your words were border treason…” He trailed off, glancing down at you briefly, “If the love of my life was also on death's doors, there’s no telling the hell I would raise. 

“Love of your life?” Wheein squeaked out, clearly embarrassed at the comparison, but it made a soft smile tug on your lips.

Taehyung bowed at this, “I won’t speak out of line again. I still hope to one day serve as your hand Your Highness.” 

Jungkook snorted, “We’ll see about that. Now you need to escort Wheein back-”

“With all do respect,” Wheein spoke up, a small shy smile on her face, “I would like to return from my leave early, I would like nothing more then to be back in service to the Princess once more.” 

Jungkook frowned disapprovingly but you had spoke before he did, “You are always welcomed to return Wheein, your company would be a light that I need right now.”

Jungkook sighed, “Very well, then return to your quarters for the night,” He began walking, pulling you along with him, “And we’ll see you in the morning.”

Snow fell quietly and you could hear the owls trill out, your heart feeling just a little more light, the road ahead would be only just as treacherous, but with Jungkook by your side, and the friends you had made. 

You could only hope it would be enough. 

[rizzrack]

He gradually worked his way through the stockroom, performing an audit of the inventory counts. The numbers were always right, but the merchant had little else to do in the meantime. Thankfully it won't be the case for long. The keen had just received news from a colleague at the estate that  the ordered prints were being delivered. He was looking forward to finally beginning work on this new project. He had to wonder however how his associate Milgram was doing. It had been over twenty-four hours since he set out to complete some research of his. The merchant wasn't too worried however. Knowing that the customer was on his way with the prints assured him that he could expect to see Milgram very shortly.

Even sooner than he expected. A dingling bell hanging in the doorway notified the merchant of the presence of two more diminuitive folk. Through the entrance stepped a stout keen, and behind him followed Rizzrack. Although at first hesitant to enter, he quickly began to look all about the room.

While the stand could catch Rizzrack's attention, the inside of the shop absolutely captivated him. The air was perfumed with the sweet smell of grease and lubricant,a telling sign that they did more than just sell parts. However that alone wasn't what struck him.  Like most things the ceiling was high enough for the average person, but unlike everything else Rizzrack was so used to seeing, the chairs, shelves, tables, almost everything was made for keenfolk in mind, everything but the service desk; that seemed to be more in favor of the average height profile of the population in Weeping Rose.

Rizzrack knew he had never been in this place before, but he couldn't ignore the gripping sensation of familiarity as he took in his surroundings...

The way the stools had seats that he didn't have to hop up into.

The way the tables didn't go above his chin or required his elbows to be above his shoulders.

The way most everything was within his natural reach.

He was too lost in his own world to notice the merchant come over to greet them.

"Milgram. Welcome back! How went your research in the field?"

"As ordinary as it could be. Aside from this one variable;" He takes a step aside to gesture to the smallkeen right behind. "I happened across someone looking for you!"

"Friend of the warden, we meet again!"

Rizzrack snapped out of it at the mention of 'warden'. He quickly recognized the merchant as the keen he was looking for. While he was glad to have finally found him, his mood was instantly sullied by being reminded of Silencer, influencing the way he reciprocates the greeting.

"Surprised, eh? I wouldn't be. I should have expected him to trick me! Just when ya think you can depend on someone, they lead you on and waste your time."

While both the keen were taken aback by his sudden venting, they had no trouble with keeping tact. "I see. Well, I take it you're in need of dependable people. You know, I know dependable people."

"We're the dependable people." Milgram specified.

"Sometimes the only ones you can depend on is your kin."

'That's a lie.' Rizzrack wanted to say. He knew very well you can't depend on kin either, because sometimes kin get other plans and think it's a great idea to abandon you like trash. But these guys wouldn't be kin by familial obligation. No, it'd be through the shared experience of the struggle for progress that bonds them. It almost felt like some vague lesson he learned before.

Not wanting to lose control of the interaction, the merchant continued. "Despite how long we've known each other, I believe I haven't properly introduced myself yet. I'm Zimbard."

"Zimbard. Well, Zimbard. I'm Rizzrack, and I'm sure you already know why I"m here now."

Zimbard smiled and nodded along patiently as Rizzrack explained his situation. Although he was reluctant to get into reasons and motives, the merchant seemed satisfied enough just knowing the important details.

"Well, retrieving your suit shouldn't be a problem to accomplish, and while we can get right on it, we only need your help to keep an eye on things here while Milgram and I are gone."

"And of course one other important thing."

----

Not long after, the two keen were on their way, completely trusting Rizzrack to be alone at the shop.

He could really feel them depending on him.

It was...

p r e s s u r e.

But he was fine! He was in his element. If someone walked in looking for something, he could find it! He could even sell it! He's sold things before. Like wood. He's sold woodsohowcouldhemessupsellingparts?

Rizzrack did his best to sit still and relax at the service desk. While there were better places to sit, he felt inclined to sit where he thought he should on duty. Besides, the little service bell he found himself tapping with his finger proved to be a helpful little distraction.

In truth there was no reason to stress over selling parts. He wasn't there to sell parts. In fact he's only there to wait for someone to delivery some drawings. Take them, make sure the paper is signed. Easy. Can't mess that up. Unlike meeting up with people. Apparently that can be messed up. Stupid Nortrom. Well guess what Mr. Warden? I've got everything handled myself. I never NEEDED your help, and when the sawsuit is finally back in business I'll-

Ding-ding-ingling...

Rizzrack looked to the bell. No, that wasn't him absent-mindedly tapping it. Realizing the sound came from the door he walked through, he looked up instead to see if it was the customer that Zimbard was expect-

Rizzrack gasps and quickly ducks down, hiding behind the desk.

It's Nortrom. What is HE doing here!? Did he forget about today? Who cares!? Going away you stupid man I'm not READY to see you yet!

@nortromthesilencer

[changkyunsmilitarywife]

Obey Me! Headcanons

𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳

- kins Hannibal Lector from Hannibal NBC

- has a secret Only Fans

- enjoys dishing out punishments & tying people to the ceiling a little bit TOO much

- big dick energy

- he also has big milkers

- loves MCR

- I can see him as a total emo or scene kid in the early 2000s

- wine mom

- whenever his brothers are loud he's like a teacher that says "I'll wait" with his arms crossed

- constantly gets his cape/coat thing flipped over his head by Mammon whenever he walks the halls

- forces his brothers to do community service stuff with him for 'family bonding'

- has a Keurig that Diavolo gave him

- sets the Thermostat to 10 degrees Celsius (50 Fahrenheit)

- “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” energy

𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯

- deez nuts & your mom jokes

- unironically kins the Joker

- Kpop stan

- pretends to hate kids but actually likes them

- or he absolutely hates them. There's no in between

- unironically relates to Creep by Radiohead (but I think most people do so it's okay)

- plays Animal Crossing and owes lots of Bells to Tom Nook

- afraid of Barney, Big Bird & the Kool Aid man

- committed tax fraud at some point (if taxes exist in the Devildom idk)

- flat earther ☹️

- took him too long to learn how to tie his shoe laces

- or he just straight up doesn't know how

- uses axe as his choice of deodorant

- scared of spiders & bugs in general

- makes children cry (maybe that's why he doesn't like them or pretends he doesn't like them)

- he's a discord kitten for money

- cat fishes old men for money

- probably was one of "The Boys 😈💪🏻🦍🔫" at some point

- doesn't know how to swim

- bottom

- got his ears pierced at Claire's

- into bitcoin and cryptocurrency

- makes & sells shitty NFTs

𝘓𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯

- bullies kids online for fun

- wall puncher when he loses fortnite ☹️

- fucking sucks ass at Minecraft

- scared of Minecraft mobs esp the spiders

- discord mod....

- twitch streamer; secretly popular

- has a maid dress & wears it on stream

- participates in NNN...but fails

- when he says lol out loud he says it like "el oh el"

- had a nightcore phase

- his piss is a bright highlighter yellow color

- drinks G Fuel or Bang Energy

- "I have the power of god and anime on my side!"

- the weird kid who sits in the back of your class

- has the Creeper zip up hoodie

- unironically likes & listens to Bo Burnham

- "paper cut survivor 💪🏻" in his bio

𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯

- goes live on tiktok or devilgram & reads bedtime stories

- wears cat ears

- secretly has a Wattpad account or a tumblr where he writes fanfics

- he probably writes smut too tbh

- runs a podcast

- the type to start drama at RAD with asmo because they're bored

- actually likes Macbeth 🤢

- your average nickelback enjoyer

- accidentally fell into an animal’s cage at the zoo when he was a kid

- likes americanos ☹️

- super passive aggressive

- has one of those weird millennial signs that say stuff like "girl boss" or "don't talk to me if I haven't had my coffee yet"

- cat meme/reaction pic user

𝘈𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴

- runs one of those school 'tea' & 'confession' accs on devilgram for RAD

- very famous beauty guru

- has an only fans & twitter

- unironically likes the kissing booth ☹️

- the type to start drama at RAD with Satan because they're bored

- moans super loud during face time/on a call if someone else walks in your room

- if he was in It he would think Pennywise is hot and try to seduce him

- Light Yagami apologist (I mean me too he's hot sorry not sorry)

- watches Ru Paul's drag race

𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣

- tattles on any of his brothers if Lucifer bribes him with food

- takes gym class to seriously, especially dodge ball

- plays cooking mama on his crappy old DSI

- Candy crush player (weirdly good at it)

- good at pole dancing

𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳

- Radiohead stan

- likes fnaf & the lore

- hot topic or Spencer's employee

- con artist for fun

- avid True Crime podcast listener

- has the strawberry or chocolate cow scented pillow pet

𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘰

- has a folder in his photos that's just full of pictures of Lucifer

- has a prayer candle with Lucifer's face on it as a "joke" (or is it ?🤨)

- "blackmails" Lucifer with candids Diavolo took of him (mainly the shirtless ones he took when they were on vacation)

- he radiates energy of that one dad who tries to be 'hip'

- had to get bailed out of jail by Lucifer (Ik he's the prince but idc)

- says memes like "may-mays"

- he probably accidentally summoned the wrong person/human for the exchange program

- scared of roaches

- his favorite Disney movie is Ratatouille

- kins Remy the rat

- big mommy milkers

- has a pickle hate page on devilgram where he just posts pictures of pickles and slanders them

- King Julien

- also enjoys Ru Paul's drag race & forces Lucifer to watch with him

- pours milk before cereal

- has a pair of crocs that are decorated with jibbitz with Barbatos & forced Lucifer to get a pair so all 3 of them can match

- likes minion memes

- has a Burger King crown

𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴

- weirdly good at hacking and coding??

- business major vibes

- or engineering major

- runs a tea devilgram acc where he reviews and rates different brands of tea

- malewife & girlboss energy

- goes on Omegle with Diavolo

- knows how to Doxx people

- takes Diavolo to Chuck E Cheese

- has those old lady candies in his pocket

𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯

- actually a super horny mf

- he is not innocent as you think

- "that's what she said jokes" but says it in his head

- doesn't get worried when Luke is gone bc he knows that Luke will come back

- uses Facebook

𝘓𝘶𝘬𝘦

- has a burn book that features all of the demon brothers

- has Pokémon cards and is actually pretty good at the game

- Jiggly Puff is his fav Pokémon

- jumps around with a contorted face whenever he stubs his toe because he REFUSES to curse

- has the frog Build a Bear plushie

- knitting/crocheting master

𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘯

- sucks at card games so he subtly cheats with magic

- trolls on twitter or any app tbh

- Star Wars fan

- doesn't know how to drive

- or if he does know, he's just shit at it

- does magic at kids birthday parties

- likes Harry Potter but critiques it with how “inaccurate” it is

- turns the brothers into toddlers for fun

- he definitely banged Asmo at some point

- listens to Weezer

- uses Uno cards to do Tarot readings

[myarticles365days]

Kedarnath Travel - Attractions and Tips

I embarked on the Chardham Yatra, a four-site pilgrimage circuit, last year in India despite my firm belief that true pilgrimage (Yatra) is self-discovery as a part of the Supreme. I wouldn't have seen the beauty of the Garhwal Himalayas, the mysterious clouds, the various shades of green, rivers and waterfalls, glaciers and snow, and the zeal and faith of many pilgrims if I hadn't traveled for the pilgrimage?

The Chardham Yatra opens on Akshaya Tritiya (end of April or early May) after a cold winter and continues until Diwali (end of October or early November). One of India's most popular Hindu pilgrimage routes is the Kedarnath Yatra in Uttarakhand, which includes two Shakti sites—Yamunotri and Gangotri—and one of India's most popular Shaiva and Vaishnava sites—Kedarnath Dham and Badrinath Dham, respectively.The trip's beauty and excitement, on the other hand, transcend religious boundaries.

One of India's most important pilgrimage destinations, Kedarnath is located at 11,755 feet atop the snow-covered Himalayas. It is also an important part of three pilgrimage circuits: the Chardham, Panch Kedar, and 12 Jyotirlingas (a pilgrimage circuit that includes 12 sites with self-manifested Lord Shiva shrines). If not for COVID-19, the Temple would not have opened today on this auspicious Akshaya Tritiya, as it does every year, and thousands of devotees would visit Kedarnath throughout the entire season. Therefore, today is the best day to visit Kedarnath.

Trekking Trail Details:

The must stay at a base before heading to the Kedarnath Temple; Guptkashi is the most popular place to stay. One could go with Soneprayag or Gaurikund. Taxis and buses can take you to these locations from Haridwar, Rishikesh, and Dehradun (Jolly Grant Airport). It takes between 7 and 9 hours. From Guptkasi/Gaurikund, there are two options for getting to Kedarnath Temple: by helicopter or by going on a 16-kilometer trek to complete Kedarnath Yatra

The Helicopter Ride Tips:

The Kedarnath travel guide to helicopter rides recommends traveling light. Seats and the number of passengers in a helicopter are allocated based on weight and fuel. Above 80 kg, there are additional fees; above 120kgs twofold ticket must be bought. The weight limit for luggage is 2 kg. Even if you intend to return the following day, it is critical to bring everything you need for a night's stay with you because the weather up there is so unpredictable that bad weather prompts the cancellation of helicopter services right away. One might be required to descend the following day in such a situation. You can request a reservation or assistance right away at one of the basic hotels, guest houses, or tents for shelter. One has two hours to visit the temple and return to the helipad at the base, which is 700 meters away, with the same-day round trip ticket. The expense of tickets shifts as indicated by the helipads from where one flies (full circle costs Rs4500-Rs6900). Phata, Sersi, and Sitapur are the helipads that chopper services use most frequently to fly to the Kedarnath base. The flight to the Kedarnath base, from which the easy 700-meter trek to the temple takes another 20 minutes, takes only 7-8 minutes.

Reaching in front of the temple and seeing the majestic snow-covered peak behind it instantly instills a sense of awe and wonder. Additionally, the chants and temple bells have a calming effect. 10/15 is ecstatic because space is an energy field where every sorrow appears to have been washed away. Around, there are a lot of devotees and interesting Sadhus (hermits and saints).

Behind the temple is an intriguing mythological tale. The Pandavas sought Lord Shiva in the Himalayas following the Battle of Kurukshetra to seek forgiveness for the deaths of their kin, the Kauravas. The second Pandava, Bhima, disguised as a bull and recognizing Lord Shiva, attempted to capture him. After that, the Bull fell into the ground, with various parts of his body emerging later. The hump remained in Kedarnath, while four additional parts appeared elsewhere. The five Panch Kedar temples in Uttarakhand are said to have been built by the Pandavas, according to legend. On Diwali, when the Kedarnath temple closes, the shrine is moved to Ukhimath, where it spends the winter.

According to the Kedarnath travel guide, there is a list of places that must be included in one's itinerary: Gandhi Sarovar or Chorabari Taal, a tranquil lake whose waters destroyed everything in the 2013 flood; Bhairava Temple is on the way to 15/15 Kedarnath temple and Rudra cave, which the Indian Prime Minister visited in 2019 for meditation. The cave is 0.5 kilometers from the temple. If you start from Gaurikund, you should definitely visit the Gauri Mata temple.

This Kedarnath travel package will definitely be of assistance to one. Kedarnath necessitates extensive planning and reservations in advance.

[ruin-iii]

Aberrant

Hypocrisy.

Siphoned, concentrated, bottled.

The only suitable label for the absolute scene before her. 

Sparkling red glints under the dim lounge light as wine spills into the pyramid of flutes below, partygoers cheering for the wasted puddles of it that seep into the floor tile. Scantily clad dancers command the center of the hall as married men jeer and reach in their direction, tossing coins at their feet in exchange for another garment discarded. Settees pristinely arranged by thinning house servants have been tossed into disarray, if not overturned altogether, as well-dressed drunkards devour each other. The shadows of the highborn dance without the defense of their prestigious faces — if people of the Brume were in their place, these very same nobles would condemn them to trial. All the while, a grand portrait of the Fury hangs above them, her gaze cast in ice like that of her land, as her once fiery ardor has since exhausted itself. Who would be able to maintain even a spark, witnessing all of the unadulterated sins of their children?

For a moment, one Imogen Lafontaine feels as if she’s waltzed into one of the Hells. No, Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral is only a quarter of a malm away from here.

She is merely an accessory to the sins she finds herself counting — a portrait on the wall like that of Halone, serving no purpose other than to sit pretty. Not only do her actions so starkly juxtapose the impulses of her present highborn peers, but her chosen garments also stick out like a poor thumb. Translucent, shimmering blue cloth drapes from her limbs and over her face, transforming her silhouette. It provides only faux concealment; in her contours cast, one can make out the minimal breadth of her limbs, the slight point of her ears, and the hairline fracture that her lips press into. If only her fabrics provided any meaningful defense against the hedonistic assault on the senses before her. 

Her shadow does not dance as others do. It pushes through the crowd at a pace, a slow and steady beeline. It occasionally pipes up for the sole purpose of keeping the onslaught of acquaintances at bay. It speaks to her over her shoulder in the lowest voice it can muster.

“Your client has arrived.”

“Mhm.” Imogen’s eyes squint about the room, figures melting into figures with each passing moment. “Sorry, Pa. Who am I looking at?”

“Your eighth bell. Turn around to me first, do not just swivel—”

“I know, I know.” 

It’s a seamlessly executed pantomime — as her father Etraux taps her on the shoulder, she turns tittering with laughter, her gaze forcibly bright as it pans toward their true subject of interest.

He’s like her — unapologetically standing out amid the crowd, but for his excess in layers rather than her lack thereof. The tall elezen man stands in a dark trench coat that would’ve been better left at the door, under which is formal wear yet to be revealed. His dark hair falls over his eyes in spite of whatever application he’s subjected it to, only a small handful of strands loyally heeding to his strict attempt at parting them. Though still strongly structured, his cheeks and chin round out softer compared to the typically angular countenance befitting of an elezen noble, yet his stare digs into his surroundings far harder than his fellow partygoers with their drunken goggles on. He takes a reprieve from scanning the room to briefly examine his own calloused hand, then the chronometer hanging on the wall opposite his lean. 

“That is one Adrant de Zaciere, youngest son of Ciocent, of House Durendaire.”

“I’m sorry, Durendaire? That doesn’t feel wise—”

“They have participated in your mother’s services before. As long as we keep a line or two from Forlemort’s kin, we have been and will remain safe. Besides, their prestige is worth the risk.”

“Whatever you say.”

Amid the rancor of the room about them, silence seeps between them. As Imogen quirks a brow expectantly, Etraux merely provides an encouraging smile.

“That’s it?” she asks in an almost hissed whisper, her raised brow joining the other in a deep furrow. 

“How I wish there were more rumors surrounding him. No, he is one to keep his cards close to his chest, if not under his shirt entirely.”

“Then pray tell, how should I tailor his fortune to him?”

“The art of the cold read, dear. We do not have much time. You have two more appointments after this. Try to observe rather than pre-empt. The cards will guide you.”

Imogen grunts. She only then realizes that she’s since dropped the sugary sweet smile she was performing earlier, picking it up far too late as she nods her goodbye to her father. She wanders through the forest of fanciful figures, her path not quite linear but not quite meandering, as she approaches Adrant with the intent of — well, hiding her intent.

Imogen’s tone with her father had been cutting and brassy, and to some would be unbefitting of someone with as soft a face as hers. In this moment, she modulates her voice with ease; it comes out airy and light, with just enough force behind it to project it over the din. 

“Adrant?” 

He looks up without surprise, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes painting itself on his lips. 

“Mhm. Is it time for my appointment?”

“The bell has finally come, as it was foretold. If you would follow me, ser.”

The gracious incline of her head, her hand resting upon her chest as if the beat of her heart depends on it, and the vague, impressionable bullshit that leaves her lips — it all makes her want to barf. She performs it with ease regardless. She’s been trained in every means of socially prostrating herself. Adrant, on the other hand, refuses to indulge in such pleasantries beyond a vaguely encouraging smile not too dissimilar to her father’s earlier. Still, for all of his noncommittal gesturing, he nips at her heels like a loyal puppy dog as she navigates the two of them to their place of privacy. 

Slipping into a small door away from the main proceedings reveals a quaint, yet painstakingly prepared room cast in dim candlelight. Cloth identical to that which hangs from her tents over a small mahogany table covered in a navy tablecloth. At its center, a candle flickers in gentle licks, the aroma of coriander having staked its claim over the room and continuing to waft from the wax’s wick. Two chairs oppose each other in both position and style; parallelled on each side of the table, one a plush, velveted armchair that tips the balance of the cloth canopy to one side, and the other a wicker chair adorned in cushions of golden threads and tassels. Other than that the room is bare, with curtains drawn and furnishing unassuming. 

To sate her humiliated ego, Imogen takes to the throne without hesitation.

“Now, take a seat and make yourself comfortable.” She lifts her veil-like hood from her shoulders, revealing the deep seafoam of her eyes and the teardrop shape of her ears, poking out from behind blonde tresses. Adrant obliges, of course. His posture only sinks halfway into his lesser chair, excitement propping him up.

“Cosy in here, isn’t it? Though with your garb, I half expected a bed in place of this office setup.”

Those ocean irises churn into a tempest — kicking up a storm in his direction — despite the even measure of her words that follow. “We’re to delve for pleasures deeper than that of the flesh. Glimpse into the attunement of your soul.”

“I’m only joking,” Adrant says with a lopsided smile, raised palms facing towards her with fingers splayed. “I’ve actually been anticipating this reading for a while. No other reason to come to this estate, at least so far as I’ve heard.”

“And the fates have anxiously awaited your arrival, Master Adrant.”

Jewelry-adorned hands get to quick work as he finds himself settled. The deck cascades into itself like a wave crashing upon the shore, the satisfying sound of card against card tantalizing the senses. Adrant takes glimpses of the artwork shown only in bite-size portions of time, in all of their ornate, gilded glory. His eyes mirror that shine as they travel from her expert shuffling to her face, resting then into something curious and playful. Her observations having been surprisingly met halfway, she retreats into watching the arcana at work once more. Centering herself in the mesmerizing display of pattern. Clearing her mind of worry for all manner of factors. The vignette of the room about them lends to the idea that it is only her, her client, and the Deck of Sixty.

As thirty seconds pass, she reaches the half mark. In a practiced tone, she recites. “Tell me what drew you to this shadowed power, ser. Most shy from these darker arts, but you seem to find solace in them.”

Adrant hums before answering, “What most might consider the ‘dark arts’ isn’t really all that drowned in debauchery. Look at what’s going on outside.”

His choice in words piques her curiosity. “So you don’t at all consider it taboo?”

“What is ‘taboo’ really, anyway? It doesn’t matter to me. The Fury’ll be grateful for my service when the time comes.”

“How do you serve, ser?”

“Surely you’ll be able to read that in the cards, O lauded fortune teller?” 

She bites back the impulse to call him a prick. No wonder her father managed to gather little about him. Even in this vulnerable state where the two of them are putting implicit trust in each other to not gamble each others’ lives, he hesitates to even name his occupation. What does a son of House Durendaire have to worry about?

Imogen ceases her shuffling. She holds the deck over the candlelight, the warmth illuminating her skin but not daring to burn it, as she offers it to Adrant. “You’d be right about that. Will you do me the honors of attuning yourself to the arcane?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

For a brief moment, his fingers brush hers as he takes the cards into his hands. They’re a calloused sort, perhaps more befitting of a laborer or a soldier. Though he doesn’t sport an athletic physique remotely, his build being slender and light. Perhaps this is an artisan’s lot, putting one’s hands to exercise and none of the rest. He too shuffles the cards with the ease of a gambling addict. 

“Answer with your whole heart,” she guides, hands making meaningless, floaty gestures over the candle between them. “What do you wish to have answered?”

Finally, he retorts not in a quip but with pause. There is some hesitation in him to find his voice — which admittedly she internally smirks at, having finally pinned this slippery ser down — but he answers so eloquently that any petty pride she may have earned snaps out of existence. 

“Do you ever feel pressure to be wed before you feel the time is right? My question is: What does love have in store for me this coming cycle?”

Imogen can’t help but smirk ever so slightly as her ministrations over the light continue. She’s told fortunes for this question a countless number of times. No highborn is beyond the temptation of some higher power telling them who they should or shouldn’t fornicate with. There’s nothing more romantic than something grand making important life decisions for you, no?

“A question so close to the heart… Very few have the courage to heed to their lunar sway in such a way.” A bold-faced lie offset by her gently shut eyes that now cannot betray her amusement. “We’ll consult the Trinity for your desires, ser. Have you allowed the deck to sup from the well of your aether?”

“I believe so.”

“Pray return it to me.”

Over the fire, the Deck of Sixty is exchanged once again. She cuts it with deliberacy — again, a meaningless gesture for the purpose of mysticism — and sets it neatly upon her side of the table. The first card is placed, then the second a space away from it, and at their center and an ilm lowered, is the final draw. 

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Very well.”

The first card is flipped on its side, revealing the spear of Halone pointing in Adrant’s direction, descending upon him like a dragoon hurtling to their prey from the skies. Her face contorts into a practiced frown, feigning concern for the man as she tents her hands to accommodate the perch of her chin.

“Pertaining to your past: The Spear, reversed. You have entrusted your previous lovers to defend you only for them to have turned against you. Where there was once compassion and togetherness, there is now hostility. Your heart has been shattered before, ser?”

Adrant does not answer. All he offers is the slow nod of the head. She has him right where she wants him, silent in his stupor, drawn into the reading. After all, Sharlayan astrology and Triple Triad use the same implements, do they not?

“All is not lost in the frozen past. Halone is a resilient goddess; she persists despite the harsh climate in which her land has been cast. Her presence in this imagery represents your tenacity to pull yourself from that past of turmoil. I can safely say we move onto your present from here.”

Her fingers deftly flip the rightmost card, which — to her surprise — reveals another major arcana underneath, again in its inverted position. Oschon wandering from the mountain that remains on the south side of the card’s artwork.

“The Arrow, reversed,” she continues, canting her head to one side in more genuine consideration this time. Adrant looks to her in now visible concern, anxiously kneading his hands upon the table in wait for her assessment. As she thinks, she still performs. A series of hums bubble from her chest, falling into the line of a song she conjures from the deep recesses of her mind. Finally, the Spinner grants her an interpretation.

“You feel controlled. You know that your position as the youngest holds expectations over you and your contributions to the High House. You are expected to marry for prowess; you are expected to bear many children. You find yourself straying from what your parents would expect from you, from your designated path of what is conventional and righteous and normal, in pursuit of what is true to yourself. But to react obstinately to what is deigned upon you isn’t being true to yourself either. These powers call for you to be focused, to listen to your inner voice, and to take control of your life once more. Lest control drive you away from prosperity.”

“What prosperity?”

“Stay with me, Master Adrant. The final card tells your future.”

Of course for all of her years, Imogen is not above playing with her food. She lingers on the final card, relishing in the beads of sweat forming upon Adrant’s forehead, the anxious picking at his calloused fingers that has risen from mere hand wringing, and how far he leans into the reading to the point of likely hovering from the seat of his chair. For all of his sass, he’s now putty in her hands. At the sight of a mere sixty pieces of paper. Desperate for someone to tell him what to do; he’s too godsdamned pathetic to figure it out for himself. 

Finally — finally — she relinquishes the card of the future. 

Azeyma stands over her bed of flame, striding on hot coals as if they were cool stone. Scales in one hand tipping in one favor, her fan in the other concealing her face. Tantalizing mystery surrounds the Warden, draped in her translucent cloth and holding back her steely gaze, but her dancer’s garb begets the fire of a warrior within.

“The Balance, divine.” 

Imogen knows her instinctual answer to this one. Unfortunately, her true interpretation never matters in these readings. The art of astrological attunement here is not truly for advice that will set spoiled highborn on a righteous path, correct their sorry behavior, make them see the errors of their ways. No, these readings are engineered to tell them exactly what they would like to hear. To ensure that their preconceived notions are backed not just by their subconscious lust, but simultaneously by unnamed powers that be. She knows what she would like to tell Adrant of his future — of Azeyma, in all of her wrathful justice that favors no hierarchy — but that hardly aligns with his lofty flights of romantic fancy.

All the while, Adrant’s eyes are that of dinner plates resting upon the arcana.

“There is a powerful woman in your future. One who walks upon the fire most dare not enter. She holds the key to bringing your life into balance once more, and she is one whom you can trust unlike the others before. For she is just as fair as she is passionate. She is unlike the rest, inquisitive and bold as you are. And she holds in her the Balance — that which will swing your life into good fortune and assured victory. You need only be bold and dare look for her where others will not.”

Only then does Imogen realize his gaze does not bore into the deck, but rather herself.

Instinctually, she leans back.

“Hm?” she asks curiously, trying to play off her initial shock.

“It’s an interesting pull, isn’t it?”

“It… It bodes well for your future, ser.”

It seems all of Adrant’s anxiousness has since washed away. What replaces it is airy, carefree laughter, gentle like the candlelight about them. But such candlelight casts his once soft features in harsh shadows, highlighting sharp points in a horrific manner. For a moment, she wonders if she looks upon a demon rather than fellow spoken, her eyes rendered beady, teal pricks swimming in wide whites. Adrant settles away from the candlelight, shrouded in darkness, setting his sights upon her with focused intent.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier.”

“O… Oh. I’m terribly sorry. What question was it again…?”

“Have you an eternal bond arranged for you? Or perhaps, do you fear them in your future?” 

Even if she weren’t being honest — which she is — she would answer the same way. “I’m afraid not.”

“I can’t imagine so. Most wouldn’t deign to even consider you in such a way. After all…” Adrant points to the tips of his own ears, particularly where they point. Then he makes an open-handed gesture towards Imogen’s own. “Your half-blooded heritage is far too taboo for most of our people to stomach.”

Her face contorts in disbelief. Did he truly say that? She had heard worse, far worse, but in this place where she was in control — how could he feel safe enough to challenge her? She finds heat rising from where it’d been snuffed in her throat, coursing within her in a burning rage and jumping from the tip of her tongue. 

“I’m fucking fine with my heritage no matter what anyone else thinks, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Imogen.”

She’s taken aback by how boldly he wields her name. “You know…?”

“Of course I know. Everyone knows. But me especially. You’re something else.”

She shakes her head profusely, eyes still red hot with the indignation that he’d plunged her into with a mere sentence. “Whatever. You’re envious because my father respects me too much to push me to that. So we have direction for our house’s future and don’t need to resort to cheap ceremonies. What of it?” 

“I promise I didn’t mean to insult you. What others see doesn’t matter to me. I’m here after all, aren’t I? Supporting a lesser house, partaking in the ‘taboo’ art of fortune telling, letting a half-elezen talk down to me. Because I don’t believe in all of that shit. I see your heritage as something special.” 

Imogen purses her lips, hesitant to take his words at full value. “What are you on about? It’s not like I chose to be this way either. I’m just me—” 

“The likelihood of two spoken races coming together and bearing fruit… It’s almost inconceivable. You’re a miracle, Imogen. A beautiful miracle. Fate deigned for you to exist, and now you serve Fate as Her progeny. I see you for what you really are. A blessing. All those pretentious arseholes who tell you otherwise are blind to the light that’s present in you.”

She finds herself wrestling with feelings, fighting like territorial cats within her psyche. The intent of his words seem well, coupled with a warm smile and strong compliments. It’s not as if anyone has said that of her before — not even her father, who had chosen to ignore her heritage until its exoticism served their chosen trade well. Praise towards her has always been backhanded. Good on her for embracing nobility despite her hereditary savagery, people would say. This is nothing like that.

Yet, this — this is just as uncomfortable. She finds herself tensing in her seat, rearing away from Adrant as he obsessively gushes freeform sonnets in her favor. Worships her for something she hadn’t even earned. If she had clawed her way from her mother’s womb, emerged panting for air with trophy in hand, perhaps she’d relish in his praise of her ‘accomplishments’. But it was hardly an accomplishment. She wasn’t, and then she was, and then she was made to live hellishly for all that she isn’t. She isn’t a demon or a monster or a mistake, or anything that this bigoted society made her out to be. 

This stranger praises her for something that she isn’t. An angel, a gift from the gods, a godsdamned miracle — screw miracles. Those who pin their hopes and dreams on miracles are sorry fucking fools.

Still, Adrant persists. “They’ll consider you aberrant. But I know better—”

“That’ll be all, Master Adrant.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The reading is finished. May the Twelve be with you. I have another appointment, so if you please—”

“If you’ll give me another minute.”

“The reading is finished, ser.”

In disbelief, the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Then, it bears into a grin, halfway amused and halfway insulted. He pushes his disheveled hair from his eyes, spiking upwards before it’ll inevitably collapse into limp strands once again, before he rises from his chair and makes for the door. 

“Very well, Lady Lafontaine. But I will get through to you someday. Someday soon, you’ll see all that I see.” 

She doesn’t dare dignify that with a response. The door opens on the dusky room, harsh beams filtering in from the hall and drowning out the mere flickering candlelight, noise flooding in from the party where its absence was once relished. It shuts moments after, leaving Imogen in the dark. 

Aberrant, he said. She hadn’t heard that one before. 

She’s familiar with the vocabulary. It’s come up many times in aetherological study. It’s an old friend of a word. Just not in this context.

This context that presses down upon her shoulders where her clothes merely ghost them. The weight of gravity that makes her push into her grand, velvet throne and forces her guts to her legs, the unmistakable feeling of sinking.

Everything is being wrought from her and she can do nothing to stop it.

“Fuck.”

Amid everything, it snatches a tear from her eye and onto her cheek.

“Fuck that.”

It wrenches a sob from her throat, the stop gates of her practiced pleasantries helpless against a pure torrent of emotion.

“F-Fuck that.”

Her voice drowns in the onslaught of her crying. It’s ugly and terrible and unrelenting. The worst of it is not the state she’s in, the overcoming feeling of sorrow. It’s the harbinger of her doubts and fears, a man she hadn’t even known, a man who in his eyes had every intent of lifting her spirits. She, a woman who’d mustered an epoch’s strength — torn down by a useless fucking idiot who had no idea what he’d let loose from his lips.

The merriment rages on outside of her door, nobles partaking in the present without a care in the world for what becomes of it. A scandal, an illness, a bastard. In this vignette cast by candlelight, darkness consuming the walls surrounding her, she is utterly and terribly alone. 

In solitude.

Siphoned, concentrated, bottled.

The only suitable label for the absolute scene she’s making for which there is an audience of none. 

[its-a-gemfact]

honestly kez is my favourite denizen 

[middleearthpixie]

More Than Meets the Eye ~ Chapter Eighteen

A/N: A special thank you to @fizzyxcustard, @kibleedibleedoo @legolasbadass for helping me work out a tiny tangle! ❤️ you guys!

Summary: Afterglow - need I say more?

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Arielle (Elen) Farran (female OC)

Characters: Arielle, Thorin

Rating: M

Warnings: Things are still pretty steamy for Arielle and Thorin…

Word Count: 2,884

Khuzdal Translation: Givashel - treasure of treasures

Maralmizi - I love you

Amrâlimê - my love

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here and on AO3!

Arielle felt perfect in his arms.

Absolutely perfect.

He gazed down at her, although in the semi-darkness, he could only just barely make her out, curled against him, her head tucked against his chest, her breath as gentle as any caress as it wafted across his skin.

His eyes closed of their own. While he’d thought about this happening every now and then, his thoughts did not even come close to this reality. There was simply no way he could have ever imagined this morning to be as perfect as it played out for him. The woman he’d always envisioned himself with didn’t even come close to the beautiful woman asleep beside him now.

And Arielle was, indeed, beautiful - from her out-of-control curls to her deep blue eyes, to the dimple that showed in her cheek when she smiled, to the amazing body built for him and him alone… she was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman and so much more besides.

His fingers moved lightly along her hair, a wild jumble of silky soft curls that tumbled almost halfway down her back. How had he not seen she was a woman right from the beginning? It baffled him, but then again, she was no longer hiding herself, either. And having met Elen, it wasn’t nearly so difficult to believe they’d both fooled him.

She slept so peacefully, and he had as well, and now he had to contend with waking her, which he really didn’t wish to do. But, it was nearly eleven and someone was bound to have begun wondering what happened to the both of them,

He groaned softly. Much as he looked forward to telling Belle where she could go, and clearing the air with Dis, he did not look forward to the scene he was certain the former would create. Dis would understand—if not at first, she’d come around eventually—but Belle?

Arielle sighed in her sleep and he instinctively tightened his arms about her. Belle would not be so understanding and that was probably an understatement.

Still, every time his gaze alit on the bruise on Arielle’s cheek, his gut tightened. He’d never even considered hitting a woman before but this… this made him want to do just that to Belle. He knew she was spoiled—it was difficult to not know, after all—but he had no tolerance for the superiority she seemed to feel when it came to those who were in service at Erebor. He’d spent enough time homeless, wandering Middle Earth before they settled in Ered Luin, to lose any airs he might have had from his upbringing prior to Smaug’s arrival. He’d spent enough time doing whatever he had to do survive, to provide for his people, his kin, and in the end, sacrificed himself to keep them all safe. He was a king, and he didn’t think he was better than anyone.

“Thorin?” Arielle lifted her head, her eyes mere slits as she reached to rub one. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. People are probably gossiping.”

She smiled. “I doubt that. You returned fairly late last eve.”

“True, but Dwalin was with me, so someone knows I’m back.”

She pulled out of his arms, rolling onto her side to yawn and stretch and he almost sighed aloud at the sight. “Why did you go? What business did you have in the Iron Hills?”

“None. I just needed to get away and think.”

She rolled back toward him, draping herself across his chest. “About what?”

“How I left things when I left you that morning.” He slid an arm about her, let his fingertips trail along her back. She shivered at the touch, which made him smile. “About what would happen when I returned.”

She traced a small circle about his right nipple, looking up to meet his gaze. “And what will happen?”

“I told you how dwarves view sex, about what it means to us.” He brought his hand up to cover hers, to still it. “You are bound to me now, Arielle. And I am bound to you.”

“And what does that mean to us mere humans?”

He smiled. “It means you are stuck with me.”

Her eyes practically sparkled. “For how long?”

“At least until tomorrow. But, possibly longer.”

“I can live with that.” She stretched toward him, easing completely over him as her lips met his. He slid his arms about her, savoring the feel of her against him, of how her breasts pressed into his chest, how she just fit so perfectly against him. He’d been raised knowing there was but one soul made for him, he just never thought it would be in the form of a woman who was not even dwarven, but was half-Elf, half-Man instead.

His eyes closed as she brushed her lips over his jaw, down his neck, along his chest. She wasn’t shy or hesitant about touching him, about kissing him, but instead seemed to fully relish her exploration of him. Well, she wasn’t the only one relishing it because the sensations she sent coursing through him were ones he’d never felt before, ones no one had ever told him were even possible to feel. Her lips teased him, brought his body to life until all he could think about was treating her to the same until her back arched, her fingers twisted in his hair, and his name reached her lips.

He reached for her, let his fingers slip carefully into her tangle of dark brown curls. Those curls tumbled over her shoulders as she kissed her way down his chest, over his belly, and he held his breath as she reached the two ugly scars across the lower right side. Then, she lifted her head to murmur, “What happened? How did you get these?”

He eased his hand from her hair, trailed his fingertip along her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth and begged to be touched, and for the first time since the Battle of the Five Armies, his gut didn’t churn when he was asked about what he’d seen or done or endured at Ravenhill.

“I confronted the Defiler at Ravenhill and paid a hefty price for it.”

With a gentle finger, she traced over them; first the top one, which was long and jagged, but not nearly as long and jagged as the one below it. “He stabbed you twice?”

“Once.”

She met his gaze. “This was from one weapon?”

“It was.”

“I cannot imagine how that must’ve hurt you.”

“I survived, as you can see.”

“Well, I know, but…” She bent to brush her lips over first the bigger scar, than the smaller one. “I am so sorry this happened to you, Thorin.”

In the nearly seven months since the battle, she was the only person to say this to him. And she said it so softly, that he didn’t doubt she meant it. And because of that, when she asked her next question, it didn’t annoy him.

“What happened at Ravenhill? We knew Azog and Balog had pinned you down, but nothing beyond that.” Her eyes softened as she traced lightly around those scars. Each touch was so light, he barely felt it while at the same time, he felt them clear through to the center of his being. “The rumor was the Defiler had killed you and your nephews.”

“He did. But, Gandalf had us brought to Rivendell and the Elves worked their magic.”

She smiled then, her finger going still. “I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

She shifted then, and to his surprise, came up over him. He bit back a groan as her firm breasts pressed into his chest. She’d said she did not have much in the way of curves, but she was perfect as far as he was concerned. Perhaps not as curvy as some women, but it hardly mattered to him. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, her body fit perfectly against his, they meshed together as if Mahal created one specifically for the other. Perhaps she was the woman he was meant to find, the one he was meant to bind himself to after all.

She bent to sweep her lips along the side of his neck, moving up toward his ear, where she whispered, “Do they still pain you?”

“From time to time,” he managed to whisper back, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment. His thoughts were slow to form, fat and lazy as she moved back down along his neck, up over his chin, to find his lips and teased them with hers. Her kiss was sweet and tempting, fired his blood unlike anything else had ever done so before. Desire coursed through him with every beat of his heart and he thanked Mahal for the stamina bestowed upon the dwarves. He’d disappointed their first time, he would never disappoint her again.

Now she crept lower, across his chest. His breath hitched at the damp warmth of her tongue swirling about his left nipple. He let his fingertips sweep against her back, while he twisted his fingers in the linens beneath him with his other hand. Everything seemed to tingle— softly at first, but as she moved lower, they grew sharper, hotter, and he was fairly certain he was about to go completely to mush beneath her. If she asked him for something at that moment, he would give it to her, no matter how extravagant, no matter how insane. She could ask for the throne of Erebor itself, and he would give it to her.

Her lips came soft against his hip, she flicked the tip of her tongue over where she’d just kissed. A shiver rippled through him as she moved to his left, kissing her way across his lower stomach.

“Oh…” He couldn’t hold back his low moan, nor could he keep from shuddering as her lips closed about him slowly. Nothing could have prepared him for this, for the feel of her soft lips, of her wet heat, around him in one of, if not the, most intimate ways possible. The tip of her tongue slid along him, flicked ever so gently against him. Forget heat—fire blazed through him, the flames roaring and hot as everything inside him tensed, his climax bearing down on him with ferocious speed as she bent over him.

“Arielle…” He sank his fingers into her hair, twisted, held on, and when she found a particularly sensitive spot, tightened to hold her there. She obliged, teasing and torturing him in the most sensual way. Tension wound through him. The need for release practically choked him. He arched hard against her, the pleasure spiky and hot and unlike anything he’d ever felt.

She moved faster, her fingers grazed his inner thighs to make the already nearly-unbearable ecstasy even sweeter. She brought him to the edge. Held him there until he thought he’d go mad.

“Arielle!” His voice bounced off the walls, his fingers tugged her hair, as she sent him over that edge and into the abyss. Pleasure, white-hot and scorching, tore through him as he tensed beneath her, as he shuddered and moaned her name again, as it all became too much and he had to pull away from her.

He sank into the bed, fighting for air, his body shuddering and trembling from the force of his release. “Mahal,” he managed to grit, squeezing his eyes shut as dots danced before them and he thought he might pass out as he struggled to fill his lungs, “maralmizu… Arielle… amrâlimê…”

She covered him again, her breath soft along his neck as she whispered, “I have no idea what you just said, but,” she swept a kiss over his jaw, “it sounded beautiful.”

A low growl rose in his throat as he flipped her over and pinned her beneath him. “I love you, Arielle. That is what I said. And I do… mahal help me, I do…”

She skimmed her hands along his back, her fingernails against his skin almost too sensual to be tolerated. “I like how that sounds, Thorin. In both languages.”

He smiled, fighting to keep his eyes open as he bent to her. Sweeping his lips along her neck, up toward her ear, he whispered, “You didn’t mind swallowing that?”

“Why would I? It’s you.” Her words sent a shiver along his spine. “And I love you, Thorin. All of you.”

“Mahal…” He moved down, kissing his way to the soft thatch of dark brown curls between her thighs. Those curls were damp, her scent sweet and heady and as he bent to her, she went slick beneath his tongue. Instinct guided him, her soft pleas guided him, and when he found her sweet spot, her hands tangled in his hair, held him there, and he brought her to that same precipice, held her there as she pleaded with him in a breathless, husky whisper to send her over the edge.

Then he shattered her.

“Thorin!” Her hips rose, her fingers tightened in his hair, her thighs clamped against his ears as he drew out her climax, teased her until she sank into the bed once more, almost whimpering as she pleaded with him to stop with a breathless, “I can’t… it’s too sensitive…”

He brushed her inner thigh with a kiss, came up over those damp curls to kiss his way back to her lips. He had never seen a woman as beautiful as the one gazing up at him now. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled, her lips were full from the force of his kisses. In such a short time, Arielle Farran had become everything to him.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his. “Marry me, Arielle… I have no need for a valet, but I have every need for you.”

“Thorin,” she reached up to curve her hand against his cheek, “you have to get out of having to marry another woman first.”

“I will, worry not.” He shifted to catch her by the wrist, and turned to press a kiss into her palm. “But remember, I am not bound to her, nor have I made her any promises, so I really have nothing to get out of. And your brother is welcome to come here, if he wishes. If not, I’ll see to it he’s taken care of. I will do so for the rest of his days if I must and I don’t want you to worry about him and I don’t want him to worry about finding work if his hand isn’t healed yet and—”

“Dwarf,” she grinned and covered his mouth with her free hand, “you’re babbling.”

He couldn’t hold back his laugh. “You’ve rubbed off on me, givashel. I cannot help myself.”

“Givashel? What does that mean?”

“Treasure of treasures. And you are, you know.”

Her smile faded, her eyes soft. “I like this side of you,” she murmured, curving the hand that had been over his mouth against his cheek. “I mean, I like the scarier side of you, too, but there’s something about seeing you not so scary…”

“Scary?”

“At times.” She let her thumb brush through his beard, along his cheek above it, in a caress that made his eyelids heavy all over again. “But this side of you… I like hearing you laugh and seeing you smile, and when you look at me the way you are now… I melt on the inside.”

He didn’t know how to respond in any way that didn’t sound simple or foolish. And since the last thing he wanted was for her to think him a fool, he just bent to cover her lips with his once more.

****

“We really do need to emerge,” he murmured, smiling as she snuggled closer to him and brushed his neck with a kiss.

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, neither do I, but…” He gently untangled himself from her and sat up. The ache in his shoulder was worse now and he couldn’t hold back his wince as he rubbed it. “I do need to see Narnerra.”

She also sat up, and he had to fight back a groan as she grabbed his tunic to slip into. Offering up a winsome smile over her shoulder, she said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head.

Arielle slid to the edge of the bed and when she rose, he almost groaned again at the sight of the cotton floated down about her, the laces loose enough that he could see the inner curves of her breasts, the hem slipping over the curve of her hips—thank Mahal—and when she faced him, she offered up an angelic smile. “Should I run your bath?”

“I think it will keep for now.” He rose and padded around to her, easing his arms about her waist to pull her close. “But, then again… I’m curious if my tub has room for two.”

She winked. “Only one way to find out.”

And with that, she pulled free and left the room. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the silence and he grinned.

There was only one way to find out.

[omgsquee2001]

In Due Time; The Hobbit: Various x Modern! Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

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Key:

[Y/N] = Your Name

[E/C] = Eye Color

[Y/A] = Your Age

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chance meeting Thorin and I had with Gandalf in Bree happened nearly 6 years ago. We took Gandalf’s words to heart and gathered thirteen dwarfs we trusted the most to come along with us. Among those thirteen, were Thorin’s nephews, my best friends. To my surprise, and glee, while I am in Middle-Earth, I do not like a regular human does. I age at the pace of a Dwarf. Dwarfs normally lived to be about 200 years old. I was currently [Y/A]. 

At the current moment, I 

was ridding through the Shire on my pony, Jessabelle. Jessabelle was a white Shetland Pony. To my left, rode one of my best friends, Fíli

to my right, rode my second best friend, Kíli.

I sighed, lost in thought. A poke to the side brought me out of my thoughts. I squealed lightly. My sides were very ticklish. I glared at the culprit. Fíli smirked. 

“What’s on your mind, *Kurkarukê?” He asked. While in the company of the Dwarfs, I had learned that the word, Kurkarukê, meant Tiny Raven in Khuzdul, the ancient language of the Dwarfs. I glared playfully at the older brother. 

“I’m just thinking about how vague Gandalf is with his directions,” I said. I cupped my hand below my chin, acting as if I were holding a pipe. “‘Go to the Hobbit Hole with a green door in the Shire at the top of the hill’.” I mimicked Gandalf’s deep voice. We let out a hoot of laughter. Kíli sighed after his bout of laughter. 

“That wizard does have a way with directions.” He said. I nodded. We came to a Hobbit Hole with a green door. A mark that looked similar to an F was put onto the door. It glowed blue in the moon light. We saw two other ponies tied to the fence. We respectively tied our ponies to the fence as well before walking up to the door. Fíli rang the doorbell and linked arms with his comrades, I was standing in the middle. The door was opened to reveal a short fellow, a hair shorter than us three, with curly brown hair on his head. He wore night clothes and a robe tied tightly around his waist.

He gave out a sort of whimper at seeing the the new company. 

“Fíli.” Fíli introduced. 

“Kíli.” Kíli introduced. I gave a smile. 

“And [Y/N].” We then bowed. 

“At your service.” We said in unison. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo stared only at the woman in front of him, seeming captivated by her beauty. 

“You must be Mr. Boggins.” Kíli said cheerfully, unlinking arms with the woman by his side. Bilbo shook himself from his trance. 

"Nope, you can't come in you've come to the wrong house." Bilbo said. As he tried to close the door, [Y/N] stopped it with her foot. She looked confused, scared and angry.

“T-there’s no way he cancelled it,” she said. Fíli looked to his friend then back at the Hobbit. 

“No one told us.” Fíli said, just as confused as his best friend and his brother. Bilbo narrowed his eyes in exasperation. 

“Can..? No nothing’s been cancelled.” He said. [Y/N] placed a hand to her heart in relief. A smile broke out on Kíli’s face. He along with Fíli had wanted nothing more than to go on this journey along with their uncle and best friend. They would have been devastated to learn that it had actually been cancelled. The Dwarfs, plus [Y/N], pushed their way in. 

“Careful with these, I just had ‘em sharpened.” Fíli said as he began unloading his stuff, mainly all of his weapons he carried with him, onto Bilbo. [Y/N] looked around in amazement. The Hobbit Hole was nothing like she had imagined. At first, she had imagined a dirty, wet hole, full of worms and oozy smells. But instead, she found a beautifully carved out house with walls, a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. As well as what smelt like good food and the heat of a warm hearth. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s nice, this place,” I said, looking around. I looked to where Fíli was still unloading his mountain of weapons into the arms of the Hobbit. “Did you do it yourself?” I asked. Kíli started to scrape the mud off of his boots on the edge of a chest sitting nearby. 

“Ah, no it’s been in the family for years. That’s my mother’s glory box, can you please not do that?!” Bilbo called angrily at Kíli. A large, but warm hand was placed upon my shoulder. I turned my head and was met with the smiling face of Dwalin. 

Said Dwarf, I reached his chest in height, leaned down and gently placed his forehead against mine. This was what Dwarfs normally did to show love and affection towards each other. We closed our eyes in content. 

“Hello, *nathith.” Father said. I smiled.

“Hello, *Adad.” I said as we opened our eyes and pulled away. Since I didn’t really have a family of my own in Middle-Earth when I first came, Dwalin took pity on me and adopted me as his daughter. Father gently cupped my cheek. I leaned into his touch. 

“I trust you have been well since last I saw you.” He said. I nodded smiling at my Father. 

“Yup! Right as rain!” I said. Dwalin laughed. He saw the two Princes. He walked over to them, placing his hand on Kíli’s shoulder. 

“Fíli, Kíli, come on, give us a hand.” He said. Kíli smiled at the taller Dwarf. 

“Mister Dwalin.” Kíli said, laughing. Fíli walked through and clapped Balin, 

my adoptive Uncle, on the arm in greeting. 

“Let’s shove this in the hallway, otherwise we’ll never get everyone in.” Balin said.

“Ev-everyone? How many more are there?” Bilbo asked. His question went unanswered as Balin walked out of the dinning room and made his way to his niece. Balin smiled as he took my hands in his own. 

“Hello, [Y/N].” He said, pulling into a hug. I hugged back, smiling. 

“Hello, *Irak’Adad.” I said. The doorbell rung again, causing Bilbo to rush to the door. 

“And how is my favorite niece?” Balin asked. I giggled. 

“Uncle, I’m your only niece, so I have to be your favorite.” She said. Balin chuckled and nodded. 

“Right you are, lassie,” he said. He then frowned. “[Y/N], are you sure you want to go through with this? The journey is bound to be dangerous. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” He said. I nodded. 

“I am sure, Uncle. Erebor was as much my home as it was yours, even if I was not born and raised there. Plus, I’ve been trained by Father, the most fiercest warrior among us, besides yourself.” I said. Balin smiled. 

“Very well.” He said. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

A little while later, [Y/N], along with the other Dwarfs who had fallen into Bilbo’s home, had started raiding Bilbo’s pantry. By this time, Bilbo had changed out of his night shirt, pants and robe. He changed into a shirt, some trousers, and some suspenders. 

“Those are my plates! Excuse me! Not my wine. Put that back. Put that back! Not the jam, please! ...Excuse me.” Bilbo’s cries went ignored as the Dwarfs continued to take his plates, wine and ale, and food. “Excuse me. Tad excessive, isn’t it?” Bilbo asked as a Dwarf named Bombur, 

walked out of the pantry with three wheels of cheese. “Have you got a cheese knife?” Bilbo asked. 

“Cheese knife? He eats it by the block.” A Dwarf named Bofur 

said.

Bofur laid eyes on [Y/N], and he smiled. He walked up to her. 

“Why Miss [Y/N], how lovely it is to see you here this fine evenin’.” Bofur said. [Y/N] smiled back at the Dwarf. 

“Hello, Mister Bofur. It is wonderful to see you.” She said. Bofur always knew how to make [Y/N] smile, even on the most cloudy of days. 

Gandalf walked out of the dinning room, trying to avoid scurrying Dwarfs when he could. He hit his head on the chandelier. Once he steadied it, Gandalf began counting the Dwarfs on his fingers, making sure everyone was accounted for. 

“Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori and [Y/N].” He finished counting.  Bifurcation walked up to Gandalf. He said something is Khuzdul and then tapped his arm.

Gandalf nodded.

"You are quite right, Bifur. We appear to be one Dwarf short."

"He is late is all," a voice said. Gandalf looked down and saw [Y/N]. "He traveled North to a meeting of his Kin. He will come." She said. She walked off to help with other preparations.

"Mr. Gandalf?" Dori said. Gandalf turned to the Dwarf, who was holding two small glasses of red wine. "A glass of red wine as requested. It's got a fruity bouquet." Dori said. Gandalf took the glass and nodded in thanks to the Dwarf.

"Ah, cheers." He downed the red wine. He then looked sadly at the cup, wanting a little more.

A little while later, they were all sitting at Bilbo's dinning room table having a grand feast.

"Bombur catch!" Bofur called out to his brother as he threw a piece of food at him. Bombur opened his mouth and caught the food in his mouth. The Dwarfs all cheered. [Y/N] was sitting near the end of the table, Dori sitting on her right and Dwalin on her left.

As everyone began throwing food around, Bilbo walked away in disgust. He turned his gaze to the woman with [H/C] hair. Her laughter sounded like bells to music to his ears. As he looked at her smiling, Bilbo couldn't help but smile lightly as well. He turned away, only to look at his pantry in shock; it had been entirely cleared of food. 

~~~~~~~~~

Fíli walked on top of the table, carrying several cups of ale and knocking aside the food in his way.

"Who wants an ale? There you go." Fíli said, handing Father another Ale. I playfully smacked my best friend's leg as he passed.

"Let him have another drink," Dwalin said, referring to Óin.

"Here ya go." Father poured the ale down Óin's hearing trumpet. Father turned the tankard over and slammed his hands down on the table in laughter. Óin sputtered in anger and put his trumpet to his lips. He blew the ale out, making the trumpet squeal. I held my stomach as I laughed. 

~~~~~~~~~

Kíli looked at [Y/N] and smiled softly. Kíli loved the way her [E/C] orbs shone when she smiled or laughed. [Y/N] caught Kíli's gaze and she smiled. Kíli smiled back. He looked up and caught Dwalin's glare. In a quick moment, Kili raised his mug.

"On the count of three!" Kíli shouted, catching the other Dwarfs attention at starting a drinking contest. The Dwarfs lifted their tankards. "One!...Two!" Then all the Dwarfs went quiet and began drinking their ale together. They were incredibly messy, as ale fell all over their faces and ran down their beards. [Y/N] watched on in amusement. She chose not to drink, for Ale tasted horrible to her. When finished drinking, the Dwarfs begin burping; the youngest, Ori, let out the biggest burp. The Dwarfs and [Y/N] laughed. Bilbo looked away in disgust.

~~~~~~~~

Once dinner was over, I was standing in the hallway, leaning against a wall. Fíli walked over and leaned against the wall opposite of me. I smiled at my best friend.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Fíli asked. I nodded, smiling.

"That I am. Are you, Master Dwarf?" I asked. Fíli nodded, stating into her eyes.

Kíli watched from afar, glaring slightly at his brother. Balin walked over and placed his hand on Kíli's shoulder.

"Love makes us do strange things." Balin said, also watching the conversation going on between his niece and the oldest Prince. Kíli smiled and shook his head.

"I-I'm not in love." He said. Balin looked at the youngest Prince.

"So you weren't just glaring at your older brother for speaking to my niece." He stated. Kíli blushed and looked away. Balin chuckled. "Just know, that if she does turn out to be your One, treat her with kindness and love." Balin said as he walked away. Little Ori's voice caught mine and Fíli's attention.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?” Ori asked, looking down at his plate then up at Bilbo. Fíli looked at you and winked. He then walked over to Ori.

“Here you go Ori, give it to me.” Fili looked over at me and winked, making me blush lightly. Fili took the plate from Ori and threw it to Kili, who in return, threw it behind his back to Bifur, who was standing at the sink in the kitchen. Bifur caught it behind his back, without even looking at it. I watched on in amusement as Kili, Fili, and other dwarves began throwing the plates, bowls, and utensils to each other, eventually throwing them to the sink to be washed. As dishware flew through the air, Gandalf ducked to avoid getting hit. Poor Bilbo was stressing out over the whole ordeal. 

“Excuse me, that’s my mother’s West Farthing crockery, it’s over a hundred years old!” Bilbo shouted. I laughed and made my way over to the Hobbit. 

“Relax, Mister Bilbo! There’s no use in telling them to stop. Dwarfs listen to no one.” I said. The dwarves at the table began rhythmically drumming on the table with utensils and their fists. 

~~~~~~~

Ignoring [Y/N]’s words, Bilbo made his way over to the table and stood in the door way. 

“And can-can you not do that? You’ll blunt them!” Bilbo shouted. Bofur made eye contact with the only female in the company and winked, making her face go red again. A mischievous smile crossed his lips. 

“Ooh, d’hear that, lads? He says we’ll blunt the knives.” Bofur said. [Y/N] knew a song was coming on. 

~~~~~~~~

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,” I smiled as Kili started to sing, still tossing the utensils. “Smash the bottles and burn the corks.” Fili joined in, bouncing a bowl from one elbow to the other. 

“Chip the glasses and crack the plates,” by now, the others had joined in the singing. I stood off to the side, smiling, watching and listening. “That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates! Cut the cloth and tread on the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat. Pour the milk on the pantry floor, splash the wine on every door! Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole. When you’ve finished, if any are whole, send them down the hall to roll!” I laughed as they added music, Father playing the fiddle and Bofur playing his flute. I was slightly shocked when a hand was held out to me. I looked at the owner and saw Kili. I smiled and took his hand. He placed one hand on my waist and held my hand with the other. I placed my other hand on his shoulder. We bounced and twirled around the room, laughing and staring into each other’s eyes. “That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!” With those last words, music stopped. Kili and I stopped dancing and stood still, breathing hard. I smiled, looking into Kili’s brown eyes. Three, loud, thumping knocks resounded in the house, dragging our attention to it. All commotion and conversation stopped, being replaced with silence. Gandalf looked around the room, lowering his pipe. He broke the silence. 

“He is here.” I smiled. I knew exactly who was behind that door. And I was more than excited to see him. 

~~~~~~~~~

//I am so sorry! This took me longer than I thought to finish and post. I had lost inspiration to continue writing the story, but now I feel like I have the inspiration to continue writing it. I hope you all can forgive me for not updating sooner. If the transition between first and third person writing, symbolized by this, ~~~~~, is too confusing, then please let me know so I can fix it. I want you all to enjoy this. Anywho, I hope you like it and stay tuned for chapter 2.//

[mistersshelby]

mosley knew nothing | pt. one

i’ve thought a lot about the way season five ended and i’ve thought a lot about the kind of man oswald mosley is portrayed to be in the series and i started to wonder about how tommy had no idea who had betrayed him and so i wrote about it!

some scenes/partial dialogue/plot points have been borrowed from season five. this is the first part, i only imagine i would need one more part to wrap it up. i hope you like it!!! let me know what you think!!

warnings: physical abuse

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“Darling,” You perked up at the sound of Oswald’s voice calling through the house to you, “I need to speak with you.” He says when he hangs his coat up and spots you sitting in the armchair by the fire.

You place your book down and rise to greet him, pressing your palms flat against his chest as you look up at him, “What is it?”

He graces you with a small smile and then leans down to give you a chaste peck on the lips before pushing you aside. You try not to show your disappointment.

“I have… a political… mission for you.”

You frown, “Darling, you know I’m no good at politics.”

He smacks a book down on the coffee table and you flinch, “What did I tell you about speaking like a commoner? If you want to be my wife you must speak properly! Now, say it again, right this time.”

You clasped your hands behind your back in the hopes he wouldn’t notice the way they were shaking, “Darling,” You start and swallow, “How could I ever be of service to you in politics when my talents lie elsewhere?”

He stares at you for a moment before lowering his gaze, “Much better.” He clears his throat, “It is true you know nothing of politics, but that won’t matter, my dear. You have a pretty face, that is all I need.” You wanted to interject here to ask what he meant, but were too afraid to anger him again so you held your tongue and waited for him to elaborate. “You remember when I have spoken of Thomas Shelby, yes?”

The name rang a bell, you knew he was someone in politics that Oswald could never tell if he could trust or not, but that was the most you could recall. You nodded, “Yes.”

“I believe he is trying to plan my murder.”

You frowned, your mouth opened a bit and shock, “What? Why would he--?”

“He’s a gangster, darling. He would have no trouble killing me with his bare hands. However, he’s also a politician now so he wouldn’t risk executing it himself. He will have some sort of elaborate plan in place to look like he wasn’t involved at all.”

“And… Why would you need me?”

He smiled and rose from where he was sitting, cupping your face in his hands. He was so gentle, so loving sometimes, you wished nothing more than to melt into him. It was moments like these you knew you would do anything he asked of you. “Shelby Company Limited has an opening for a personal assistant. Mr. Shelby will hire you, having no idea who you are, and then you will seduce him and find out his plans.”

You very nearly shoved him away, but instead your body just tensed. Oswald brushed a thumb against your cheek, “Now, now, darling, I know you are loyal to me and this is an absolutely repulsive request. I would not ask it of you if it were not imperative to my survival. You are my only hope.”

You looked up into this man’s eyes and saw your whole future. How could you ever refuse him when the alternative was losing him forever? “I will do it for you, Oswald. Anything for you.”

His smile spread across his face and he pulled you closer to his chest, “I hoped you would say that.”

***

“What did you say your name was again?” Thomas sat down behind his desk across from you, a lit cigarette between his fingers. He looked agonizingly bored.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, sir. If you look at my resume you’ll see I can help you with many things. I’ve had experience with child care and secretarial work. I’m very good at recording minutes at meetings and other transcripts, I--”

“That’s fine, you’re hired.”

You blinked in surprise, “Oh, I, really?”

“Yeah, you can start by going to keep my children entertained.”

You sat there, sort of stunned for a few more moments before getting the hint that you were dismissed and leaving. You did play with the children and they were lovely, but you still couldn’t understand the way Mister Shelby had hired you so easily.

The children were playing a game with you when they suddenly got quiet and a shadow loomed from behind you. “Y/N, come with me.”

You stood and followed him out, whispering discreet goodbyes to the children who couldn’t hide their smiles from you. 

“My children seem to have taken a liking to you.” He started as you left the room.

You nodded, “Yes, and I to them. They’re darling.”

“Do you know who I am, Y/N?”

You frown, “Everyone in Birmingham knows who you are, Mr. Shelby.”

“So why would a bright young woman like you want to work for me?”

Bright? You had never really thought of yourself as smart. Oswald certainly didn’t think you were smart. “I’m unmarried and childless, I need a job.” You shrug, “That’s all.”

“Are you worried the job will be dangerous?”

You frowned, “The job description in the ad didn’t seem to be very dangerous.”

“Sometimes… Sometimes being my assistant could be dangerous. Are you okay with that?”

Oswald hadn’t given you much of a choice, but you couldn’t deny the fear that chilled your heart as his words, “That’s alright, Mr. Shelby, I understand.”

“You can call me Tommy.” He said and for the first time you looked directly into his eyes. They were ice blue, but strangely felt warm. You expected to see the coldness you saw in Oswald’s eyes, only worse, but there was kindness in Tommy’s eyes. Kindness and a lot of pain.

You nod, “Okay… Tommy.”

There’s the barest trace of amusement on his face, “Go home then, I’ll see you back here in the morning.”

***

The next few weeks you had more fun than you had in years working with Tommy. He was never cruel to you, always praising you and making you feel like you were important.

“Y/N,” Tommy started one day when you came into his office, “There have been rumors that the nuns who run the orphanage my wife’s foundation donates to have been abusing the children. Just last week a black child hung herself, the other children have said it was for fear of the nuns.”

You shook your head, “That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” Tommy agreed, “Which is why I need you to go and record official testimony from the children so I have proof.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Me? By myself? Tommy, I--”

“You’re smart and capable and wonderful with children. They’ll talk to you. If I went with you it would only make them afraid.” You looked down at your lap doubtfully, “Hey,” Tommy said and your eyes snapped back to his, “I trust you. You can do this.”

It was moments like these that you had to remind yourself that this man wanted Oswald dead. “Okay.” You agreed, “Why are you doing this, though? For your image?”

He frowned at you, “No, I’m doing this because children are suffering and I don’t want to turn a blind eye. I know what it feels like to be a helpless child.”

You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this was the man Oswald insisted killed for sport, wanted him murdered. And yet, he’d protect children who weren’t his kin? “Okay.” You agreed, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

***

“What is the bastard making you do there all day?” Oswald asked one evening as you were putting dinner on the table, “Bury the bodies of men he kills?”

You were growing annoyed at Oswald’s criticisms of Tommy. You knew you ought to hate Shelby, but really, did he think Tommy was really killing people all the time? “No, Oswald, I’ve told you already. Tommy has only made me do incredibly normal things, like take notes at meetings and play with his children. Sometimes go pick up a package from a shop. Nothing illegal.”

“Tommy?” He mocked you, “Sounds like the two of you are getting awful close.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted, dear fiancé?” You can’t help the lilt of your words, the sarcasm drenching the whole sentence. 

He’s across the table in an instant, hand clenched around your throat. You gasp for air, he’s close enough that you can smell the vodka on his breath. He’s drunk. You claw at his hands, but they only tighten, white spots dot the edge of your vision, “I am growing tired of your disrespectful tone, darling. Speak that way to me again and I will do much worse.”

When he lets go you fall to the floor, hands clutching your neck and tears pricking at your eyes. Oswald laughs at you and goes to pour himself another drink. Your hands shake as you serve him dinner and you don’t speak again that evening except for occasional “Yes, darling.” and “No, darling.”

***

“Y/N?” Tommy frowns as you walk into his office, “I thought you were going straight to the orphanage this morning.”

You pulled your collar up high around your neck, conscious of the hand shaped bruises you wore like a necklace, “Realized I forgot a notebook to record the testimony.” You said quietly, “I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”

You’re conscious of his eyes on you as you walk around the room and think he must notice something is off with you, but he says nothing. You say nothing. And then you leave.

The orphanage takes up the majority of your day as you must first gain the trust of the children before they’re willing to tell you anything. You went in under the guise of a doctor, wanting to make sure they were all okay and the nuns didn’t seem to question it. 

By the time you leave it’s late afternoon and you feel emotionally drained from the devastating accounts of the children who, according to them, were beat and psychologically tortured by the nuns daily.

“I’ll warn you,” You say as you collapse in the chair across from Tommy’s desk and slide your notes toward him, “It’s disgusting.”

He silently opens the notebook and reads a few pages before placing it down again, “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You nod and stand to leave, “Who gave you those bruises on your neck?” He interjects suddenly and you nearly fall over.

“It’s nothing,” You say quickly and pull your collar around your neck again, “I should be going.”

“You work for me.” He says as you hurriedly walk to the door, nearly tripping over your own feet, “If someone is hurting you I can take care of it.”

You freeze with your hand on the doorknob and look down at your feet. The whole reason you were here was to find out how he planned to kill Oswald. And here he was. Unknowingly volunteering to kill Oswald. It was almost humorous. “Goodnight, Tommy.” You said finally and walked out the door.

***

“I’m sorry if I overstepped yesterday.” You snap your head up at the sound of Tommy’s voice who’s standing at the end of your desk.

“It’s alright,” You said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I just wanted you to know that I could help you. If you wanted.”

He just wants an excuse to kill someone. You thought to yourself, he doesn’t care about you. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He stands there for another moment and then takes out a cigarette, “I’d like you to stay for dinner tonight. To thank you for your work at the orphanage. Also, it’s Ruby’s birthday and she’s requested that you be there.”

You smile, Ruby was a delight. You supposed this would also be a good opportunity to try and get more information out of Tommy. “I’d like that.”

***

Tommy’s wife is also at dinner and you wonder if this will hinder your chances of getting close with Tommy. She seems suspicious of you, faking smiles and pleasantries when Ruby jumps in your arms. She quickly scolds Ruby and tells her not to ruin her new dress.

Dinner is uneventful and mostly silent except when you sneak funny faces at Ruby and Charles, smiling to yourself when they dissolve in giggles. After dinner, Tommy asks you to take a walk with him outside and Lizzie can barely hide her disgust as she storms away, leaving the children to the maid.

“When Charles’s mother died this place stopped being a home.” He said as you walked quietly in the light of dusk. “Lizzie… Lizzie was happy when she got pregnant with Ruby, but not because she wanted to be a mother, but because she knew it would give her what she always wanted: me. But she’s not a good mother.”

You frowned, unsure why he was telling you this, “The children love Lizzie, they talk about her all the time.”

“Only because she is the only mother they’ve ever known. But then you come along and… I’ve never seen them as happy as when they’re with you.”

You offer him a half smile, “They’ve made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.” You say, and it’s true.

He nods and is silent for a moment, seemingly hesitating to say whatever he wants to say next, “Tell me who is hurting you so I can stop it. If only to spare my children the heartache if you turn up dead.”

You stop and turn to him, mouth falling open, “Tommy, I’m fine. I promise you I’m not in any danger.”

“A man who would put his hands on a woman will only feel gratification if she dies at his hand.” You’ve reached the stables now and Tommy has turned to face you. Your back brushes against the wall of the stable and Tommy is standing very close to you.

You shake your head, “He wouldn’t.” But your voice falters and you both know you’re lying.

Tommy moves to brush the back of his hand against your cheek, but you flinch at the movement and he drops it back down. You regret it instantly, realizing that you want him to touch you. Thoughts of Oswald and why you’re really here leave your mind and you take a step closer to him. He doesn’t back away. You rise on your tiptoes, you can feel your heart beating in your throat as your lips slowly inch closer to his--

“Mister Shelby?”

You reel back, slamming yourself into the stable wall behind you. Tommy, unfazed, turns around to see one of his staff standing behind him, “What is it?” 

“Mister Churchill is at the house, sir, he demands an audience with you.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, “Oh, does he?” He looks back at you and then sighs, “Set him up in my office, I’ll head back in a moment.”

“Winston Churchill? What would he want with you?”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth quirks up, “You know, for once, I have no idea.” He stares at your mouth for a moment too long before turning away and walking back to the house. You quickly walk after him, head still reeling from your almost-kiss. 

You were engaged to Oswald, you loved Oswald, Tommy wanted Oswald dead. But still, you couldn’t deny the way your heart pulled to Tommy. It made you feel sick.

“Would you like to stay the night?” He asked when you had gotten close to the house.

You blinked at him, appalled, “What?”

“No, I don’t mean… It’s late, you can stay in a guest room. I’ll have someone make it up for you. Unless…” He eyed your neck and you fought not to cover it up, “Unless it would be worse for you to not go home.”

You should go home, but… What if what he talks to Churchill about is important? Oswald will understand. You needed to save him. You were most likely running out of time. “A bed to sleep in would be nice.”

He nods and opens the door for the house, ordering a maid to bring you to a guest room. “Thank you for coming.”  He says turning back to you, “I’m sure Ruby really appreciated it.”

You smiled, “I would do anything for her, that girl has me wrapped around her finger.” And you meant it. 

He manages a small smile and then turns away from you to head to his office. You let the maid bring you upstairs and wait for her to leave before you quietly move down the stairs again, deciding that if anyone caught you, you’d say you were looking for the bathroom. But there was no one to be seen in the corridors of Tommy’s large home. You heard murmurs coming from outside his office door and checked once more that no one was around before pressing your ear to the wood.

“...because there are rumors of you allying yourself with that fascist Mosley, but you’re not his ally at all, are you? You’re spying on him.”

Oswald. They were talking about Oswald. “Yes.” Tommy says.

“Why?”

“The honest answer is… I’m no longer sure.”

You listen for a few minutes longer, finding out that both Churchill and Tommy believe your fiancé is dangerous, someone who would fan the flames of another war. Eventually, you slowly walk back up the stairs to your bedroom. You lie in the bed, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. You hear Tommy come up the stairs and stop outside your bedroom door, only to walk away moments later.

You lie awake and think about the man you are sworn to marry. You start to wonder if you really know him at all.

[dwellordream]

“Pandarus has suffered much, at the hands not only of the general reader but of the critic too. He has been called hard names not a few, none of which really fit him, and his own name has undergone one of the worst degradations in the history of word meanings. Whatever he became in subsequent English literature and in popular tradition, in Chaucer he is neither a pander nor a parasite nor a dotard nor a "battered man of the world." He is a man of the world, but he is neither battered nor old. He is perhaps not even middle-aged.

He is Criseyde's uncle, it is true, but one need not be old, or even middle-aged, to be an uncle. And though his age is nowhere specifically mentioned, the impression one gets from a careful reading is that he is of much the same age as Troilus, Deiphobus, and Hector. He is great friends with Deiphobus as well as with Troilus— Save Troilus, no man he lovede so. And he is himself still a lover, ardent though unsuccessful in the service of his lady. He touches upon the subject lightly and jokes about it with Criseyde, but he is a bit wistful and pathetic, too—as when he refers to himself as one who has never in all his service of love felt A frendly chere or loking of an ye.The fires of youth are by no means dead in him.

So far from being a parasite, Pandarus is a Trojan aristocrat, a member of the Trojan parliament, a counselor to the king, who on at least one occasion is closeted with the king all day. That he is one who commands a large following is shown by his offering himself and all his kin to back any attempt Troilus may be willing to make to carry off Criseyde from Troy by force. His relations with Troilus are not those of a sycophant but of a friend, and his capacity for friendship is one of his great virtues. Indeed, this friend- ship between the two men is one of the real beauties of the poem. It is a friendship bluff, hearty, disinterested, whole-souled, and true to death. When in Book I Pandarus is pleading with Troilus to tell him the secret of his love, he asks, "Wostow nought wel that it am I, Pandare?" And we are reminded of Montaigne's description of his friendship with Etienne de la Boetie, "If a man should importune me to give a reason why I lov'd him; I find it could no otherwise be exprest, than by making answer, because it was he, because it was I."

Pandarus is not a pander, because, for one thing, he is not in the business. What he does, he does for neither covetousness nor gain but for the love and salvation of his friend. And so great is his love for Troilus that on one occasion, before he learns that it is Criseyde with whom Troilus is in love, he vows that "Were it for my suster, al thy sorwe,/By my wil, she sholde al be thyn tomorwe." This suggestion, however, was not such an offense against morality in ancient Greece, or even in fourteenth-century England, as it is today. Instances of men offering their own sisters to a comrade are not unknown in early literature. Moreover, this readiness to go to such an extreme is not typical of Pandarus. His words here must be taken, I believe, as a rhetorical exaggeration, thrown off in the heat of his eloquence, in his eagerness to discover Troilus's secret and ease his pain.

Pandarus is not without conscience, and in one passage—in a conversation with Troilus warning him of the necessity of secrecy in order to guard the fair name of Criseyde—he shows that he understands with perfect clearness what he has done and how it would appear to the world were it known: "For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye/Which that I never doon shal eft for other,/Although he were a thousand fold my brother./That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen, Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene As maken wommen unto men to comen."

He bemoans the fact that Criseyde is his dear niece, and he her uncle—and her traitor too. "Were it known," he says, "that I had put this fantasy in her head to do all thy desire and be wholly thine, the world would cry out upon it and say that I had done the worst treachery, that was ever done in the world." So he doubly cautions Troilus to secrecy, to avoid all vaunting, and all will be well. And this faith in the sufficiency of secrecy runs through his conversations with Criseyde and is present indeed in Criseyde's mind itself as she weighs the pros and cons of an affair with Troilus.

It is, of course, simply an illustration of one of the "laws" of Courtly Love. He protests to Criseyde that in urging her to have pity on Troilus he is not forgetting her honor and that he would rather all three of them should be hanged than that he should be Troilus's bawd or that Troilus should injure her honor. What is "her honor" here ? Is Pandarus simply disguising to her his real intent? Or is love, illicit love, consistent with honor, provided it be kept secret? Obviously the latter, in the thought of Pandarus, Troilus, and Criseyde, all three. Pandarus seems to be double-faced —pretending to Criseyde that all he asks is that she make Troilus a little more cheer, while he and Troilus are thinking of her complete surrender. But if our view of Criseyde as a mature woman of the world rather than as an innocent is correct—if she is wise, as Chaucer says she is—there is in reality no double-dealing here at all, for Criseyde understands that "saving her honor" is not a matter of stopping this side of physical surrender but of maintaining perfect secrecy.

…There is nothing low about Pandarus, and it cannot be justly maintained that his offices bring any harm at all to his fair niece. He is not the author of her ruin—not even indirectly, for his maneuvering and plotting aim simply to bring to a consummation what promises to be a noble, pure, and perfect love. He believes in the sincerity and discretion of Troilus, and is convinced that with secrecy all will go well and Criseyde's honor as well as her name be safe. Thus Pandarus's motives in playing the role he does are mixed. He is serving his friend and prince. He is serving his niece, in a way that by his philosophy and the philosophy of Romantic Love her youth, beauty, and charm demand. And he is serving himself, for, as a lover himself, he takes delight in helping two other lovers to the realization of complete happiness.

Still more, perhaps, Pandarus undertakes his difficult and delicate task because it is one that suits him down to the ground. It is a task such as he came into the world to perform, one that appeals to his native love of intrigue, his genius for management and maneuvering. He is a born strategist and diplomatist. Consider his subtle handling of Troilus in Book I, or of Criseyde in Book II when he goes to tell her of Troilus's love and again to take her Troilus's first letter. He is in his glory in arranging the first meeting of the lovers in the house of Deiphobus, Troilus's brother. All his resources of plotting, stage management, and plausible speech are here called into play. His invention is exhaustless. At dinner there he tells them all a cock-and-bull story of the supposed wrongs a certain Poliphete is plotting against Criseyde. He rong hem out a proces lyk a belle, Upon hir fo, that highte Poliphete,/So heynous, that men mighte on it spete.

Such is his readiness, his mastery of detail, his circumstantial eloquence that he not only persuades them of the truth of the story but engages their support of Criseyde's cause. So convincing is he that they are ready to spit upon Poliphete and his evil designs. Again, consider his busy ingenuity and contrivance in getting the two lovers to bed for the first time —on that night of rain and wind at his house after the sup- per. He anticipates everything, overlooks nothing. His gusto is enormous, and when he has finally brought them together, he remarks with sly humor ". . . for ought I can espyen, This light nor I ne serven here of nought;/Light is not good for syke folkes yen." Pandarus finds zest in his very sweating. Once he rushes off to his niece's house and finds her just risen from meat. As he sits down he exclaims, "O veray god, so have I ronne! Lo, nece myn, see ye nought how I swete?" And he expects his niece to share his gusto in his admirable sweating. Does it not prove his zeal in her behalf?

His energy is boundless, of body no less than of mind. He is full of gayety and animal spirits, as lively as a cricket. His conversation is endless and always interesting, varied, and humorous, well sprinkled with saws, "olde ensamples," and shrewd wisdom. Only once is he speechless—when Troilus tells him of the finding of the brooch on Diomed's coat of mail. But this is only momentarily, for "at the laste thus he spak and seyde." His omniscience is second only to God's —"But god and Pandare wiste al what this mente." His resourcefulness, his agility of mind and tongue, know no hindrance; he shifts and tacks and turns with every wind and tide. He is full of news, of diverting small talk, and at times of sage advice. And Chaucer's reproduction of his conversation has all the vitality, naturalness, and sparkle of life. It is one of the greatest triumphs in the handling of dialogue in all literature.”

- Percy Van Dyke Shelly, “Troilus and Criseyde.” in The Living Chaucer

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Um, hi! Is it okay if I request a few items? Specifically some items that can be found in the Feywild or fey enchanted/cursed? Sorry for the trouble.

Sure I take requests :) Here is a variety of items that are generally related to fey. 

A cup-hilted rapier crafted by the fey and decorated with a fantastic depiction of the Wild Hunt. A bearer grasping the handle is flooded with the energy of a predator on the hunt: excitement, hunger and bloodlust. When wielded in combat, the wielder can hear the bellowing sounds of a hunting horn blasting in the distance, rousing him into a murderous frenzy.  

A cold iron scroll tube containing a signed parchment, entitling the bearer to one unspecified favor or service from a local fey princeling. Knowledgeable PC’s will know that although the favor doesn’t seen to have a catch or price, nothing is ever truly free with the fey.

A fey made tome bound in sheet of smooth bark gilded in silver entitled “Lexicon of Stealing Mortal Babies”. The text is a guide to obtaining newborns from humans with tricks. The book is written in sylvan and the pages are transparent sheets, made from giant insect wings with text painted on.

A sealed glass vial filled with the dried and shredded mushrooms from an entire fairy ring.

A strange flute of rubbery blue fibers interspaced with five holes. If played as an instrument by one skilled enough, it can replicate the unearthly music of fey creatures.

A jagged amber rob with a dead fairy sprite entombed within.

A discrete brownish book the size of a deck of cards without decoration or title. Its contests reveal themselves to be a Changeling training manual and guidebook on how the fey train the supernatural shapeshifters to infiltrate humans, live among them and carry out their nefarious goals.

Weeping Willow: A foot tall willow sapling in a glass bottle that survives indefinitely while sealed in the glass. When the glass is broken, the sapling can be planted in the ground and begins to grow at twice the normal rate for a willow tree. This specific plant is a magical species known as a Weeping Willow. Instead of drawing water from the ground by its roots it to sustain itself, it instantly teleports freshly shed tears from sentient creatures into itself. The moment a sentient creature cries within the Weeping Willow’s range of effect (A 500 ft radius centered on the tree), the tears immediately vanish and are used as sustenance for the tree. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that the actual origin of this magical species is not well known and most stories believe it to have been the helpful but misguided attempt at a comforting gesture by a minor god or fey creature.  Legend has it that the creator saw that sentient creatures always seemed to cry when they were sad and thought that if the willow took away their tears, they wouldn’t be sad anymore. Other stories believe the willow to be a form of foul parasite that thrives on suffering and sadness. Those stories portray a trickster fey or petty demon who sows seeds of Weeping Willows which subtlety encourages anguish within its area in order to feed on more tears. Regardless of it’s origin, Weeping Willows are fairly rare and are usually found in places where tears are commonly shed as those are the only places where it can survive. Adult Weeping Willows can be located in places of great or recurring misery such as war memorials, hospitals, hospices, orphanages, graveyards and prisons. Whether its effect on the creatures in it’s radius is a blessing or a curse is up to each person to decide on their own.

A sealed glass vial filled with pure spring water taken the Feywild.

A brass bell that always stays highly polished and resembles the sound of strange laughter when rung. It is rumored to open doors to the Feywild.

Pillow of the Sleepless Fey: A comfortable pillow which appears to be designed for a child. Stitched into one side is the name Nodwick. If a creature sleeps upon this pillow during the night, small fairies will come to him and will extract 1d6 teeth while the user sleeps. The miniature fey will sprinkle generous amount of fairie dust in the user’s mouth which instantly heal the wounds and take away all pain associated with the process. Upon awakening, the user is filled with a supernatural vitality which causes him not to require any sleep or rest for a number of days equal to the number of teeth lost plus one. If the fey are prevented from removing the teeth for any reason, the user is not affected by the fairie dust and does not receive any benefits.

Caustic Talon: A scimitar made entirely from rare, enchanted ironwood and blessed by a fey spirit in the form of a forest dragon. The fey creature’s personal style manifested itself on the weapon and the blade retains the grain of the ironwood, its dark grey and deep brown streaks are now lined with brilliant streams of emerald acid that slither between the grain of the wood. Deep green dragon scales run along the spine of the blade, turning into leaves as they meet the hilt. The vine-wrapped handle spirals down to the dragon-headed pommel, its face locked in a fierce snarl. When the weapon is swung, the acid in the blade can be heard sizzling in anticipation of landing a hit, but the caustic liquid never spills its power in waste. Half of the damage dealt by the scimitar is considered acid damage while the rest is normal for its type.

Fey Pillow: A silvery cushion which sparkles in the moonlight and always feels cool to touch. When used, the creature will hear the whispers of the fairy king while they sleep. In the morning the cushion will produce a small crystal that contains the creature's dreams which may be watched on it's reflective surface. There is a 5% chance that the crystal's dreams belong to a prior owner of the cushion. The crystals the pillow produces melt into fresh dew after 24 hours.

A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.

A sealed glass vial filled with magically preserved, High-Elf Pipeweed. Knowledgeable PC’s will know that this hemp originates from the forest courts where it has been impregnated with the deep magic of the Feywild. When the smoke from burning it in a magical fire is inhaled, it may grant arcane visions of the future or the past, and as such is favoured by oracles and soothsayers. Under the effects of antimagic it merely produces a light-headed feeling and a desire to eat apples.

A steel flask with a safety latch attached. A sloshing liquid can be heard inside. The flask contains a delicious fey honey.

A wooden scroll tube containing a parchment scroll, sealed with wax that is an invitation to the Yew-Lord’s banquet. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the title of the Yew-Lord, as a powerful Arch-Fey.  

A pan flute carved from the bones of a unicorn which when played, do not make the slightest sound to most creatures. Only fae and fairy kin creatures can hear the tortured sounds of the unicorn’s spirit and they will often seek revenge for their fallen kin.  

Crosswind: An ancient longbow originally gifted to a forest ranger who had pledged his life and service to a fey lord. The weapon is made of a light wood and is rather thick, rounded, and has stylized etchings of wind, that are filled-in black. Pink roses and vines are carved along the front and sides of the bow and it is found with a deep leather quiver containing a dozen white arrows fletched with hummingbird feathers and tipped with an unknown green stone. The bow is strung with a string plucked from the fey lord’s own harp and a musical note rings out each time the weapon is used. When fired the bow releases a strong gust of wind that blows along the arrow’s wake and slams into the target. Whenever an arrow loosed by the bow hits a creature of medium size or smaller, the target is pushed back five feet from the blast of wind. —Note: A medium creature is typically no taller or longer than eight feet.

Minor Weapon Enchantment; Bumbling: The emblem of a fairy circle is gilded in silver on the weapon’s grip. The entire weapon is a masterpiece of flowing graceful design, delicately ornate scrollwork and is a tribute to those who made it. Running along its length is a poem written in iambic pentameter, penned in Sylvan, the language of the fey. Those who are able to read it, discover it is not much more than a limerick disparaging the mortal humans and extolling the virtues of the fair folk. The verses have particularly harsh words to say about the incompetence and clumsiness of humanoids and how that in contrast, the fairy peoples are naturally adept in all ways. Any non-fey creature who wields the weapon finds that they are slightly less proficient than usual at completing their normal everyday task, as if the poem was a warning rather than boast. The weapon is treated as a +1 but while the weapon is being wielded and for one hour afterwards, a non-fey wielder suffers a penalty of -1 on all of his skill checks.

A massive cloth and leather banner emblazoned with the unified crests of ten different fey courts.

A bone signet ring displaying the symbol of a large spreading tree. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the image as the symbol of the Yew-Lord, a powerful Arch-Fey.

[unicyclehippo]

prompt - beau is so very tired of feeling helpless / "i have no magic. all i have are my fists." (sometimes i think a lot about the multiple times beau's lamented that there's nothing she could do in a fight because she doesn't have magic)

‘to you, master wizard with the heart of flame,’ the silver dragon says, rows upon rows of gleaming teeth and an intelligence—a kind intelligence, even—in those enormous eyes, ‘a boon, for freeing me from these bonds. if i may,’

a sliver talon lifts, touches to caleb’s brow. they are sooted and sore after fighting their way through the tunneling depths of the sorcerer’s lair and when that talon touches to his skin, wounds begin to close and dust and grime and mudded blood-and-dirt seas and flake away as though they cannot stand to be in the presence of this dragon.

caleb’s eyes—already wide—widen further. they flash over with a silver gleam, and he breathes out shakily.

‘never again shall fire harm thee. never singe your hair nor burn at your skin. and when you call for her, she shall answer with fervour.’

‘t-thank you, oh dragon of silver,’ caleb murmurs, bows.

the dragon rises slowly from its nest, it’s captivity bed. it is slender, though whether that is natural or due to being held for so long, there’s no way to tell. its forelegs clutch at the edge of the nest and with a long, sibilant hiss that cracks and carves up from its gut like a pained groan, the silver dragon hoists itself up. steps with cavern-shaking steps down into the chamber. for though it may be slender, it is also immense—the talon that had so gently tapped caleb had been easily almost as tall as nott.

‘and for you,’ the silver dragon breathes. ‘glittering jewel, healer,’

‘jester. jester lavorre, um, your majesty?’

the dragon laughs a laugh of pealing bells, grand and silver. the sharp face seems to curl into a smile. ‘i am no majesty. simply a traveller.’

‘oh well, you know, maybe one day,’

‘perhaps,’ the dragon agrees. it bows it’s head, turns so that it may examine jester with an immense glowing eye. the pupil is entirely consumed by the sclera, the entirety of the eye mercurial gleaming silver.

they rely heavily on branding, dragons.

‘you are my kin,’ the dragon says after a moment. ‘you embrace the cold, as i do.’

‘oh! yes! i thought you were going to say we were long lost relatives or something, that would be so mysterious and incredible!’

‘it would indeed. i will look into it,’ the dragon promises. the creature is so immense and strange and frankly terrifying even weakened that it’s impossible to tell if they are just appeasing jester or if they mean it. ‘may i?’ when she nods, the dragon lifts their talon again. there is a flash of silver where it meets jester’s forehead and then gone.

‘what - what did it do?’

‘i have not the ability to grant flight. but wherever you may go, a friendly wind shall follow.’

‘a friendly wind,’ jester repeats, awed. ‘like, a fart?’

caleb and most of the others wince but the dragon booms its laugh again.

‘freed at last,’ it says, no shortage of wonder in its voice, ‘and a reason to laugh. it feels good.’

the dragon moves forward, slowly, toward the centre of the chamber. nott stands there and they exchange quiet words for short while, something beau thought impossible with the size of the creature. after a moment, the dragon pulls a small scale from the side of its neck—small meaning it is fully the size of a dinner plate in nott’s hands—and nods to her. to fjord, a breath of air so cold that when the fog has faded, icicles cling to his hair, his eyelashes. he tries to blink them away and then, with a smile, lifts his hand and seems to pull at the icicles—only to find that while the ones on his face did respond, so too did the immense icicles that cling to the ceiling. pulling a face, fjord releases the spell, thanks the dragon. to yasha, it plucks a hair, a strand of its whiskers, and says something to pull tears to her eyes. she is quick to tie the strand around her head like a headband or circlet. it gleams the same silver as the dragon.

‘grave keeper,’ the dragon says, seemingly delighted, when it sees caduceus. ‘what brings you so far from your charge?’

‘i am - looking to heal my home.’

‘heal it? from the sight of you, i would name you clay,’

‘you would be correct,’ caduceus agrees, smile blooming as he ducks his head. ‘and what may we call you?’

‘zoelfir. a name i owned long ago.’

‘zoelfir. good name.’

‘mm.’ the dragon pulls in a great breath, eyes half closed. ‘how fine it is to be free! how fine it is to hear my own name. you have done me a great service today.’ the talon comes up, pauses long enough for caduceus to nod, and the flash of silver. ‘to help protect your home, when it is righted.’

‘i appreciate your saying when, zoelfir. that’s very nice of you.’

‘i have faith, master clay.’

with that, an a benevolent smile, the dragon slowly stretches out their wings. the leather creaks and groans like sails in the wind but finally snaps out to their full span and with a roar the dragon pushes up off its hind legs and, wings beating a few times, weak and then stronger and stronger, zoelfir the silver climbs on a cold wind up the massive chimney of this space and into the biting cold of the storm above.

‘wow! i can’t believe we saved a dragon, you guys!’

‘do you think it makes up for the one we stole from?’ fjord asks. ‘balance and all that.’

‘you know, i don’t know. i could ask the traveller.’

‘i think they are too separate for anything to change, any animosity to be eased,’ caleb says. his eyes are still glowing faintly as he examines his hands. for a moment, it almost looks as though there is flame in his very veins but then the moment passes; a trick of the light, probably. ‘what think you, beauregard? you are very quiet.’

beau blinks. looks over to caleb with an oddly serene, blank expression. ‘i think we gotta figure out how to get out of here.’

‘yes, but first,’ nott announces, popping up between them all, ‘pillage! zolly-‘

‘zoelfir.’

‘- said most of this shit belonged to the sorcerer and he doesn’t want it. she? they? zolly doesn’t want it so we’re welcome to take as much as we want! how cool is that!’

‘ah. were there restrictions to this grand gift?’

‘nothing that came from zolly. no scales, no blood, no teeth,’ nott tells caleb, gnashing her own sharp teeth. ‘other than that... as much as fits into the bag of holding, i guess?’

‘incredible.’

//

beau takes the second watch that night atop the mountain just inside the mouth of the cave. the others have long since fallen asleep and she’s tempted to do the same—exhaustion weighing heavily on them all. to fight the temptation, beau steps out of the magic hut and hunches, shivering, against the cold of the night and the storm.

the fog and snow parts in the distance. beau grabs for her bo and gloves—but the lack of crackling energy in them tells her they’re still dormant. she slips away from the hut, forward, to see what it is.

the same parting comes again. this time, beau can see it is more like a billowing, and she looks up in time to find zoelfir descending, wings buffeting the thick fog as the dragon looks for a safe perch. the claws crunch down upon ice and rock and zoelfir shakes out their body, spines and scales clacking with a metallic chorus as they do so. as the body shifts, and the scales sing, the body begins to contort and shrink until the gigantic form is only huge, and then much smaller—the size of an ordinary human. and beau loses them once again in the closing wall of fog until she hears the tap of boots.

the form zoelfir has chosen is female, seemingly at first glance. not too terribly tall, with vibrant silver hair that would only look aged from a distance. up close, as the dragon enters the cavern, it almost glows. the eyes, too, are still silver and retain their ability to see in the dark; they find beau where she stands and the dark skin the dragon has chosen creases with a wide smile.

‘good evening.’

‘hey. dope transformation.’

‘thank you.’ zoelfir holds out their hands, opens and closes them a few times into fists. ‘it is strange to have such small blunt appendages but it is not for always. simply to join you all for discussions, if i might.’

‘huh? oh, yeah, i’m sure everyone’d love that. just knock on the dome, caleb’ll let you in.’

zoelfir cocks their head to the side. ‘you say it as though you do not intend to join.’

‘someone has to keep watch.’

‘your eyes cannot see in this. what would be the point?’

‘i promised?’ beau suggests with a shrug. ‘i dunno. something to do. makes everyone feel safe.’

‘surely with my assurance that i saw nothing, you may join us?’

beau stiffens. looks down at the cold hand zoelfir has set on her elbow. ‘no. thanks.’

the dragon recoils slightly, pulls their hand from beau. ‘very well,’ they agree. ‘i shall go speak with your friend the wizard. excuse me.’

beau listens hard to the footsteps, the low hum of greeting as the others awake and welcome zoelfir into the hut. then, she hears someone leave.

‘beau?’

jester. of course it is.

‘are you coming inside? zolly said you were shivering out here.’

‘i’m fine.’

‘they’re going to tell us about how they got captured and about this really cool place in the north. fjord thinks it was that place that’s now a ruin, you know, just above where cad’s home is in the woods? but we don’t really know how long zolly has been caught here.’ jester moves a little closer when beau doesn’t respond or turn to look at her. ‘beau?’

‘sounds fun.’

‘yeah!’

‘i’m gonna keep watch.’

‘oh. really? all alo—do you want me to stay with you?’ she shuffles the last few steps closer to beau. nearly but not quite touching. beau can feel the warmth of her beside her and she knows she’ll have to head back into the hut soon if jester of all people feels warm.

‘no. no, go in and talk to the dragon. not a lot of people can say they’ve done that.’

she can see out of the corner of her eye the deep frown that crumples jester’s face. mostly confusion.

‘right, which is why you should come in too! zolly said there’s no one out there—‘

‘i’m not going in. someone has to keep watc-‘

‘beau, we’re safe, that’s silly,’

‘it’s what i can do!’ beau snaps, whirling on her, shaking off the hand jester set on her elbow. the exact same place zoelfir had set their hand. ‘i can do this!’

‘of course you can,’ jester agrees immediately. ‘but - ‘

‘please.’

jester looks fully dismayed now, which is the last thing beau wanted, and she steps in close enough that she isn’t touching but she feels like she is. she’s almost of a height with beau which means that beau has to turn her head to the side when jester moves in so that they don’t collide. she looks out into the flurry of white and feels her eyes sting with the wind.

‘is everything okay?’ she asks, setting her hands on beau’s waist. the light touch makes beau’s middle tense hard and she winces, feeling the pull of a vicious wound, only half healed. ‘i know it was a hard fight and not your best but,’

‘not my best?’

‘well,’

‘i didn’t land a single hit. i didn’t do fuck all to that sorcerer. i have my fists and a stick, jester, and that’s -‘ beau blinks a few times, shakes her head. with each shake, it’s like the fog is clearing and she sees what she’s been ignoring for - fuck - a while now. ‘it’s not enough.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘i mean i’m a human!’

‘caleb’s human!’

‘caleb can summon fey creatures and fireballs from the sky. he’s different from me. i just punch things.’

‘why are you saying it like that? it’s a good thing! you - you’ve saved our lives and, and for the truth out of avantika-‘

‘and for her fucking neck snapped right in front of us! that’s - i’m not saying it wasn’t what she deserved but that’s on me.’ beau scrubs at her face with the palm of one hand. steps back from jester and the hands still on her waist. ‘i can’t heal. i can’t shoot fire or control water or fly. let’s face it - the only reason i’m here is because i’m too much of a stubborn asshole to realise i’m way out of my depth.’

jester stares at her for a long moment. then, ‘why are you saying this now? why not earlier? why not - we can get you a magic sword or something, beau, or a familiar or you can join up with the traveller and he can give you powers and - ‘

‘jes. jes, no,’

‘why not? this is something we can fix!’ jester seems to realise what she has said at the same moment it hits; her eyes go wide as beau’s flutter shut, as beau takes a step back like she’s taken a physical blow. ‘that’s not what i meant.’

‘you’re not wrong,’

‘no, no i am, i am wrong,’

‘jester. we all know it. i’m not—‘ beau braces herself to say it. her throat feels tight and rough like she’s been screaming, or crying. ‘i’m not special. everyone else in this group is a hero - a wizard or healers or someone who literally fucking died and is remaking her body. or a literal angel. i’m just—some deadbeat criminal who became a librarian. even the dragon knows it.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘you can’t have missed it. they gave everyone a boon but me.’

jester had missed it, obviously. not that beau can hold it against her—it was obviously a big deal and distracting as all hell.

‘i get it. i didn’t help save them, not really.’ beau shrugs. shivers. ‘i’m - pretty tired. i think i’m gonna turn in early.’

jester just stares.

exhaustedly, beau just sighs. ‘g’night, jes. sleep well.’

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Playing With Fire ~ Part 2

Pairings: Michael Gray x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Talk of abortion

Author’s Note: I know I posted this really soon after posting part 1 but I am just excited to get this story going! Also, yes, I did steal a part of this from an actual episode (Season 3, Episode 5). I’m not claiming to own that part at all. I just used it because it was a good canonical response to the situation by the characters but everything else is mine!

__________________________________________________

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way that this was actually happening. The whole scene kept playing in slow motion in your head and you felt as if you were frozen in time. “You are pregnant, Miss. L/N. About two months along as far as I can tell.” 

The room felt freezing and then you weren’t sure if you could feel the temperature anymore. Your heart dropped and all you could see was your mom’s shocked and disappointed face. She was here with her unwed pregnant daughter who was impregnated by a key member of the most notorious gang in Birmingham. You couldn’t tell if you felt numb or not. It was an intense fear and shock that completely disassociated you from the real world. 

“There are other options if this isn’t an ideal situation for you.” The doctor said carefully. 

You looked up at her quickly, “No, um, can I think about it?” You asked, your brain still too fuzzy to make a decision like that. 

“Of course. Take all the time you need and come back when you’ve made a decision.” She explained, leaving the room. 

The walk back was full of silence. Nobody uttered a word until you returned to the shop when you couldn’t stand it anymore, “I’m so sorry mom.” Was all you could manage. 

She sighed, “Y/N, I just… I don’t know what to say.” It was quiet again. She was disappointed and it was clear. “It’s all going to be okay, though, sweetheart. You just need to talk to Michael.” 

Oh gosh, Michael. You almost forgot about having to tell him. How would you tell him? Would he leave? Would he demand you get an abortion? Would he be angry? Would he, by some crazy miracle, actually be excited? Probably not. 

You couldn’t focus on the work that you were supposed to be doing. You sat at your sewing machine, blankly staring at the metal contraption, lost in thought. 

There was a human inside of you. You were growing a child.  No matter how many times you said it or thought it, it never felt real. 

Suddenly, the bell rang, grabbing your attention. You glanced up and your heart dropped. In walked Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael, looking as intimidating as possible because that was just their natural state when in public. Immediately, your eyes found Michael’s and he sent you a small smile. 

“I’m ‘ere to pick up me coat.” John announced, leaning on the counter. 

You stood up, walking in the back to grab his coat, making eye contact with your mom on the way. She nodded her head slightly, indicating that you needed to talk to Michael. You returned with the coat handing it over to John. The Blinders never had to pay. They never threatened your business but they weren’t charged for services in return for protection and insurance. 

“Here you go.” You said, handing over the jacket. 

“G’morning love.” Michael said, stepping up. 

Arthur and John snickered in the back, “Awe little Michael’s all mushy for his girl.” 

“Shut it!” Michael snapped, returning his attention to you. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner tonight? It’s been a while since we talked.” 

He wasn’t wrong. He came in when he could or you would visit Shelby Limited when you had time but he had become really busy with Blinder business that he wouldn’t tell you about and now you hardly ever saw each other for longer than twenty minutes at a time. 

I guess this was the universe telling you tonight was the night to tell him, “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ve missed you.” You told him, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong but Michael could see it in your eyes that something was bothering you. 

The group of men started leaving the building so with a nod and a smile Michael followed, “I’ll see ye later tonight then.” 

The day sped by and now you sat across the table from Michael, both of you looked pretty nice and dressed up. “Can I get you anything to drink?” The waiter asked politely. 

“Two whiskeys please.” Micheal ordered for the two of you. 

“Actually, can I just have a water please?” You corrected. The waiter nodded and said he’d return shortly. 

Michael looked at you strangely, “No whiskey? Are you feeling alright?” He teased, finicking with his napkin on the table. 

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m feeling fine. Water just sounds good.” Keeping this secret was killing you. He literally had a child on the way and had no idea! “So what is it you wanted to talk about?” You asked, hoping to stall for as long as possible. You at least wanted things to end on a good night. 

Michael looked uncomfortable, “I know that I promised you that I was only involved in the legal aspects of Shelby Limited but something has changed. Tommy needs help with something on the… less legal side of the business and I have to take the job.” 

Oh. “Is it dangerous?” You asked, unsure of how to really take this news. 

After a moment, he shrugged, “There’s always the possibility of things going wrong. But I promise that you’re going to be safe.” 

Woah, woah, woah. It may have been ridiculous but it had never really occurred to you that you’d be in any danger because of his work. He wasn’t doing anything illegal after all. He wasn’t involved with the dangerous people Tommy was involved with. Now you were realizing how naive that assumption was. 

Wait, what did this mean for the safety of your child? Maybe if you told him he would be able to get out of whatever the job was. 

“I have something I need to tell you too.” You blurted. 

Michael looked nervous, “What is it?” 

It was now or never, “I’m pregnant.” You couldn’t breathe and clearly Michael couldn’t either. He sat there staring blankly. 

“What?” He paused, thinking, “Is it mine?” 

“Yes it’s yours! You’re the only person I’ve ever been with!” You exclaimed, slightly offended that he would even consider the fact that it wasn’t his. 

“How long have you known?” He asked, color drained from his face.

You found it hard to make eye contact, “I just found out this morning. Doctor said I was two months along.” 

Michael ran his hands over his face and through his hair, “Fuck.” Was all he said. After a long pause, he asked, “Are you going to keep it?” 

Your heart dropped. This was it. He was going to leave you. But you’d already made up your mind. “Yes. I’m keeping the baby.” Again, silence. That deafening silence that tore your soul to bits. “Please say something Michael.” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. 

He lifted his face from his hands and shook his head, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you leaving?” You couldn’t help but ask but you wished you hadn’t just blurted it out like that. 

His eyes shot up to yours, “No! No. We’ll just have to figure this out. I just… shit.” 

You might have been irritated at him if it weren’t for the fact that you were still in shock too. “Yeah, shit.” You huffed. 

The waiter returned, interrupting the tense silence, setting your glasses down, “I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders.” He said politely before leaving.

Michael grabbed his whiskey and downed it in one shot and you flinched for him, knowing that that much of the liquid must’ve burned like hell. You, on the other hand, could only sip your water, eyes finding the flickering candle on the table much more bearable to look at than anywhere else in the room. 

Michael watched your face as you sipped your water, knowingly avoiding his gaze. You looked stoic and almost emotionless but he could see the fear behind your eyes. Those same beautiful E/C eyes he fell for months ago, even before your first night together.

He reached across the table, gently holding your hand, your skin soft against his. You looked back at him, waiting for whatever he was about to say. You braced yourself for the inevitable I’m sorry but I can’t do this that was sure to come. 

“It’s goin’ to be alright, Y/N. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.” He assured. You swallowed the lump in your throat away, nodding, and trying to hold back the tears. 

Obviously, you hadn’t expected him to be jumping up and down in excitement at the news - and he definitely handled it better than you’d expected - but the intense stress of the whole situation finally chipped away and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold back the tears. Stupid hormones. 

________________

Michael leaned against the kitchen counter of Tommy’s home, speaking with John, Arthur, and Johnny Dogs. “Look, mate, you got two options. Fuck off to America with Arthur to live with the Apaches or marry the girl.” John explained. 

“This isn’t a joke!” Michael couldn’t figure out why John couldn’t take the situation seriously. You were literally pregnant with his child. He had a child now! 

Arthur puffed on his cigar, “Now you’re sure the kid’s yours?” 

Michael sighed, “I wish I hadn’t told ya.” 

“Think of marriage like a beautiful road with flowers all the way down it.” Arthur seemed to be lost somewhere. 

“Is he joking?” Why the hell did Michael even bother to come to these blokes about it? John had five, going on six kids, and an angry cocaine addicted wife while Arthur had become domesticated by some Christian girl carrying his kin that was trying to break his drinking habits. Clearly, they weren’t prime examples. 

“It’s hard to tell these days.” John shrugged. Michael walked over to pour himself a drink, needing to feel something other than stress. 

“Do you love the woman?” Arthur asked. 

“Fucking what?” Michael leaned towards Arthur. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought of it but at the moment the question just seemed irritating and unhelpful. 

Arthur didn’t care, despite Michael’s tone, “Then you gotta marry her like the rest of us.” 

Marriage. The thought had been whirling in Michael’s head since last night when you told him. That was what he supposed to do, right? You guys were supposed to go get married and start a little family now so you’d be right in the eyes of God. Aside from the thought popping into his head, he hadn’t made any decision on whether or not he’d propose the idea. All he knew was that he was going to be there for you in some way, whether it be helping you raise the child or sending you money. 

“I want to be apart of the child’s life. I’m not going to just leave her.” He announced, “I just… I don’t know about marriage right now.” 

“Tommy’s gonna make you marry the girl when he finds out.” Johnny added from the counter over his glass of rum. 

Shit, he was right. Tommy was going to kill him. And forget Tommy, Polly would have his head!

Suddenly, a bell rang from the other room, signalling Tommy requesting the men to join him in the other room to discuss business. Baby business would have to wait. 

_____________________

Back home, you set the table quietly, thankful your father went to work early so you and your mother would have time to talk. “Did you tell him?” Your mom asked. 

“Yes.” You answered quietly. 

“And I’m assuming he’s going to marry you like an honorable man?” She continued, setting a plate of food on the table and sitting down. 

You sighed, joining her, “I don’t know mom. We didn’t talk about marriage and quite frankly I don’t know if I want to be married, especially to a Blinder. It’s not the best place to raise a child. But he said he wasn’t going to leave me so… there’s that.” 

“Of course, it’s not safe to raise a kid in the Blinders! When I joked with you about grandbabies that night I didn’t mean go get yourself knocked up then and there by a fuckin’ Peaky Blinder!” You mom shouted. You froze. You knew from the beginning she wasn’t happy about the situation but this was the first time she actually spoke this bluntly about it. She took your stunned silence as a chance to speak again, her voice calm this time, “You’re keeping the child?” She asked, already knowing the answer. You nodded. “Then have the child and move to America or somewhere far from here. Goodness knows that boy will only bring your trouble.” 

You shook your head, “He deserves a chance to be a part of the baby’s life.” 

“Well then you better hope to God he goes with you.” She stood, rinsing her dish without a word and heading downstairs to the shop. 

You sat there in silence for a moment before slamming your hand on the table with a loud smack and allowing your head to fall into your hands, crying for the first time since you’d found out. This was nothing but yours and Michael’s faults and you knew that. Neither of you were dumb enough to not know how babies were made but it was one of those things that you didn’t think would actually happen. 

What were you going to do? You couldn’t up and leave to America but your mom was right. Being involved with the Blinders was dangerous work but Michael had promised that you would be safe before he even knew about the baby. With the boys looking out for you and Michael trying to keep you out of everything, maybe your child would be safe. 

Suddenly, the phone rang and you jumped up to grab it, “Hello?” 

“Y/N?” Michael’s voice asked over the phone. 

You sniffled, wiping your nose on the back of your hand, “Hi, Michael.” You tried making your voice sound as if you hadn’t just been crying. 

“Can we meet? I need to talk to you. It’s about that thing.” His voice dropped low and you wondered if Polly was in the room. 

You leaned against the wall, “I can come over to the shop around noon?” 

“Alright,” he whispered, “Come ‘round the back when you get here.” 

Noon came quickly and you found yourself waiting at the backdoor of the betting shop you’d become quite familiar with. The door opened to reveal Michael who stepped out of your way so you could step in and he led you to his office, closing the door behind you. You took off your coat and he seemed unable to move his eyes from your stomach despite the fact that you weren’t showing yet. Just the idea that his child was in there right now overwhelmed his thoughts. 

He shook out of it, though, and leaned against his desk, turning to you, “We should get married.” You were shocked to say the least. Even though it had been a thought in your mind too, you didn’t expect him to say it so outright.

“Michael, we don’t ha-”

“No,” He cut, “It’s the right thing to do. And that way I can take care of you and the baby from here. We’ll get a house together out in the suburbs and everything will work out. I thought it all out, Y/N.” Michael looked like he really had thought the whole thing out. 

A thought had occurred to you earlier though at the shop, “Michael wait,” You stopped him, “I haven’t told anybody yet except my mom. And honestly, a lot can happen in the first few months. I don’t want you to marry me because you feel obligated to, especially if we lose the baby. If we get married, I want it to be because you love me.” 

“I do love you.” He admitted. Both of your eyes widened and he looked just as shocked that he said it as you were. 

“What?” You asked, completely taken aback. 

He looked unsure of himself for a moment but confidence overtook his features, “I love you,” He repeated, “We can wait until we know for sure the baby’s going to make it but I do love you.” 

You weren’t even sure what to say. Does this mean you were getting married? “Okay.” You said, almost laughing. It was the only thing you felt like you could do. “I guess we’re possibly getting married.” 

Michael stepped towards you, closing the gap between you. His lips carefully brushed against yours and his large hands came to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. When his lips left yours, he rested his forehead on yours and glanced down between your bodies, hands moving to your stomach. “That’s our baby.” He whispered in disbelief. 

Your heart swelled with a mixture of fear, excitement, and love. Your hands ran up his firm biceps to his shoulders as you spoke, “Yeah, Michael. That’s our baby.” 

The two of you stood there like that for a moment in silence, breathing each other in and letting the situation finally settle in. You felt so secure in his arms, so safe. Being with him, this almost felt like it was supposed to happen and you were almost glad everything was happening. Michael made you feel things that you’d never felt before and it made you want to spend every second of every day with him and then soon with your child as well. 

“I love you too.” You whispered, moving your hand to his neck and pulling yourself against him, his arms coming around you to wrap around you like they would protect you from any harm in this world and, if Michael had it his way, they would.

[sliptohk]

Prompt #11: Ultracrepidarian

Small fingers curled in the sheets draped over her grandmother's still body, a small allowance as the insistent young miqo'te begged the mendicants a chance to see the kind old woman once more before she was buried in some pauper's field. There was no small amount of bitterness that those well-groomed healers had never seen fit to see X'wahja when the illness ravaged her but dared try to discourage her from siting with the body after her passing.

Some few ornaments had been removed, claimed as meager payment for the service rendered despite the frantic scrabbling of the child trying to get at them before they could be lifted up and away from her swiping hands. A frustrated snarl on her face as they so effortlessly took away those few lingering things X'tahma wished beyond memories alone.

"They're just things, Tahma, don't be selfish. How else will the good doctors pay for your grandmother's treatement?" The benign smile on the the hyur's face as he spoke just curled the Seeker's lips into an even more angry expression, as if they were discussing nothing more than claiming a bag of beans in exchange for some kingly gift.

It was a struggle not to burst into tears, the fine line between fury and despair wavering with each passing moment, "They belong to me! To my family!"

A wave of his hand dismissed those concerns, even as that smile never wavered, "But you must understand that they do not work for free, child. I have no idea how things are done back in the lynx tribe, but in Ul'dah one pays another for the work done!"

"They did nothing!" Her voice rose several octaves into an angry shriek, "She was already gone by the time they brought her here!"

"Yes, Tahma, to ensure the disease would not spread and to confirm she is buried properly. We would hardly expect you to go dragging her out into the desert with a trowel to raise some mound that the first winds would blow clear."

"If I must to keep you ghouls from feeding on her body!"

His smile cracked for a moment, quickly replaced as if it had never faltered even as his words became more pointed, "Its clear you just cannot grasp the concept of the city, hardly a wonder given whatever quaint little village you may have grown up in."

Pounding her small fists on the table her former caretaker laid out upon, the nine year old shook her head, "Then send me back! Both of us, I would rather go home and wait for mother's return rather than stay here!"

"But the illness." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose with a sigh, a long-suffering tone to the exhalation, "You live in the jewel of the desert and would throw that away for hovels and an eked out living? Be reasonable. All the people of this city will ask of you is fair payment for services rendered and you will gain so many more opportunities in your time here! I would even wager those good doctors would sell back your grandmother's jewelry should you have something better suited to paying their bills. They are not unreasonable men and women!"

"What opportuni-?!"

The next word barked out, cutting her off as Tahma's anger subsided a touch at the angry tone, "Do not interrupt, little girl! You have had more than enough time to speak in ignorance! It may seem difficult but my own grandfather came here with little more than a cart of spices, some meager savings, and a drive to begin his own business! Do you not think it was without some difficulties for my father to grow up while this business was being built and expanded? Of course not! I remain certain you will enjoy such opportunities yourself if you actually reach for them instead of babbling on about some gaudy baubles!"

"You aren't-"

"No, Tahma, I said I had heard more than enough. You finally have freedom from that horrible life you would have otherwise been forced to live, I suggest you not laze about and actually grab for this chance with both hands. Work hard at it and forget that... uncouth existence you've been saved from." A derisive snort escaped him, all semblance of manners lost as her looked down at the displaced miqo'te before him, "Should one of your kin come to draw you back then I hope you will have had the good sense to realize just how good things are for you in this city!"

It was baffling, the barrage of angry words and insistent verbal prodding rendered Tahma speechless at last. Her mouth hung open as she simply stared at the infuriating man before her. Did he not see how thin she had become when grandmother had grown too ill to hunt? How worn her clothing? What part of their miserable existence spent squatting about the city had given him the belief they had seen any sort of opportunity, much less good ones since her mother had left them behind to go lend her aid at Carteneau?

"As I thought, its difficult to sidetrack oneself with such frivolity when the realization that you can make so much more of yourself here is within reach! Just listen, young lady, rather than speaking whatever nonsense that backwards tribe may have instilled in you and doors shall open!"

It was a herculean struggle for a nine year old, forcing that smile on her face that was more grimace than grin before turning to speak to him, "Can I be alone with her?"

Drawing a timepiece from his pocket, he gave it a long look before offering a sigh and gruding nod, "Very well, you a quarter bell. Then I lock the door whether you remain inside or not. My wife is planning a feast for investors in this clinic and I will not have time for any more foot dragging."

"Fine." It was more curt than she intended, but he neither seemed to catch her attitude, or at least chose not to acknowledge it.

Only once the door clicked shut behind him did Tahma draw back the sheet to place a kiss on the bronzed forehead of the woman laying beneath. Murmuring under her breath as she struggled to keep that smile in place until she could at least escape the clinic and the man that owned it, "Sleep grandmother, and never you fear. I will not let people like him insult you like that! If his grandfather could do it, so can I, I'll become a trader too! A better one, I'll eat so much I get fat and pay people to carry me about town in one of those wheel-less wagons!"

Confidence that only a child could possess grew with each word, growing more and more ludicrous by the moment. That man was a fool, but at least his insulting, hurtful words did manage to light an unintended fire under her tail. He was nearly good to his word, finally ushering out the miqo'te ten minutes later before she could finish the growing list of promises to her grandmother.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine visiting Spellman Mortuary to make funeral arrangements. You realize the Spellman’s aren’t exactly normal and come to find out you’re more alike than you’d have ever thought.

GIF Credit: Account Deactivated 

Gen Fic X Reader

Standing outside of Baxter High, you await the arrival of one Sabrina Spellman. And in the dreary town of Greendale, she isn't all that hard to miss given she's always wearing something in the color of vibrant red.

When you finally spot her, she's arm in arm with her boyfriend Harvey Kinkle. They're talking to one another, laughing, and you almost feel bad when you step in their path. "Hi. Sorry to bother you guys, but can I have a moment of your time, Sabrina?"

The blonde girl grins and nods, and Harvey excuses himself with a smile after telling his girlfriend he'll wait for her inside. "So what can I help you with?" Sabrina then asks.

"Hi," you sheepishly mumble again. "Uh, my name is Y/N and I'm sorry to ambush you at school, but I have a question about Spellman Mortuary."

"Oh. Okay, shoot."

"Do you guys take walk-ins? Or am I going to have to schedule an appointment? The hospital has been giving me the run-around and took forever to release my mother's body to me since I'm her last of kin, and I finally signed the papers last night. I need to make arrangements for her as soon as possible."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Sabrina tells you. "And to be truthful, my aunts don't usually take walk-ins, but if you call and explain your situation I'm sure they'll make an exception for today after school."

"Yeah. I'll give them a call." Reaching into your back pocket, you pull free your cell. "Can you program the number?"

Sabrina smiles as she takes the phone, she then programming it. Once finished, she hands it back to you. "There you go. My aunts are usually reading the paper right about now, so you can call before classes start. Once again, I'm really sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Sabrina takes her leave and you're left staring down at your phone. A minute passes, then two, and you finally tap on the number to dial.

Holding the phone to your ear, you listen as it rings on the other end before someone answers. "Spellman Mortuary. Hilda speaking."

"Hi, Hilda," you say. "My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I was wondering if there was a chance I could be penciled in for a visit today? You see, the thing is my mother passed last week. As I'm her only kin and not exactly an adult just quite yet, the hospital wouldn't release her body to me until last night and I need to make arrangements for her as soon as possible. And I might also be wondering if you guys have any payment arrangements?"

"Oh you poor dear. You come in after school and we'll get you squared away."

You heave a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much Ms. Spellman. Now one last question, do you do pick-ups or should I find away to have my mother's body moved to your place?"

"Don't you worry about a thing, dear. All I need you to do is call the hospital as soon as we hang up and inform them we'll be picking up your mother. We'll take care of her and I'll see you after school."

"Sounds good. Once again, thank you so much."

"So precious," she coos. "I am deeply sorry for your loss. See you soon, dearie."

After hanging up with Hilda Spellman, you quickly make a phone call to the hospital to inform them that someone from Spellman Mortuary would be there sometime during the morning or afternoon to pick up your mother. They take note of it and the phone call ends just as the school’s first warning bell rings.

The day was going to be a long one.

After school you make the drive out to Spellman Mortuary. The Spellman's work out of their own home, which isn't too hard to find, and you park next to the cemetery. Climbing out, you then walk up the small pathway to their front porch. And there, sitting on the railing, is a dark skinned guy wearing a thin housecoat atop a purple shirt and even darker purple pants. He has a laptop balancing on one knee and when he spots you he smiles brightly as he lowers the lid of his computer.

"Well aren't you just a darling little witch."

You stumble to a halt, eyes wide. "How'd you know?"

His smile falters and his head tilts as he scrutinizes you. "What?"

"What?"

"You said-"

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't!"

"Ambrose, please stop harassing our client." The guy's attention on you falters and you exhale, unaware you had been holding your breath. The rather beautiful red-headed woman who's delicately smoking a cigarette nods at you. "Come along, Miss Y/L/N. My sister Hilda has prepared some tea as we figure out the arrangements for your mother."

"Thank you, Miss Spellman." Your gaze darts back to the one who's apparently named Ambrose and he smiles at you before giving up and going back to whatever he was doing on his laptop. You finally climb up the porch stairs, flashing Ambrose a tight smile as you pass him.

The Spellman home is as old fashioned as you guessed it was just by it's appearance outside, but it's a beautiful home nonetheless. You're seated at the kitchen table and Hilda Spellman, a plump blonde woman, fusses over you as her sister Zelda goes through the nitty gritty details of the services for your mother before her burial and the burial itself. You answer any and all questions they have, and even get a bit personal with them as Hilda doles out the steaming tea. Through it all, you take a look around their kitchen and one of their shelving units catches your attention. Because while it seems normal, the jars and vials are corked and labeled in such a familiar manner that it has you wondering about the Spellman family.

"Now if you just sign here and here, you'll be done and Ambrose can get started on your mother right away."

You take the paper from Hilda and sign your name, you then passing it back gently. As she pushes your cup of tea back at you, you finish it off and set it gently back on the table. Then as you sit there gathering your thoughts, you realize you've been a little too calm given you've been speaking about your dead mother and going over the details of what was to happen to her body and organs.

The cup is pushed back in front of you, steaming with fresh tea. Without thought you pick it up.. and then pause as the rim of the cup touches your lips. Blowing gently on it, you take a moment to subtly inhale the tea's scent. And sure enough, you notice a subtle hint of ginger.

Ginger, plus all the labeled jars of ingredients that you know aren't used for cooking, can only mean one thing. Witch.

But seeing as they've not harmed you, and have only given you an apparent calming draught without your consent, you decide to not open that can of worms. At least not yet.

The following morning you awaken to the noise of glass and furniture breaking downstairs. The noise of destruction can only mean one thing and you scramble out of bed before you can be caught off guard once again. Just as you're pulling on your jeans, your bedroom door is exploded open. Debris hits you, even as you shield your face from the most of it, and you're thrown through the door of your closet by an unseen force.

Throwing your hands up in front of your face projects a shimmering shield, and energy blasts slam against it. You whimper in pain and watch as a red demon with black tribal markings all over his face and exposed flesh shimmers into existence only a few feet away from you. "Where's that wretched witch of a mother of yours?"

"Screw.. you."

The demon tuts at you before waving his hand at you and your shield falters. Hand still held out, he quickly squeezes his hand into a fist and every muscle in your body seizes. You scream and the demon holds you under his power for nearly a minute. "I won't ask again, little witch."

"She's.. gone. She's gone!"

The demon squeezes his hand into a fist yet again and twists his wrist to the side, and your blood boils. You're screaming again, thrashing on the floor of your closet as you feel liquid start oozing from your eyes, nose, ears, and the corners of your mouth. Eventually he lets up and your body sags against the floor in relief. "I will find her and when I do I will make her watch as I flay you alive before I do the same to her. After I devour the organs of you and your mother, it will add to my power." The demon chuckles and waves his hand over you, and the tibia's in both your legs snap. You're screaming in agony as he says, "Don't go anywhere."

He stomps out of your room and you're left alone sobbing. There's more furniture breaking and doors being exploded open as he scours your home for your mother. You told him she was gone, but you didn't clarify exactly what gone meant so you're hoping he's searching for something you know he'll never find.

As the demon wreaks more havoc around your home, you quickly get yourself under control. You don't have enough time to heal yourself, so you manage to scoot yourself over to the back corner of your closet and grab a hold of your emergency to-go bag. Then forcing yourself to concentrate, you mutter the words of a hastily put together spell and hope it works. "Trouble comes, trouble goes. I need a place to lay low. Hide me now, hide me fast, hide me before my time comes to pass."

The room around you starts to go hazy and you close your eyes to keep from puking up your guts. Moments later glass shatters and you hear several gasps, and your eyes fly back open.

"Y/N?"

The entire Spellman family, with the exception of Sabrina, is sitting around their kitchen table enjoying breakfast and the morning newspaper. Crap. Why the Fates decided Spellman Mortuary was the perfect place for you to lay low is a bit obvious, but you're not exactly in the mood to explain yourself to them. Too bad things never go your way.

"Before I start explaining," you huff, holding your upper body weight up with your hands seeing as you're bleeding out all over their floor because of your broken legs, "I need someone to go burn my mother's organs. Now!"

Ambrose scrambles up from his seat, and Zelda and Hilda are cautious as they stand. "What's going on?" Zelda demands.

"There's a d-demon after us. More so my mother than I," you tell them. "My mother was a powerful witch and the devouring of her organs can give any demon a power up."

"Blasphemy!" Zelda spits.

"Oh dear," Hilda tuts.

"Yeah. So can someone please go torch her organs and possibly give me a helping hand here? He, uh, he did quite the number on me."

As Ambrose flees the room, Hilda immediately moves towards her shelving unit and starts pulling down vials. Zelda walks over to you and crouches as best as she can in her skirt, she then gesturing to your legs. "What he'd do?"

You shrug. "Broke them so I wouldn't move. I guess he forgot that my family was great at making up spells on the spot and left me alone as he went ransacking the place."

"So you made up a spell to bring you here?" Her eyebrow raises in question.

"Not necessarily. I made up a spell to whisk me away to safety and left it up to the Fates to decide where to stash me. Apparently they thought that safe place was here. I'm sorry for intruding."

"Oh, Satan, no." Zelda's eyes widen as she mockingly swoons, though you're nearly a hundred percent sure she's not doing it in a mocking manner and is just that dramatic. "The Fates? You're not a-"

"Child of the Night? No," you gulp. "You have your Dark Lord and I have my many Goddesses. I don't look down my nose on those you worship, so I'd appreciate it if you can do the same for me."

"Of course, dearie. A witch is a witch after all," Hilda says, bringing over a cup of what smells like tea. She hastily kneels and shoves the cup into your hands. "Now drink up. I added a little spice to speed up the healing."

"Thank you."

As you're drinking, Hilda and Zelda give you a look-over. Ambrose comes back into the kitchen, hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. He raises an eyebrow at you and squats at your side. "How did you know about us?"

"You're joking, right? If it weren't for the obvious witchy ingredients you have on display in plain sight, then the calming draught Hilda slipped into my tea when I was making arrangements for my mother was a dead giveaway." All eyes dart to Hilda and she sheepishly giggles. "Now if someone can please help me to a sofa, I need to concentrate on healing so I can get our of your hair and go ward my home from anymore demonic assholes breaking and entering." 

[draculalive]

Dr. Seward's Diary.

22 September. -- It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death as any of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his journey. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns to-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says he has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I could see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married and that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried, till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the circumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and forceful and mysterious. He said:---

"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no time of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other sufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave -- laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy -- that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn to him as to no other man -- not even to you, friend John, for we are more level in experiences than father and son -- yet even at such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, 'Here I am! here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall -- all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and, like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with our labour, what it may be."

I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different tone:---

"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all -- this so lovely lady garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she were truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going 'Toll! toll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead; so! Is it not?"

"Well, for the life of me, Professor," I said, "I can't see anything to laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking."

"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?"

"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him."

"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though no wits, all gone -- even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist."

"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!" I said; and I did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid his hand on my arm, and said:---

"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh; if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him -- for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time -- maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all."

I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.

"Because I know!"

And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming London; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.

So I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with different people and different themes; for here at the end, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,

"FINIS."