#did they were paid dirt & all her money went to the family and women were essentially forced

[testormblog]

Where is the Love?

Mother never spoke of her childhood, not one word of any happy memory. Her character and her inability to love stemmed from her upbringing. Born in 1916, she grew up in the depression years and survived with her family on a dirt patch farm at Chambers Flat. She lost her elder sister at eleven and her father at twenty. She suffered her father’s death in 1936 more than her other two sisters did. Both were still young children. Consequently, many of the farm’s physical tasks and much of the child rearing fell on her shoulders. She was a forgotten, young woman. This was probably when she began to seek attention as a placebo for the love her mother didn’t have to give her.

Perhaps, Grandma, a stoic woman, had closed down emotionally to keep herself together. With two remaining children to support, she didn’t have any remarriage appeal. Widowed in her mid forties, she was sentenced to poverty for the rest of her long life. The widow’s pension only kept hunger outside her front door. She sold the farm and bought a house on a large block in Beenleigh where she and her daughters lived off their ducks and chickens as well as the produce they grew. She also earnt a little money from her deft hand at needlework.

Grandma endeavoured to break my mother’s and her sisters’ spirits. She believed no good came from dreams, ambition and imagination. She wielded a strap and threatened to evict her daughters from home on to the road to destitution. My mother reared me the same way. She didn’t realise this taught me to be devious and silent and would lead me to resent her for the whole of my life.

I thought Mother, Grandma, my numerous great aunts and aunts behaved peculiarly. I suppose I was lucky to be born an uninteresting boy. I thus was never drawn into their gossip and competitions vying for attention. These seemed to entertain them but didn’t me. They were either jealous of everybody living nearby or constantly ill. The clothes, other women wore, were scrutinised in detail. Usually, they agreed these were poorly made if not sewn by one of them. Mother even sowed rumours about some ladies’ impropriety with half truths. If she suspected a pregnancy out of wedlock; she was shocked and thrilled at the same time. When scandals in the community were light, she feigned illness to feed her appetite for attention. She’d catch a case of histrionics if she found a simple red rash from a weed on herself. She thought a boil was a cancerous tumour. If somebody else was suffering genuine symptoms of sickness; she caught these also whether they were contagious or not. She was sure death stalked her. Despite this, she’d live a healthy life until her mid eighties just like Grandma.

I wasn’t close to Grandma. Whilst I visited her when we went to Beenleigh, the nearest town; I never stayed with her by myself. Her highset, weatherboard house was dark and dreary inside despite being built relatively recently in the thirties. At least, Grandma was a good housekeeper. I never understood why Mother didn’t follow her example.

I found these early childhood visits boring. Grandma had no toys for me to play with nor the house anything else to interest me. To a young boy, everything was ladies’ paraphernalia, all sorts of things for sewing. So, I stayed out of harm’s way, for my bottom that is, in the backyard. One day, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Heaven had rained mangoes everywhere on the ground. I gorged myself on the overripe fruit and had mango juice running down my chin and on to my shirt. Then something wriggled on my tongue. I spat my mouthful out on to the ground and looked at the mango. It was crawling with larvae. The whole crop of mangoes was fly blown. That day, my poor bottom earnt a beating for the mango stains on my clothes and probably paid a hefty price for my overconsumption and the larvae eaten. Even so, having the ‘runs’ was usual with how we lived.

My two aunts lived in the house too. One was old enough to marry and hence preoccupied with making this happen. The other was in her final year of primary school and intended to be a seamstress at the local clothing factory. She was sweet and kind to me. We suffered alike. Later on, she’d buy me a small toy for Christmas from her meagre wages. Something my mother didn’t think to do.

[lesbianlenas]

watching the bb live feeds rn & listening to this convo i have to say. pisses me off soooo much when men complain abt being expected to pay the check/bills but at the same time don’t want the woman to pay bc it downplays their masculinity. bc what it RLLY is is that men enjoy having economic power over women & paying for things bc she cannot provide for herself feeds into this power that they then claim is just their harmless masculine ego. & the woman paying the check shows that she still has some agency on her own. men want their women to be dependent on them to trap them like economic oppression is the main reason why women are trapped in abusive relationships since they literally cannot afford to leave esp if they have kids. but like yeah it’s soooo hard to be a man and be expected to pay $50 for dinner i’m so sorry 🙄

[camaradarulitos]

ROME—Few would argue how Valérie Bacot rationalized pulling the trigger that sent a fatal bullet into the back of her stepfather-turned-husband Daniel Polette's neck on March 13, 2016. She had earlier unsuccessfully tried to poison him with a sleeping pill, and she said she knew he was grooming their 14-year-old daughter for serial rape. She was tired of years of abuse and being pimped out to strangers in the family minivan, so she did what she thought she had to do.

“I took the gun,” she said in an emotional interview with Le Parisien ahead of her June 21 murder trial that could send her to prison for life. “There was a loud noise, the flash, the smell. I got out of the car, opened the door, he fell. I thought only of saving myself because I was sure he was going to kill me.”

Bacot then told her oldest children—who she says were borne of rape—that she had killed the monster they called their father. They admitted they helped bury his body in a forest. All the while, she packed dirt on the hastily dug grave—she said she worried he would come back to life. “The only thing I thought about was putting dirt on it,” she said. “Because I was afraid he would come out and kill us.”

The 40-year-old and two of her children were arrested in October 2017 when Polette's body was found after the mother of her son’s girlfriend, who had been involved in the hasty burial, turned her in. Since that time, more than 400,000 people have signed a petition to ask Emmanuel Macron for a presidential pardon that could save Bacot, though opponents say presidents have no place in the court of law. Interest in her case has galvanized those fighting against domestic violence, not just in France, but across Europe where, on average, one woman is killed every three days by an angry partner. A television interview in France ahead of her trial garnered 4.5 million viewers, and her horrific memoir Tout le monde savait or Everyone Knew is a national bestseller in France.

Bacot’s lawyers told The Daily Beast that they are “withdrawing from the media” in the weeks leading up to the trial to focus on her defense, saying, “We will neither give interviews nor make any statements during the several weeks to come.”

The case harkens back to Jacqueline Sauvage, another French woman who fatally shot her husband after years of abuse against her and her children. Sauvage won a presidential pardon after being sentenced to 10 years in prison for murder. Bacot’s supporters believe her case merits the same consideration, though in both cases, the women were failed by a system that did not protect them from years of documented abuse. In Bacot’s case, her children went to police more than once to try to help their mother, but police turned them away because they were minors.

“Even though she committed murder by killing her torturer, and taking into account the 25 years of suffering she suffered and endured in general indifference, it is her freedom that we ask for,” a spokesperson for the support group sponsoring the petition says.

Polette, a truck driver, married Bacot’s mother in 1992, and started grooming her immediately, insisting he put body lotion on her prepubescent body and on watching her bathe, according to her memoir. She says he then began raping her when she turned 12, after her first period. Bacot reported the rape to authorities through a teacher at her school and Polette was sentenced to four years in prison for raping his stepdaughter. All the while, her mother made her visit the man who raped her in prison. When he got out, he moved back in with Bacot’s mother and the abuse started once more. “Every night after school he would say ‘you go upstairs’ to me,” she said in the interview. “I knew what that meant.”

When she became pregnant at 17 with the first of four children he would father with his stepdaughter, her mother sent her off to live with the ogre. “My mother helped me pack my boxes,” she said. “At first I thought my mother didn’t know, but over time I realized she did, but never did anything.”

Several years into the relationship, they married. Then things got worse. Bacot says Polette had always physically abused and emotionally tortured her, but then he started threatening to kill her and the children with a gun, at times pulling the trigger as he pointed what she did not know was an unloaded gun at her head. “You’re lucky, it’s not today,” he would say. “There is nothing in it, but next time I will not miss.”

Then when money got tight, Bacot says Polette started to pimp her out of the family Peugeot minivan, speaking to her in an earpiece and threatening her the whole time not to ask the men who paid for sex for help.

Even that, she says, she could have tolerated. But shortly before she killed him, she said he asked their 14-year-old daughter how she was sexually. She knew exactly what would happen next. At that point, she knew she had to stop him.

Bacot knows she could spend the rest of her life in prison, but says it is better than the rest of her life with him. “I deserve to go to jail, a very long time, that’s normal. But this trial is not only mine but that of ‘the other,’” she told Le Parisien, referring to Polette. “I hope that I can be stronger than him and for once in my life win against him.”

Bacot’s story mirrors that of countless women who are prisoners in violent relationships, having been groomed to believe they cannot leave. “I have lived my whole life believing that I deserved it,” Bacot writes in her book. “That it was because of me.”

[poppywrites41]

Captive Love Chapter 1

Prince!Yoongi x Maid!Reader

AN: this MIGHT turn into an ot7 fic. honestly depends on my mood, i dont rlly have a plan for this so it might not even be completed itself. Here is the first chapter for it. lmk what y’all think!!

If y’all like it, i will keep posting, but I will be busy until May with university assignments.

WARNING: Implied death, cursing, sexual references. There will be more smut and violence to come in future chapters. If anyone is triggered by smut, non-con, death or violence, DO NOT INTERACT ANY FURTHER IN THIS BOOK.

The man watched with cold eyes as the young female body fell from his hold to the floor with a thud. He kneeled down and places his hand on her neck to check for a pulse. When he found no signs of life, he sighed in annoyance, “Fuck...I didn’t even get to try her out yet.” What was her name again? He didn’t know. Well, he didn’t really care. If he is feeling frustrated, there is usually one in his vicinity doing her chores where he can just grab them and do as he pleases. They don’t fight and he likes that, but it has started to get boring. This girl was different. She was probably new and didn’t know what to do, so she had a tiny bit of fight to her. But, she apparently didn’t know how to clean his desk properly, so she got herself a little too hard of a squeeze to the neck.

The prince huffed and went down the hall to let the guards know to remove the body that was in his chambers. They immediately took action, rushing with haste to remove the inconvenience from their majesty’s room. The man walked into the banquet hall where his parents and 6 brothers were eating their dinner.

“Yoongi my daring!” his mother called him over to her, taking his hand, “you must try the elk! Jungkook killed it today and it’s the biggest one anyone has ever shot! It is absolutely delicious!” Yoongi looked over at his youngest brother who had two servant girls on either side of him, begging for his attention. It annoyed Yoongi that Jungkook could just bat an eyelash and would have 5 women at his feet ready to suck his cock. Why the fuck was he so popular? “Nice kill.” he said to the youngest as he sat down next to his second younger brother, Namjoon. Namjoon was one of the brothers he tolerated well. He was a smart man and handsome at that. If he had been born first, he would have been a good king. He also had good luck when it came to fucking.

“Mother,” Yoongi said as he was served a piece of elk with roasted vegetables, “I need a new bedchamber maid.” His mother sighed, “Did you dispose of another one already?! Didn’t she just start last week? Yoongi, this is the 4th one in the past month and a half!” “She couldn’t do her job properly. I did what I had to.” The second eldest prince huffed.

“Mother,” Jimin, the third youngest spoke up, “where are you finding these women? What’s their status?” “I think this last batch came from Hearthfield. A few of the girls were daughters of the noblemen whom we paid handsomely for.” she recalled. Jimin laughed, “That’s your problem! You’ve been getting girls who don’t do that stuff. You need to go to Seaport to find the best girls. That’s were I get my bedchamber maids from. They know how to work, and they know how to properly serve a man.” The queen smiled warmly at her third youngest, “Thank you Jimin. Yoongi, I will send out the guards to Seaport to find more women to work at the castle. You may come down to the courtyard and inspect them. Though you may not pick yet, for they need to be trained.” “Thank you mother,” Yoongi said as he dug into his meal.

“Y/N!” an older male voice called to the girl staring at the sea, “Go help your brother with the crab traps. Remember, females with eggs-“ “get thrown back, males as big as the palm can stay. Got it!” the young girl finished for him, jogging along the dirt path to their dock.

Y/N and her family are fishermen. Well, her stepfather and stepbrother are. Her mother passed away 3 years ago when she was 18 and she never really could recall her own father. Her stepfather wasn’t a bad person. He treated her like a human being, but there was always a wall that she felt he put up around himself. She and her stepbrother tolerated each other when it came to working. He wasn’t the worst person in the world, but he always made it known that he was superior to her. Sometimes she felt like she didn’t belong in her own home, but she enjoys working by the sea. She walked onto the dock where her stepbrother was already going through one of their crab traps. “Hey,” he said, not looking up at her, “you know what to do. Better go fast so we make it back before dark.” Y/N nodded and went to the next crab trap, opening it up and sorting their catch. The sun had begun to set when they finished. Y/N and her stepbrother loaded the wagon with buckets of crab. Her brother got on and started the horse towards the village where the best crabs will be picked to be taken to the royal family. “You go on back. I’ll take them.” her stepbrother said. She nodded and began walking back home. Y/N never thought much of the royal family other than being jealous that they get the best of what they caught. She sometimes wonders what they are like. As she walks back, she closes her eyes and feels the sea wind on her face. She can practically taste the salt in the wind. She’s happy here. She doesn’t need to worry about some royal family. Her life is good.

When Y/N was finally able to spot her home, she saw a group of men in armor with horses in front of her home, conversing with her step dad. She thinks nothing of it and continues her walk. She then notices the head guard hand over a sack of what looked like money to her stepfather. Y/N got excited thinking that maybe the royals were paying their subjects extra money for their good food and ran toward her stepfather. When she arrived, all of the men looked at her. “Is this her?” the guard asked her stepfather. “Yes sir,” he replied, “she does not have much to pack that she would really need there, so she is ready to go whenever.” Y/N looked at her stepfather in confusion, “Where am I going? What do I need to get?” Before he could answer, the guard spoke, “The king and queen sent us out to find young women to serve them in the castle. We seem to have had a drop in servants recently and are paying families to hand over their daughters.” “But you surly must have enough!” she said, sending a pleading look to her father, “we are happy here! I wouldn’t be much help! I only know how to fish!” “Y/N!” her stepfather’s voice increased, “You must go. We have barely had enough money to feed three mouths since your mother died. She would have agreed to this.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her family was giving her up? After all she had done for them? Tears began to well up in her eyes. The guard was the next to speak, “I will give you three minutes. Grab what you can carry, come back out and get into the wagon. We leave for the castle.” Y/N barley nodded and slowly walked into her home to her room. She got a small crossbody satchel and put her small stuffed bear her mom made her in it, her favorite shell and her notebook. She found her mom’s necklace and put it on. It was a simple necklace; a silver pendant that had the words “my love for you is as great as the sea” etched into it. When she came out, her brother had just returned. She looked at him and he avoided her gaze which broke her heart. “Come girl,” the captain said, “We haven’t got all day. We must return this evening.” Y/N nodded and followed his horse to the wagon. When she hopped on, there were only 6 other women. They were very pretty so she felt left out. Granted, Y/N didn’t really have the luxury of having a mirror so she never really knew if she was pretty, not that she cared anyways. She looked back at her home as it slowly disappeared from view, already missing her life on the sea. After what seemed to be a few hours, the group arrived at the gate of a great stone castle. Y/N thought the castle came straight from a fairy tale book.

The wagon was brought into the courtyard where there was an older woman waiting. The girls were lined up in front of her. She walked down the line of young girls, inspecting them. She sighed and turned around to face them all. “Welcome, ladies, to the castle of Bangtan. My name is Lilith and I am your head maid. You all have been chosen to be servants of the royal family. These duties include cleaning the interior of castle, serving food to the royal family at meals or guests during balls, doing their laundry or fetching anything they ask for. There are a few rules you MUST follow; NEVER look a royal in the eye unless told to by one, NEVER speak informally to a royal, only speak when spoken to and NEVER refuse service to a royal. Do what you are told and life will be easy. Now, your training will begin at 7 AM, I will take you to your quarters. I will show you where to meet me in the morning. Come along and do not fall behind.” The girls looked at each other in confusion as they followed the head maid into the castle. Y/N felt someone staring at her but when she looked back, she saw nothing. She quickly followed the group into the doors so that she won’t be left behind.

“So my darling,” the queen said to her second oldest son, “what do you think?” Yoongi huffed as he watched the girl with h/c hair rush to catch up to the group. “She looks like work,” the queen sighed, “hopefully she will last longer than the one who was disposed of three days after arriving.” Yoongi on the other hand was intrigued by the young girl. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, but her posture was different from the other girls. They were making themselves small while she stood tall. She seemed strong, like she had some fight in her. Yoongi is intrigued by that. The queen could see the wheels turning in his head, “Has one already caught your attention my dear?” “There is one that is particularly interesting,” he said folding his arms, “but we will have to see.” “Do not mess with them immediately,” the queen warned, “they need to train and get used to their new environment. Give them a week.” With that she pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked back inside. Yoongi went back to his room and lay down on his bed. He couldn’t get that h/c out of his head. He knew he was not supposed to interact with the new servants until they are properly trained, but what’s training without an actual royal? A smirk played on the prince’s lips as he thought about the next day until he fell asleep.

[dark-and-twisty-01]

Bender Family - serial killers who eluded capture (1872-73)

Nothing is known of the Bender family's origins, except that all four members spoke with varying degrees of German accent. Whether or not they were actually European immigrants is now impossible to learn, an aspect of the killer blood that shall, like so much else about their lives, remain forever wrapped in mystery.

The Benders enter recorded history in 1872, as new arrivals in the small community of Cherryvale, Kansas. William Bender was the patriarch, a bearded hulk whose age was estimated in the neighbourhood of 60 years. No given name has been recorded for his wife, "Ma" Bender, some 10 years her husband's junior. Their elder child was John, a brawny simpleton given to odd fits of giggling. The baby and star of the family was daughter, Kate, an attractive blonde in her early 20s who quickly emerged as the family's spokesperson and, some said, the brains behind their infamous career in homicide.

Soon after their arrival in Montgomery County, the Benders built a one room cabin on the road between Cherryvale and Thayer. A sheet of canvas cut the room in half, with private living quarters on one side and a public room on the other. Travelers could buy a home cooked meal or rent a cot from the Benders, but some paid for the rest stop with their lives.

In practice, transient groups and hard luck drifters had nothing to fear from the Bender clan; a solitary traveller with cash or valuables in hand was something else again. The chosen mark was seated at a table, with the canvas curtain at his back. Kate Bender served his meal, distracting him with conversation or a bit of cleavage while her brother or the old man crept up on the victim's blind side and dispatched him with a crushing hammer blow. That done, the corpse was lowered through a trapdoor to the cellar, stripped and looted, finally buried on the grounds outside. Ma Bender did her part by planting flowers to conceal the graves.

When travellers were scarce, Kate Bender did her part to keep the family business going. On her own, she toured south-eastern Kansas, billing herself as "Professor Miss Kate Bender," a psychic medium with contacts in the spirit world. Her public seances earned money for the family, and young male members of the audience were sometimes more impressed with Kate's appearance than her ESP. A number of those would be suitors made the trip to Cherryvale and wound up in Ma Bender's flower bed.

The family's last known victim was Dr. William York, from Fort Scott, Kansas. Passing through Cherryvale in March 1873, York asked about overnight lodging and was pointed toward the Bender spread. He never made it home, and it was May before his brother, Col. A. M. York, arrived in search of explanations. Questioning the Benders, York received denials. He declined their hospitality and cautioned them he would soon return if he could not pick up his brother's trail.

Next morning, on May 5,1873, a passing neighbour saw the front door of the Bender cabin standing open, the family team and wagon was missing. Stepping inside, he found the place deserted. Fresh dirt in the cellar marked the grave of Dr. York, and 10 more bodies were unearthed around the cabin, all with shattered skulls. By then, the Benders had a two day lead. Colonel York led a posse in pursuit, but they returned at length with word that no trace of their quarry could be fined.

And there the matter rested for awhile. In 1884 an old man matching William Bender's description was arrested in Montana for a homicide committed near Salmon, Idaho. The victim's skull had been crushed with a sledgehammer in that case, and a message was wired to Cherryvale, seeking positive identification of the suspect. That night, the prisoner severed his own foot to escape from leg irons, and he was dead from loss of blood when his breakfast arrived in the morning. By the time a deputy arrived from Kansas, advanced decomposition had destroyed any hope of identifying the corpse (Even so, the "Bender skull" was publicly displayed in Salmon's Buckthorn Saloon until 1920, when Prohibition closed the tavern and the relic disappeared.)

Five years after the bizarre events in Idaho, Cherryvale resident Leroy Dick paid a visit to Michigan, where he identified Mrs. Almira Griffith and her daughter, Mrs. Sarah Davies, as Ma and Kate Bender. The suspects were extradited to Kansas, where seven members of a 13 man panel agreed with Dick's identification. Then, on the eve of the trial, a Michigan marriage license was produced for one of the women, dated in 1872, and all charges were dropped.

In 1909 George Downer, dying in Chicago, told his attorney that he had ridden with Colonel York's posse in 1873. Far from coming up empty, he said they had captured the "Hell Benders" and meted out brutal vigilante justice, saving Kate for last and burning her alive. The bodies were co-signed to an abandoned well, and posse members swore among themselves that they would take the secret to their graves. In 1910, before Downer's statement was widely aired, a similar deathbed confession emerged from New Mexico. The source, a man named Harker, admitted taking several thousand dollars from the Bender corpses before they went into the well. A search for the burial site proved fruitless, the well if it ever existed long since vanished in a sea of cultivates corn, but the lynching tale resurfaced in 1940, published by the son of an alleged posse member named Stark.

Did vigilante justice overtake the Benders on a lonely stretch of Kansas prairie in 1873? Or did the lethal clan escape, perhaps to build another roadside lair and kill again? How many victims did they claim before they moved to Cherryvale? More than 130 years beyond their crimes, the only answer to those nagging questions is the silence of the grave.

[brilliant-poses]

Night of the Coyotes

When Dutch Van Der Linde first began to expand his gang, a group of bounty hunters rose to stop a lot of gangs from becoming too big and powerful. The bounty hunters were a successful group, but the Van Der Linde’s and the O’Driscoll’s kept avoiding the rope. You are apart of the bounty hunting group, the Coyotes. You and your older sister, Pride, have been in the group since you were children. Now, you’re faced with the challenges of hunting down each member. When things get out of hand, do you stay loyal or decide a different life?

Chapter 2 - The Town of Blackwater

══════════════════

“We should ask everyone, not just one person, Pride.” You reminded, beginning to kick the dirt at your feet and move towards the grass, where the others were camping. There was a lot of talk around the camp, mostly because everyone had heard the Van der Linde gang were near. Every bounty hunter in the family wanted to catch them. For some, it was a personal reason, while the thrill of the hunt persuaded them to go after the gang. There were a few different women who worked in the gang, some being close friends of Vivian’s while others joined later on. Pride sighed and walked towards the cooking tent. A chubby woman hummed loudly, beginning to cut meat into bits and preparing it with seasonings.

“Alina! You need anythin’ from Blackwater?” Pride called, causing the woman to yell in surprise.

“Oh, you scared me, Pride! You silly girly! Yes, I do! Give me a moment!” She said with her heavy accent, wiping her hands off and going towards a journal to write down a list. Alina Kruger was basically the one who kept women alive. She was a German immigrant, traveling here when she was about twenty and managing to keep herself afloat, thanks to a bakery business she worked for. She joined the family when Vivian had suggest she come with them, tell her it would be adventure and cooking, two things Alina said she wanted in life. Alina had platinum blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, her eyes were round with joy and she looked so innocent. Her cheeks were always pink and her smile was absolutely wonderful. Her hair was normally tied back in two braids, her saying it was a normal German style.

“Here you go!” She said and handed the list to you.

“Thanks, Alina.” You smiled as she giggled lightly.

“Thank you! I did not want to go into town today, I have much to do!” She said and patted your head before shooing you two out so she could continue to cook. Pride as about to go towards her horse before you grabbed her braid.

“That’s not everyone, Pride.” You reminded, tugging her over towards some more tents, causing her to cuss and hiss in pain. You let her go once you’re sure she’s not going run towards her horse. You glanced around and saw a few of your sisters. Virginia Ross, Mary Mantle, and Yolanda Romero. As you stepped closer, you can see the details of what they’re doing get better.

Virginia was from New York, she was from a rather rich family, but she gave that up when her daddy tried to make her marry someone. She told him she wanted to do whatever she wanted, saying she didn’t need money. Virginia had only been with you for a few months, but she was a good member. She had dark brown hair and vibrant green eyes, she was a rather cute individual. Mary, on the other hand, was a cold blooded individual. Her parents were murdered by robbers and now hunts for the hell of it. She’s a little younger than you, most of the hunters were, but she did what she needed to. She had pale skin and dark blonde hair, her eyes a dark brown. She had a large scar that ran across her cheek and a few others over her body. She was a force to be reckoned with. Yolanda was a mystery. She was fun and always had stories of Mexico, but never spoke about why she wanted to be a bounty hunter. You all enjoyed her, with her dark skin and dark, black hair. Her eyes were actually a lighter brown, which made her emotions show. She was probably the best hunter you had, besides Pride.

“Hey girls, you need anything?” You asked with a smile, looking towards them. The girls glanced up, stopping their weapon cleaning to think for a moment.

“Gun oil.” Mary said after a moment, going back to cleaning. You quickly wrote this down on the paper that Alina gave you.

“Get us some more ammo too! My shotgun is getting low.” Virginia said, her northern accent punctuating every word. You glanced towards Yolanda after you wrote ‘ammo’ down, noticing her grin.

“What do you want, Yola?” You asked, the Hispanic woman letting out a loud sigh as she thought.

“Oh! If you find a tambourine, get that. I love tambourines.” She smiled again, making Pride roll her eyes.

“Is that essential for your hunts?”

“Well, we make noises like coyotes, so yeah. It’s to make noises!”

“You’re the reason I go solo.” Pride said and flicked her nose, causing Virginia to giggle.

“A tambourine… We’ll see if we can find one.” You said, causing Yolanda to let out a yell of excitement. You and Pride nodded them goodbye and went towards the tent closest to the entrance of the camp.

“Zotova! Liu! The fuck y’all want from Blackwater?” Pride yelled, forcing you to hit her and shush her. Zotova didn’t even look up from her writing.

“Four journals, three pencils, and hand these out.” The Russian said in her broken English, handing you a few papers with their bounty hunting on it.

“Put them in stores and sheriff’s office.” She said, leaning back to take off her small glasses. Zotova Stanislavovna was the person who helped bring in the money. She was in charge of receiving bounties and giving them to Vivian. She did her job well, but being a Russian immigrant, she couldn’t speak the best English. Some of you had to be there to help her explain herself. She had only been in America for about a year, but everything was falling into place for her. She had blonde hair and brown eyes, who wears glasses a lot of the time.

“I don’t want anything.” Liu said, smiling towards you two. Liu Shun was another hunter, an expert animal hunter, as well. She was the best at long distance shots and tracking. She was a Chinese immigrant, who’s parents worked tirelessly on the railroad. When her parents were killed in an accident, due to the horrible conditions they faced, Liu found your family and requested to help make things right for people like her. She had a good mission, but you were concerned on how people would view her. She had short, her black hair and brown eyes.

“Isabella doesn’t need anything, does she?” Pride asked, referring to the woman who took care of the horses.

“No, she’s fine. She hasn’t mentioned anything.” Zotova said, waving them off. You and Pride nodded, walking towards your horses to see the red head taking care of the animals. Isabella was the kindest soul you had, orphaned at a young age, she’s been in the gang with you and Pride for a long time. She and Brigit was close, the Irish woman who was close to Vivian. The two red heads bonded over their love for horses. You and Pride mounted your horses, not noticing Isabella walking away to grab more hay. She was quiet, so it wasn’t the most surprising thing that she did. She was sweet, but very to herself.

“You ready, Peppercorn?” You asked, patting the Gypsy Cob. He was the best horse you had, the black and white painted horse was the most loyal horse you could ever have. Pride’s horse was a large, white and brown Shire named Sunshine. She named her that since she’s the most hot tempered horse in the entire camp. You mounted Peppercorn, listening to him pant lightly in excitement. Your spurs jabbed into his side and you began to ride off next to Pride. Blackwater wasn’t too far away.

══════════════════

“I can’t believe we’re having to be maids and get shit.” Pride said as she let Sunshine trot in the street. You were sighing lightly, rubbing your face when she complained.

“Come on, Pride. Let’s just get the stuff. Let’s go to the general store.” You offered, listening to her grumble lightly. You and Pride hitched your horses outside the general store, heading inside after you got off the horses. You opened the door, hearing the bell ring and the store clerk greeting you.

“Welcome, ladies!” He greeted, causing you to nod in a greeting. You began to gather the few things that Zotova wanted.

“Pride, go get what Alina wanted from the butcher. I’m going to go get the ammo and gun oil.” You said as you paid for the items, handing him the paper for your bounty hunter family.

“Hang this up.” You said softly and left with Pride. When you were putting the items in your saddle bag, Pride whistled towards you. You looked towards her and saw them. Arthur Morgan and Hosea Matthews.

“Good morning, ladies.” Hosea greeted, knowing exactly who you two are.

“It was.” Pride hissed, glaring towards Morgan, who scoffed.

“We heard you boys were here. We were trying to find you.” You offered Hosea, who chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, we figured. You ladies are very good at what you do.” He said, causing you to nod.

“Y’all are too, for criminals.” You said as Hosea laughed.

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” He said, gently hitting Arthur to make him stop glaring at Pride.

“We’re just here to gather supplies. You gonna try to get us?” He asked, causing you to shake your head. You hit Pride after a moment, seeing her reaching towards her gun.

“We’re here for supplies too. It would be stupid to start shit in the middle of the street. We’ll come for y’all soon.” You explained, causing him to nod.

“Thank ya, ladies. You have a good day now.” He offered and waved slightly. When they trotted past you, you heard Arthur and Pride exchange words.

“Heartless bitch.”

“Tiny dick Morgan.” With that, Pride took the list and stomped towards the butcher while you went towards the gunsmith. You were going to have to tell Vivian about this, but you weren’t going to pursue them. Not yet. It would be dumb to. Pride was hot headed and wanted to kill Arthur Morgan so bad that it consumed her. You were her calm, her reason. You had to show her that the time would come. As you entered the gunsmith’s shop, you knew it was going to be a long day.

[power106hq]

𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚃 𝙴𝙿𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙳𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴: 𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝚂, 𝙲𝙰𝚁 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺𝚂.

QUEENS COURT is now LIVE! Powered by Power 106 FM in partnership with TS MADISON and KHIA. The podcast will go live at 9 PM (yes we late) every SUNDAY. Starting off with a recap of the week, KHIA will share her opinions on the biggest news stories and rumors of the past seven days. The court will then be accepting callers (anons) to send in their own thoughts about the past week. To close the show, KHIA and TS will issue out presents to the celebrities discussed in the recap. Click below to stream the full episode!

TS MADISON: We are live baby! Welcome viewers and callers to Queens Court starring myself and the legendary Ms.Khia Thug Misses! We are going to get right into the gig tonight and waste no time. Now remember that everything said is alleged unless we say otherwise. We don’t need any of these rich folk trynna get us shut down or give us gag orders. Starting off this episode we are going to be having a segment of DIVORCE COURT. Now Miss.Khia how do we feel about some alleged trouble in paradise for the West family?

KHIA: Yes, allegedly Meat Lofi and Yeezus the Goddess marriage is on the rocks due to Meatys lack of housewife abilities. Allegedly Mr. Yeezus is sick and tired of his wife not being able to be his rock when he needs her to be. The people are saying Yeezus asks his wife multiple times during the day for his meds and a crustless ham and cheese and she reportedly can’t even handle that task. Allegedly he also is criticizing her ability as a mother. Reports are saying that the two’s eldest child has been playing tee-ball for about three months now, and Meaty hasn’t showed up to one game. As a mother and wife, your job is to be there for your kids. Bitch, your baby is out there playing her heart out in the dirt the least you could do is push that van to the park and give some orange peels out to the kids. Meat Lofi, I don’t really know what else to say about these allegations. I hope that they aren’t true and you’re actually out there with the other moms on game day. What else could you possibly be doing? I’m on team Yeezus with this situation, a real woman takes care of her tribe! I’m gon’ sentence this dizzy ass bitch to a year of Home Economics classes. Hopefully carrying around them plastic babies will help you take of your own! NEXT CASE!!!

TS: Wow, okay. Moving on to CIVIL COURT we have reports of rapper Saint being involved in an altercation with the members of DVSN, who as you all should know are signed to his management label. We were actually able to get some insiders tea on what that was about. Now Miss. Khia how do we feel about what took place earlier this week between the OVO family?

KHIA: Yes, apparently the stars were out for somebody’s event last week and Saint was one the bigger names mentioned, but for a completely different reason. Now, allegedly Paint

TS: Wait Miss.Khia, who’s Paint? 

KHIA: Oh, that’s what the ‘girls’ call him ‘round there on the Ave. ‘Paint Leave-A-Nigga-Shitty Arazi’ has not been paying his artist at all! Allegedly he’s been in debt for a while now due to him receiving costly services from the girls with ‘no no spots’ down there at the piers. Now the people are saying he’s been taking care of a woman by name of Dashiki but we gon get into that tea on a later date. But apparently this is the reason why his artist aren’t getting paid. This led to an altercation at the event last week where Paint got jumped by the struggling artists. I’m 100% sure this isn’t the first time Paint has been chucked around like this. Allegedly he’s been the host of annual “Arazi Bukkake” parties every first Sunday of Pride Month, so I’m sure this was familiar territory for him at first. But when them niggas started really lettin’ lose on him it became a bit too much. I’m gonna sentence Paint to three years of self defense classes and two years of personal finance classes. NEXT CASEEEE!!!

TS:

KHIA: Speaking of personal finances and leaving niggas shitty, next on the docket is Miss. Xymira Futon in BANKRUPTCY COURT. Now I’m not really gon’ spend much time on this one because I don’t believe this is her fault entirely. We the people allege that Ms. Futon has been getting played her entire career by our previous defendant Mr. Yahweh “Crazy Steve” West. It’s being alleged that Crazy Steve hasn’t been paying Cosmo and this resulted in the parking boot being clamped on her beat up ass G-Wagon. I’m Team Cosmo on this one how you feel about this shit sis?

TS: Girl, I-.

KHIA: You don’t wanna talk about this? Well I’ma leave it alone but like I been telling y’all hoes: Don’t trust no nigga, don’t trust no Christian, don’t trust no sissy?! Don’t trust Crazy Steve either. I’m sentencing Ms.Futon to remedial reading classes. Bitch ain’t no way in hell you read yo contract the way Crazy Steve swallowing up all yo’ coins. Go learn how to read and find a way to get out the asylum bitch. NEXT CASEEE!!!

TS: Okay, well. We are moving on to the COURT OF APPEALS. Now Miss. Thugga has been spotted around the beautiful city of Los Angeles for the first time in months since Señora Sabrina went on that lady’s show and told everyone that he was violent towards her. Now, Sabrina did have a lot of women and movements behind her that shamed the man but Miss. Thugga also has his believers who don’t believe the entire truth was told in the interview. Miss.Khia do we think the people should appeal Miss. Thugga’s sentence of cancellation?

KHIA: Yes, well just to recap apparently Sabrina is alleging that Thugga had been abusing her while and when they were together. She didn’t speak up about it while it was going on and we the people wanna know why? Why now out of all times would you tell us ‘bout how this man been knockin’ you in yo shit for the better half of y’alls relationship? I don’t know bout this one y’all, I’m team Thugga on this. I think Sabrina’s ultimate plan was to trap him with a baby but since she’s not able to really produce children like that, ALLEGEDLY, the plans fell through. Also the people have been saying that Thugga had already moved on to another women around the time she went to cryin’ on that old lady show. Now it all makes sense. Bitch you mean to tell me that this man been kickin’ off in yo ass for that long and you ain’t hit a Tina Turner and dart yo skinny ass across the street where grass is a lil bit greener? I just don’t believe this at all! Now that another bitch gathering up all of Thugga’s coins you wanna go to hollering bout how he been kickin’ off in yo ass? Well I’ll tell you this, for that amount of money a month bitch you should’ve continued to get knocked upside yo muthafuckin’ head! The court will appeal Thugga’s sentence and also sentence this lying ass bitch to a lie detector test so we can really see what’s going on here. Next case, I’m tired of talkin ‘bout this bitch.

TS: Oh Lord in Heaven, now we gon’ do our last segment before we start taking some callers. JUVENILE COURT also known as YOUNG DUMB AND FULL OF CUM! is now in session. Now allegedly some people spotted Miss. Chloe Love getting frisky with some D-Listers at an event earlier this week. Miss.Khia how do we feel about this?

KHIA: Well apparently Chloe “Slim Thug” Jones was seen at the drive-in party with one leg on the dashboard and the other hooked in the door handle, chile. Witnesses are alleging that Ms. Jones was sitting on the center console with her legs open wide as all outside while two other men were playing tether ball with her bean. We the people are alleging that these two men were rappers Blueface Bleedem and PontiacMadeDDG. I really don’t have a whole lot to say about this freaky ass lil bitch. I just want to ask, bitch how dumb could you possibly be to let these two melon munchers spread you open like that in the middle of a parking lot? The girls of the girls were supposedly out there trying to watch Precious in peace, but yo trifling ass wouldn’t allow them to do that? I’m sentencing yo pussy to the gas chambers bitch. CASE CLOSED!

TS: Okay that is all the time we have for cases today. The lines are open for callers if the people want to chime in and tell us how they feel about this past week. We’ll be spending the next hour talking to the callers before we get into the gift giving segment of the show. 

[local-paranoid-cryptid]

SBI ft reader part 1

ya’ll didnt think I was gonna post the entire thing right? anyway, the reader is based off of mother nature and in this techno is gonna be a family friend (so no cannon family)

tw: none that I can remember :)

word count in this chapter:1661

status: unedited

It was a warm spring day, Phil scouted the area around the castle. He was the best at spotting and hunting people down, after all he was hand picked by the king himself out of almost 300 men and women.

Phil was a young man, around his early 20s, with sharp eyes and massive wings. He earned himself the nickname "Angel of Death" because of his scarily amazing combat skills and his ability to attack without a sound, but unsuprisingly he had little to no friends or mutuals due to his intimidating reputation and apperence.

Thats when he met a boy, about 9, maybe 10, stealing bread from the local bakery. Phil caught him, of corse, but when he saw the state of the boy, clearly malnourished and tired, he didn't make him return the food, instead Phil paid for it and watched the boy scamper away into alley. He later learned that the boys name was Wilbur and it wasn’t uncommon to see the boy stealing or getting into large street fights for money. Phil had offered him food, and of course he didn’t pass up an offer for food, but by the time Phil opened his mouth to ask him something he was gone.

One day Phil runs into the boy again, but not in a way you’d expect. Phil had finished doing his usual patrols around the castle when he feels something tug at his sleeve. Looking down he sees a small boy in a large dirtied shirt with holes, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair with bits of mud stuck in it. He must have been about 5 or 6 because he spoke in a fast and nervous voice, too fast for Phil to process. Next thing he knew though was that he was being dragged by the sleeve by a dirt swearing child, to see Wilbur thrashing against police hold. “Is there a problem here?” He asks the police, they explain that Wilbur was under arrest for assault and theft. The kid grunts, seeing the blonde boy behind Phil, “Tommy what the fuck?! I told you to run!!” He yells, seeming less angry and more frustrated. “These kids are with me, unless you have a problem with that, mate.” He spreads his wings threateningly, the police knew who he was and let Wilbur off with a warning. And that was how Phil adopted two kids off the street.

3 years had passed, Wilbur was now 12 while Tommy was 8. Phil was happy with the way things were, but eventually there were rumors of a new, powerful material deep in the hellscape they called the nether. The material was said to be a dark ashy black, and so powerful that it doesn’t burn in even the hottest of fires of the nether. That was the reason for its name, Netherite. Phil wanted to set out and look for the metal but we was worried for his kids so he found a babysitter that also happened to be his only friend from work, Captain “Sparkles” Jordan.

“Are you sure there gonna be fine mate?” Phil asks nervously with a backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder. Jordan assured his friend that the children would be fine, and with that Phil headed off to the nether.

To say the nether was hot was an understatement, it was a raging, blistering feeling when entering. The sudden change in temperature causes your head to spin and your body to feel a wave of overwhelming amounts of nausea.

Phil stared out in the horizon of at a group of striders, aww-ing at the babies and how they rode of the parents back. His eye caught on to a large black monument, a bastion.

He flew over the colossal lava ocean and landed softly on the ground. Phil’s eyes scan for any danger, but seeing nothing, and although he was grateful he was also uneasy about the situation. He looks through each chest and managed to find a lodestone, some iron and golden nuggets, and a golden pair of boots. Nothing too interesting, though he did find a disc in one of the chest. Phil decided to take this items and go on his way to find netherite.

A few hours of mining had passed and phil had manage to find 3 scraps. It was a bit disappointing in his opinion, he’s running low on water and his wings began drooping down to maintain coolness. Phil almost heads back to the portal when he sees something pink and black. He decided to take a look around the surrounding blue forest. After a few minutes of looking he spots what looks like a child with matted curly dusty pink hair, blood-red eyes, tusks pointing out the corners of his mouth, pink floppy ears atop his head, a thin build, pink bipedal legs, hooved feet, and a pink boar tail twitching lowly. not to mention the boy was soaked in blood, yet no visible signs of any injuries. Phil hears the boy clicking his teeth, a common warning amongst both piglins and domestic pigs.

There was something about the kid that tells him that the kid was dangerous, but nevertheless he pursued. He takes a step, slowly reaching into his bag. He pulls out a  baked potato, one of the many he brought for this expedition. Phil slowly reached his hand out, beckoning the hybrid to take it. It didn’t, and instead left. Phil leaves the vegetable on the floor and walks away, sitting cross legged about 15 feet away. He watched as the hybrid peaked around a blue tree, cautiously sneaking to the vegetable. He picked it up and scurried back to the trees.

This exchange continued for about a week, Phil enters the nether, puts a baked potato on the floor for the boy, sat and watched him from a distance as he grew more and more comfortable with Phil. So Phil was allowed to sit closer and closer, but the hybrid always scurried behind the same blue tree. Phil began talking to him, nothing specific, just what ever was on his mind, and the boy listened.

One day Phil brought the boy a carrot instead of a potato, the boy didn’t eat it or even touch the root. That’s when Phil grew more and more curious about him. He brought a variety of foods for the kid to try, a golden carrot, an apple, and three types of stew.

“He seemed to favor the suspicious soup and the golden carrots.” He spoke out loud  as he wrote in his leather-bound journal. His back was turned to the boy as he ate. The boy tilted his head and walked to the man, glancing over his shoulder at what he was writing. There he was a drawn picture of himself. Phil froze as he sees the boys shadow peer over him, but he continued writing, “likes apple, did not like rabbit or mushroom stew.”

Eventully Phil was allowed to sit next to the boy as he ate, giving him paper to write and doodle. that's how Phil found out his name, "technoblade".

One day, the boy just wasn't there, so phil left. after a week, the boy still hadn't turned up. He assumed that he'd left to his family, and left it at that.

Years past and the memories of the boy faded but were never completely gone. It was the first day of SMP earth, so Phil had a lot on his mind, but out of the corner of his eye he sees a man, about Phils height, but more muscular. He had an unreadable expression, peony pink hair, blood-red eyes, tusks poking out the corner of his mouth, scared floppy ears atop his head, bipedal legs, and a pink boar tail twitching lowly. His outfit was plain, a white button up top, black pants, and knee length gray boots. He looked familiar, but now Phil was too distracted by him and his sons parting ways to their own expeditions in conquest.

Technoblade watches the man hug his family, he recognizes him as soon as he saw the green and white striped bucket hat and those massive gray wings.

Techno turned his attention to someone else though, a girl whom he knew little about. There was just something about her that radiates both happiness and fear into people, not him of corse. He was the blood gods vessel! Feared by many, both powerful and powerless! yea..

When techno arrives onto Africa for resources he didn’t expect to see the girl. He’d managed to get a good view of her as she reached out to a trees branch, the tree leaned into their touch, miraculously bearing fruit for them.

The girl wore a long brown corduroy coat, a green knit turtleneck tucked into a long black skirt, several tattered green fabrics layered over her skirt, and a black belt tied around her waist to keep it all in place, and oddly enough, no shoes. she had messy hair with an array of sticks and flowers crafted into some sort of crown. She tucked the fruit away gently into her bag and went on her way. Techno watched her leave into the woods and left without a sound to the volcano.

When Phil stepped out of his boat onto the crunchy snow he assumed there was no one there, until he sees footprints. When his blue eyes followed to trail of foot prints it led to the pink haired man he spotted in the entrance, and a girl he didn’t recognize. Phil flew to a level edge of the mountain, but techno hears the flapping of wings and moves in front of the girl protectively, sword in hand. Their defensive stances were tense until techno lowers his sword and his eyes soften, “Phil..?” Said man looked confused until he realized that he was standing in front of the same hybrid Piglin from years ago. “Technoblade?”

[lilaccatholic]

Ugh, this article from Vanity Fair (copied below the cut for those of you who have run out of free articles for the month) about how many old Hollywood stars were forced into abortions to keep up their “images”—with some of them being absolutely destroyed by the procedure—is absolutely horrifying. How anyone can look at this and not see how these poor women were abused and manipulated is beyond me.

Abortions were our birth control,” an anonymous actress once said about the common procedure’s place in Hollywood from the 1920s through the 1950s. While patriarchal political powers connive to block women’s legal access to abortion in 21st century America, in Old Hollywood, abortions were far more standard and far more accessible than they often are today—more like aspirin, or appendectomies. How and why did a procedure that was taboo and illegal at the time become so ordinary—at least, among a certain set? 

Much like today, in Old Hollywood, the decisions being made about women’s bodies were made in the interests of men—the powerful heads of motion pictures studios MGM, Paramount Pictures, Warner Bros., and RKO. As Aubrey Malone writes in Hollywood's Second Sex: The Treatment of Women in the Film Industry, 1900-1999, “If you want to play in this business, you play like a man or you’re out. And if you happen to be a woman, better not mention it to anybody.”

From the very infancy of America’s film industry, abortions were necessary body maintenance for women in the spotlight. Birth control, including prophylactics, were about as new as “stars” themselves—movie performers who went overnight from being “Little Mary” or “The Vitagraph Girl” to “America’s Sweetheart” or “Sex Goddess.”

“These newly wealthy men and women didn’t know how to control their money, their bodies, or their lives, spending, cavorting, and reveling in excess,” writes Anne Helen Petersen in Scandals of Classic Hollywood. In the working environment of the Hollywood studio system, society’s 19th-century sexual segregation had fallen away. Women—flappers, It girls, sirens and seductresses—were spared their destiny in the kitchen, and for the first time, they earned large incomes they could spend on whatever and whomever they wished. Many believed the publicity they read about their own erotic powers, and they went toe-to-toe professionally with men. Sparks were bound to fly.

And so it became necessary for the studios to implement reformatory measures to prevent stars from destroying their value through scandal. In 1922, Will H. Hays Hays collaborated with studios to introduce mandatory “morality clauses” into stars’ contracts. Consequently an unintended pregnancy would not only bring shame to these top box-office earners—it would violate studio policy. “[I]t was a common assumption that glamorous stars would not be popular if they had children,” writes Cari Beauchamp in her book on powerful women in Old Hollywood, Without Lying Down.

These clauses may have extended to an actress’s right to marry. According to Petersen, rumor had it that “Blonde Bombshell” Jean Harlow couldn’t wed William Powell because “MGM had written a clause into her contract forbidding her to marry”—a wife couldn’t be a “bombshell,” after all. When Harlow became pregnant from the affair, she called MGM head of publicity Howard Strickling in a panic. Shortly thereafter, according to E.J. Fleming in The Fixers: Eddie Mannix, Howard Strickling and the MGM Publicity Machine, “Mrs. Jean Carpenter” entered Good Shepherd Hospital “to get some rest.” She was seen only by her private doctors and nurses in room 826, the same room she had occupied the year before for an “appendectomy.”

In the 1930s, vamp and man-eating thespian Tallulah Bankhead got “abortions like other women got permanent waves,” biographer Lee Israel quips in Miss Tallulah Bankhead. When virtuous singing sensation Jeanette McDonald found herself pregnant in 1935, MGM studio boss Louis B. Mayer told Strickling to “get rid of the problem.” McDonald soon checked into a hospital with an “ear infection,” according to Fleming’s The Fixers.

Many of these Silent Sex Goddesses either fell victim to their own hedonism, fell out of favor, or burned out, such as Theda Bara and Clara Bow. Others, like Joan Crawford, kept going. Kenneth Anger writes that Crawford was a “gutsy jazz baby” who marched through the “twin holocaust of the Talkies/Crash unscathed” to escape her dirt-poor origins. “Joan knew where she came from,” he continues, “and did not want to go back there.”

Get 1 year for $15.Join Now In 1931 Joan Crawford, estranged from her husband Douglas Fairbanks Jr., became pregnant with what she believed was Clark Gable’s child and Strickling arranged for an abortion. Rather than reveal the truth, Crawford told Fairbanks that during the filming of Rain on Catalina Island, she slipped on the deck of a ship and lost the baby.

Crawford’s rival Bette Davis also willingly chose to have abortions for the sake of her career. Davis was the breadwinner for her entire family—her mother and sister, and her husband, Harmon Nelson, whom she married in 1932. If she’d had a child in 1934, she told her biographer Charlotte Chandler in The Girl Who Walked Home Alone, she would’ve “missed the biggest role in her life thus far”—that of Mildred in Of Human Bondage, which earned Davis her first Oscar nomination. Other great parts—“Jezebel, Judith, Elizabeth, Charlotte, and Margo Channing”—may not have followed, either. “But I didn’t miss any of these roles, and I didn’t miss having a family,” she said. Later in life, Davis had three children.

Her first child, Barbara Davis Sherry—known as B.D.—was born when Davis was 39. As biographer Whitney Stine notes in I’d Love to Kiss You: Conversations with Bette Davis, “she was proud of the fact that, after her abortions, she could have a baby at last and a career, because her mother had always insisted that she couldn’t have both. She never tired of reminding [her mother] that she could be a mother and an actress.”

“A child could wait; her career could not.” That’s the reasoning Jean Harlow’s mother gave about her daughter’s own abortion at age 18. Ava Gardner, too, expressed a similar sentiment when discussing her abortion, which she had when married to Frank Sinatra—unbeknownst to him. “‘MGM had all sorts of penalty clauses about their stars having babies,’” Jane Ellen Wayne quotes Gardner saying in The Golden Girls of MGM. “‘If I had one, my salary would be cut off. So how could I make a living? Frank was broke and my future movies were going to take me all over the world. I couldn’t have a baby with that sort of thing going on. MGM made all the arrangements for me to fly to London. Someone from the studio was with me all the time. The abortion was hush hush . . . very discreet.’”

But things didn’t work out quite so well for Judy Garland. Famous primarily for playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and struggling to maintain both her weight and her image as an ingenue, Garland was never free to make her own choices.

“Married or not, the MGM girls maintained their virginal image,” Wayne observes, and this was especially true of Garland. In 1941, at age 19, she married the bandleader David Rose without the approval of MGM, and within 24 hours was ordered back by to work. When she became pregnant by Rose, her mother, Ethel, in cahoots with the studio, arranged for Garland to have an abortion. Audiences loved her as a child—not as a mother. In 1943, Garland became pregnant from her affair with Tyrone Power, according to Petersen. Strickling arranged for her to have an abortion. Arguably, these incidents affected Garland psychologically; eventually she became the first public victim of stardom.

Tyrone Power also got Lana Turner pregnant. Again, Strickling arranged for an abortion. Power was one of a constellation of male stars—such as Errol Flynn, Clark Gable, and Charlie Chaplin—whose unbridled dalliances left women paying the price, according to The Fixers. (The phrase “In like Flynn” alludes to Errol’s ease at bedding women—and his good fortune at being acquitted of statutory rape of two teenage girls.)

Strickling, who was by now referred to as a “fixer,” had his hands full with Turner. The “Sweater Girl” allegedly found herself pregnant by bandleader Artie Shaw in 1941, and Strickling arranged an abortion during her publicity tour of Hawaii. The procedure took place without anesthesia, on her hotel bed. Turner’s mother covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her daughter’s cries. A studio doctor, paid $500 that was then deducted from Turner’s paycheck, performed the procedure. A week later, she was back on set filming Ziegfeld Girl, according to The Fixers.

Some actresses struggled with whether or not to keep their child. Mexican screen siren Lupe Velez committed suicide in 1944 because she was pregnant by her lover Harald Ramond, who wouldn’t marry her. A devout Catholic, she declined to call “Doctor Killkare” (“the joke name for Tinseltown’s leading abortionist,” according to Kenneth Anger in Hollywood Babylon), and downed 75 Seconal instead, according to Hollywood Babylon.

The decision was equally tragic for Dorothy Dandridge. Otto Preminger had directed her in Carmen Jones and made her a star. When she became pregnant by him in 1955, he refused to divorce his wife and marry her. Dandridge was forced to have an abortion; the studio demanded it, according to Scandals of Classic Hollywood, not only because a child would compromise her image as the sexy Carmen Jones, but also because Preminger was a white man. And, while miscegenation laws were repealed in California in 1948, nationwide they were still very much in place.

Ironically, the rebel of her day was Loretta Young—not because she had an abortion, but because she refused to have one. A devout Catholic, Young journeyed abroad in 1935 to recuperate from a ‘mystery illness,’ after she found herself with child by Clark Gable under shady circumstances—and avoided the press. She gave birth to her daughter at home in Los Angeles. Young initially gave the child up for adoption—and then, a few months later, officially adopted her, according to The Fixers.

In the heyday of the Hollywood studio system, women were at their most desirable and their most powerful—but it still didn’t afford them the right to choose when it came to governing their bodies. Hollywood’s production codes extended to women’s reproduction. In the hundred years or so that have passed since the birth of American cinema, everything has changed—though, then again, perhaps nothing has.

[unknown-cryptid666]

Michael Myers x Reader

May contain gore, sexual content, and kidnapping. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 9

A New Start

(y/n) and her mother fled to a small town in Kansas. Soon, they settled into a small, two room house. Her mother had gotten another job and (y/n) was able to go to college again. Everything seemed fine, but in fact, it wasn't. Two years after what had happened, her mother was still depressed. The doctors and psychiatrist were no help, not even the pills. (y/n)s mother had lost her job and mainly stayed in her room. (y/n) began to worry more and more each day about her mother. She quit college to get a job so the bills would be paid and there would be food and other necessities. That year, on Halloween night, her mother committed suicide. (y/n) found her mother, on the floor, over dosed on all the pills that were prescribed for her. They pronounced her dead on site. (y/n) had to explain to the cops everything that had happened. She told them about Michael Myers and how he killed her father and other people. The two cops looked at each other, trying to think on whether or not they should believe her.

"Mam, if you wouldn't mind coming back to the station with us. Is there any family members we can call and tell them what had happened?" The male officer asked and I shook my head. "My grandparents died when I was five and I don't remember the rest of my family." The female officer looked at me. "Have you drank any alcohol tonight?" I shook my head no. "I don't drink miss." "Drugs? Prescribed or not." I shook my head again. 'I don't think they believe me at all...' I thought. Soon, we made it to the station and they sat down behind a desk. "Where did these supposed killings happen mam?" The male officer asked me. "Haddonfield, Illinois." The female officer began typing on her computer and pulling up files. "She's not lying. Says here, Myers killed a lot of people." The male officer looked at the computer and nodded. The female officer began to type on the computer again. "What's your full name?" "(y/n) (m/n) (l/n)." She nodded and typed it in. "No family members on record. Only her parents and grandparents. Both sides deceased." She said to the male officer. "Were you planning on having a funeral, mam?"

"No, I just want a burial." He nodded. "I'll have the grave digger get in touch with you. Would you like a ride home?" "Yes, please..Thank you." "No problem. It's the most we can do." After I got home, I closed her door and went to my room. I cried myself to sleep and woke up the next morning. I called into work. "Um, Mr. Tomson?" "Yes, who is it?" "It's (y/n), I-I won't be able to make it in today. My mother had passed a-" "Dear, for as long as I've known you now, take the week off. I can hear it in your voice." "Thank you Mr. Tomson." I almost cried on the phone. We bid our goodbyes and I went to the kitchen. Soon, I got a all from an unknown number. "Hello?" "Hello? Is this (y/n) (l/n)?" "Yes, who is this?" "This is Mr. Grove. I was told to contact you about a burial." "Yes, I have to bury my mother..." "Do you have a casket ready for her?" "No, it just happened last night." "Alright, I can help you get one. It'll cost about two grand for a casket." "That's fine. Any other prices I need to know?" "A headstone will cost one grand and burial will be on me. I'll get a casket and headstone set up, just stop on over when you get the chance." "Thank you, will today about three o'clock be fine?" "Yes mam. See you then." I hung up and began getting ready for the day.

Soon, three o'clock came and I drove to the cemetery. "Mr. Grove?" I questioned an old man, sitting in a rocking chair outside of what seemed to be a small house. "Yes, you must be (y/n)." I nodded. We talked for a bit and walked to the site where my mother would be burred. "The man for the casket and headstone should be here soon." I nodded as we walked back and sat down. Soon, a man in an old pickup truck came. "Hey Mr. Grove. You called for a casket and headstone?" "Yup, for this lady right here." "Hi, I'm Joe." He reached his hand out and I took it. "I'm (y/n), nice to meet you." I told him everything he needed to know for the casket and headstone. "That'll be three grand and everything will be ready by Thursday. Is that fine?" I nodded. "I didn't bring my money with me. I-" "That's fine. Pay me Thursday when we meet up again." I nodded and he left. "Thank you Mr. Grove. For everything."

He smiled at me. "It's nothing." We parted ways and I went back home to eat dinner. After I ate dinner, I looked at my phone. 'It's only five o'clock.' I thought and went to sit on the couch. I turned on the tv and the news had started. "There's been five recent killings in Haddonfield, Illinois. Nobody can figure out how or why all of this is happening. Three women and two men were murdered on Halloween ni-" I turned the channel, not wanting to hear about it.

Soon, Thursday came. (y/n) woke up at ten in morning and got ready for the day. She got out the money she needed for Joe and set off for the grave yard. Mr. Grove and Joe were sitting out front of the small house. "Hi Mr. Grove, Joe." (y/n) said and they replied with their own hellos. "Here's the money for everything. I can't thank you both enough for helping me." "It's nothing, (y/n)." Joe replied and Mr. Grove agreed. "Everything's been set up, were just waiting for the priest to get here for the burial. Shouldn't be much longer." Mr. Grove said and she nodded. As they waited for the priest, they listened to Mr. Groves stories from when he was younger. Soon, a small black car pulled up and the priest got out. "Hi there Mr. Grove, Joe. Who might this be?" "I'm (y/n)." "Nice to meet you, I'm Nicholai." They shook hands and went to where her mom was to be buried. Nicholai brought out his bible and began to recite some words and phrases from it. Joe lowered her mother into her grave. Mr. Grove and Joe began to cover the casket with dirt.

Nicholai finished his words, said a few kind words to (y/n) and bid his goodbyes to the three of them. Joe and Mr. Grove left her to have some alone time. She looked at the headstone as tears filled her eyes, laying flowers on the grave.

The headstone read:

In Memory of (m/n) (l/n)

Loving Wife And Mother

(month/day/year) - (month/day/year)

(Sorry to leave that month, day and year up to you.)

[seonghwahugs]

two black cadillacs

inspired by carrie underwood’s song of the same name. not proofread.

cw for murder/homicide, cheating

♟♟♟

Two black Cadillacs driving in a slow parade

Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day...

Hyunjin adjusted his tie, foot settled on the brake pedal as the procession prepared to move. Despite sitting directly behind the hearse carrying the body of his late husband inside he felt no loss, no pain, there was no need to grieve. Behind him was another car identical to his own, a 1969 black Cadillac. Who would’ve thought that the other man would own the same car. It was only four in the evening yet it felt so much later, the cloud cover darkening the world around them. 

The procession lasted about half an hour, the drive usually much longer with traffic. But, as a funeral procession, the laws of the road were bent and broken to accommodate them. To accommodate the supposedly grieving family, the hearse carrying their body. 

If only his family knew what he was hiding.

Hyunjin stepped out of the car, adjusting his long coat and veil. It was unusual for a man to wear a veil but he was always known to do things how he felt was right, not abiding by the standards set around him. It was one of the many reasons he and his husband had fallen in love, bonding over their desire to make their own path and not follow that of another person. He made his way to his mother in law, embracing her as she cried and held him close.

If only she knew what they were both hiding.

Two months ago, his wife called the number on his phone…

“I need to shower, it was a long sweaty day.” His husband had said with a playful smile, leaving a kiss upon his forehead. Hyunjin made a sound of mock disgust as he came close, waving his hand in front of his nose with an exaggerated ‘ew, you smell!’ He couldn’t contain his laugh though, pulling his husband down for a true kiss, melting into the hand that cupped his cheek. 

“I’m going now.” His husband said as he pulled away, walking up the stairs to the master bath for a much needed shower. Hyunjin took this time to grab his phone from the coffee table and typed in the passcode, opening the phone app and searching through his recent calls. There were multiple calls made to a single unsaved number, most of them when Hyunjin was already asleep or on days he was out at work. He’d been suspecting something for weeks but his stomach dropped at the thought of his suspicions being correct.

Slipping out to the front porch he hit the green call button, gnawing on the edge of his thumb as the phone rang once, twice, three times, finally being answered on the fourth ring.

“Ah, babe, I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to call this early! I was just about to make some dinner, would you-”

“Who is this?” Hyunjin cut the other man off, his voice cold yet shaky. “Who are you to call my husband babe?”

There was a beat of silence before he got a reply. 

“Husband? He..he said he was single..said the man in his photos was an ex boyfriend from high school…” The man’s voice sounded a bit fearful. “I swear to you I’m not a homewrecker, he told me he didn’t have anyone else!”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a while, thinking over what to say. Everything was beginning to make sense, all the nights he’d wake up in a cold bed, the extended work days, the constant overtime with no extra pay (despite his company policy stating that all overtime was paid.)

“How long?”

“Have we been together?”

“Yeah, how long?”

“Seven months. He..actually just proposed to me a week and a half ago. It looks like a pretty expensive ring too-” 

Hyunjin let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s where our money went, lying bastard. He told me his friend needed to borrow some for car repairs. And I didn’t question it, his friend has two little ones and taking the bus with them is a hassle.” He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling.

“What’s your name? We may as well know who he’s been with.”

“Lee Minho.”

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Hwang? But isn’t his surname Yeo?” 

“He’s not going to be my husband much longer. I’m not keeping his last name.” 

“Understandable.” There was a long pause from the other, as if he was thinking about something, processing.

They decided then, he’d never get away with doing this to them

Two black Cadillacs waiting for the right time, the right time

“What if we handle this ourselves?” He finally asked, a dark edge to his voice. Hyunjin knew that kind of tone, knew what he was insinuating. And damn, he’d never think to do something like that but he couldn’t deny that it sounded awfully tempting. 

“I’ll text you from my number. Let’s meet, you and I.”

The two made their way over to the set up chairs and Hyunjin held the woman’s hand tight, whispering a soothing ‘it’s okay mama, he’s in a better place now. No one can hurt him anymore.’ After about ten minutes of everyone seating themselves and the preacher making his way to the podium, it was time to give the eulogies. 

And the preacher said he was a good man…

“Today we are gathered to lay to rest one of the best men I’ve ever known.” 

And his brother said he was a good friend…

“My brother, you see, he was an amazing friend. Outgoing and loveable-”

But the women in the two black veils didn't bother to cry…

Everyone around Hyunjin was crying, whether it was loud and sniffly, or a silent tears-and-shoulder-shaking cry. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t dare cry for that man, not after what he did, how he treated him. Months of lying after they’d agree honesty was the most crucial part of their marriage. When it came time for the burial Hyunjin stood, his disinterested gaze hidden by the dark veil over his face. It’s not like anyone would question his way of ‘mourning’, why would they? Who would think to question the deceased man’s husband?

They took turns laying a rose down…

Hyunjin’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, landing on an unfamiliar man standing in the back, a veil covering his face as well and an umbrella in his hand. 

Lee Minho.

Hyunjin nodded for him to come closer, the two gently plucking roses from the pile and laying them on the casket before stepping away to allow others to follow suit. 

“Funny meeting you here.” Minho remarked softly, Hyunjin’s lips twitching up at his monotone voice making such a remark. 

“Thought I wouldn’t see you after that day.” Hyunjin admitted, turning to look at him. While their eyes were hidden it wasn’t hard to see the crimson red on their lips through the fabric. 

“I know. But..I doubt we’ll see each other after this. I’m moving out of the country with my godson, he wants to attend an international high school in France but his parents can’t leave work.” Minho explained. “And, well, it was my car that did it that night, even though you were driving.” 

The two didn’t plan to meet for coffee, or a meal, or anything domestic like that. They planned to meet only to end things between them and the man they shared. Hyunjin tricked his husband into thinking they were going on a date, a surprise that the younger man had planned for him. 

It would be quite a surprise.

They chose an old bar, a wide alleyway behind it that separated it from an old, abandoned apartment complex. No cameras, no lights, nothing that could identify them. Minho waited around the corner in the passenger seat of his car, leaving it running for the other. It was his husband after all, he should be the one to step on the gas. 

Hyunjin parked his Cadillac further behind Minho’s, stepping out of the car and linking arms with his husband. They strode past Minho, the two sharing a look before Hyunjin began speaking to his husband. 

“We’re going in the back door, I know someone here and she’s going to give us a private room. I know waiting in an alley is...kinda gross but it won’t be long.” He explained as they turned into the dark alleyway, walking to the end of it.

“Darling you’ve led me into weirder situations, if we get a private room-” He slid his hands down his hips, “then it’s a-okay with me.” 

Hyunjin only winked and gave him a sickly sweet smile, toes curling in his boots since he couldn’t clench his fists. They stood there for a couple minutes, the cold biting their skin before the long haired male gasped. 

“Ah hell, I left my wallet! I’m going to go get it and I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t take too long! I don’t want to miss you too much.” His husband smiled, pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

“I won’t be long, just wait here.” And with that Hyunjin was gone, dashing out of the alleyway. He all but ran to Minho and his Cadillac, sliding into the driver’s seat and sucking in a deep breath. The two men were quiet for a minute before daring to do something they’d never thought they would, leaning in to share a deep kiss. 

“I guess this is it, isn’t it? We’re really doing this?” Hyunjin asked against Minho’s lips, holding his hand and slotting their fingers together.”

“This is it. Once we do this, there’s no going back.” Minho whispered, kissing him again before sitting back in his seat and slipping his seatbelt on. “Put your belt on, he’s the only one getting hurt tonight.”

Hyunjin clicked his belt into place, put the car in drive, and circled the corner. 

The man didn’t even have time to scream.

“That it was. But..I would like to see you at least one more time.” Hyunjin whispered before walking away.

Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground…

Minho followed closely behind the now widowed man, the two taking turns throwing a handful of dirt on the now lowered casket. They took one last look at it and walked away, allowing others to do the same.

He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide…

They knew life wouldn’t be the same. If they were caught they’d be charged with murder, and even if they exceeded the fifteen year limit they would still live with it on their conscious. But what was done was done and that was the end. No going back. No second chance. They did have each other though, if they wanted, if they were willing.

The two shared a crimson smile and just walked away…

The two waited until they were sure no one was looking, lifting their veils for a mere second to share a kiss, letting them fall back to cover their faces once again. With a dark, thin lipped smile they walked away from each other, towards their separate Cadillacs. No one noticed when the two departed together, tailing each other. 

And left the secret at the grave.

[missingartist]

The Witchers Mate- Chapter 2

Brightwater was a large town hanging upon the end of the coast, surrounded by an impenetrable forest, a solid defence from the raging war. Yet, the quaint town nestled a busy port that never slept bringing new trader at every hour possible and with it more money and new faces. That was till the attacks started. At first, they were few a far between, a stray villager wandering off in the forest ripped apart by a bear, a dock worker having to be butchered by bandits in the dead of night, a couple of merchants devoured by a pack of wolves. The excuses came in thick and fast; people did not know what to believe. A monster was within the only thing that could attack in the dead of night before slipping back into the darkness unseen. In the last month, 13 people had been attacked at the claws of the creature. Men, women and children, the thing held no prejudiced, it disembowelled any that crossed its path without care or mercy. Even in the light of day, people seemed to hover in the doorways on their houses as they watched their children play, fear ever-present in their mind.

Though the mass of houses and business Adva stared out from a crooked window as she watched children play on the cobbled stones. Bone knuckles seemed to be a favourite, as they giggled on the patch of mud that they had drawn a pitch, they seemed so carefree and light-hearted in the face of so much death, an element that Adva had become far too familiar with. A pained groan broke her thoughts, turning a young girl coughed and spluttered her way to consciousness. The child was one of the latest victims, found barely alive among her family, a father and a heavy pregnancy mother. Adva cooed and shhhhed as the girl began to struggle against the grips of the healing spell. A pale, freckled thing with stringy red hair that looked more like a doll than a child, she hadn’t moved in 3 days since she was bought to the healer’s hut in the dead of night. The victim’s blood was tainted with some toxin, seeping into every cell and draining their energy, teetering them on the edge of death. Adva had filled the room with the heavy incense of rosemary and nettles that burned wildly behind her, a bitter and unpleasant smell, but a necessary one to purify the blood and the body. The damage to the tiny body had been significant- three deep gashes on the side of her body, but they were clean and smooth, easy to bind and tend. The man on the bed next to the small child had not been so lucky; his back had been ripped apart, jiggered and raw. It had taken all three of healers to rescue the man from the grips of death. It took several minutes to calm the child and redress the bandages before Adva tucked her tenderly into the bed.

Sighing, Adva pulled herself up and over to the water butt next to the door and ladle the cold water into her parched mouth.

‘Adva!!!! Vivian sent me to get you! The Witcher arrived! Exciting, isn’t it?’ a bright-eyed woman squicked, sending the wooden ladle clattering to the floor. Adva harshly shushed the women as she pulled the shutter across the makeshift sleeping quarters. Originally, the healer’s hut was abandoned for most of the year, used when a bout of fever or illness passed through which was few and far between. When the devil arrived at their door, the city was not prepared, no official healer and no stock of potions, tinctures or bandages. The people of Brightwater went to either Cersi or Tradi for their aliments, those who could not afford them went to Adva. The hut was now depleted and not fit to house the injured citizen and certainly not with a shrill woman bursting in on her.

‘Very… the sooner this thing is sent back to whatever hole it crawled out of but keep your voice down. It has been a hard night; you wake them, you will kill them.’ Adva scolded lightly.

Nesta of Perth was a good-hearted woman but one too fond of gin and pleasure of men, well as long as they gave her the fee of course. By the smell of it she had already been at the bottle, and the state of hair suggested that she had already been at her other vice. Once upon a time, she had been the daughter of a noble but upon finding the pleasure of the flesh, her life had taken a different turning from the expectation of being a wife and mother. Now she was a whore and a harlot, but a very well paid one at that. Nesta beauty was stunning, a pixie nose on a heart-shaped face, intense green eyes framed by feathered lash toped of the layered locks of mahogany hair. She looked younger than her years, could easily pass for a blushing virgin of 16, her body slender and firm with large breast openly on display in a tight corset dress of fine satin.

‘If they can sleep peacefully through Tradi’s righteous rants and monologues they can sleep through me, getting a little bit excited about this devilishly handsome Witcher. Bela saw him going into the Lord's manor, says he looks like a god, tall and broad. Exactly my type. Let's go see him together.’ Nesta pleaded with an adorable look on her face as she clutched at of Adva’s hands.

‘Anything that breaths is your type. I can’t leave…I need to make sure they are okay.’ The healer spoke softly.

‘It won’t do. Vivian has ordered me to bring you. The Witcher is to stay at the Tavern; I think the Lord doesn’t want any funny business so had paid for everything, even ourselves, Viv need you back… she was angry you weren’t back last night, she wants all of us ready and waiting. I, for one, will only be too happy to supply it, I’m sure he might even be persuaded to have a nibble at you, god knows you can use the coin, I don’t know how you live. Working as a maid, singing and healing are never going to make you have a comfortable life. Why not let Viv auction off your virginity, she might even get that Witcher to buy it, I'm sure he needs to be entertained.’

‘Speak for yourself, if he wants to be entertained, he can do it with the girls that are already there. I have told you and Viv before. Besides I cannot leave, there will be no one to look after them.’ Adva rolled her eyes at her friend, gods she loved her, but they wouldn’t be more different. Nesta sort out the intention of men and Adva avoided them.

The Mahogany whore rolled her eyes and wandered over a large chest of draws and settled upon it, skirts riding immorally high. ‘I thought Tradi was supposed to be taking over from you? How come you still here?’

‘He didn’t turn up, but his only a day late. You know how he doesn’t like to be pulled away from his crafting.’ Adva laughed as she watched her friend dangle her to fit in the air, like the child who watched their mother flit around her kitchen.

‘Well, then it lucky for you Cersi was in the town centre with Viv. She sent Tradi off with a flea in his ear; I saw him matching across the square with a sour expression on his face, not that he has any other expression…’ Nesta laughed, and Adva could not help but join in. Tradi was an unbearable ponce but good at his craft which made him bearable, especially to the recent violent epidemic.

Their merriment was cut short when the door burst open, and a man appeared at the door. A deep stubble graced his face giving him a defined look; some would call him handsome, other beautiful but it was hard to take in his exquisite feature with an ugly look of annoyance that stained his face. Once a prominent sorcerer at the court of powerful kings but no reduced to being a simple town mage, cast off from the guild. Tradi didn’t acknowledge them but marched pas and ripped open the shutters.

‘I take it from Cersi insistent demand that I come a relieve you; you have managed to kill someone. Can we not leave you alone for more than a day before you go running for help. No wonder Lord Fagen refused to send you to Lodge of Sorceresses.’

Adva glanced at Nesta who gave a silent snort as she hopped off the draws and straightened her skirts before grabbing a corse grey cloak and slipping it around the healer's shoulders and raising the hooded against the bitter weather outside.

‘It was soooo nice of you to come and relieve Adva, even though it's your dicking turn, so graceful of you.’ Nesta snapped sarcastically, weaving the healer to the door, ignoring the mages murderous gaze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Nesta walked through the streets of the town, dirt had already covered an inch of her new embroidered dress, as she jumped over a rather large muddy puddle she observed her friend as Adva tugged her grey cloak tighter around her body. It was a shame that she didn’t want to become one of the girls at the tavern, Adva reminded her of the old pictures that her father would collect, classically beautiful, ethereal, Vivien would joke that if one was to look too deeply into Adva eyes, they would drown in the limpid pool lost forever. It was a tale the madam would purr into the ear of travelling merchant to entice them to relieve their pockets of the coin, Sirens of Brightwater she would call them, for Adva she wondered if that was true. Often, late at night, when the toil of the day was done, men snoring safely upstair, balls empty and stomachs full, Nesta would trot downstairs for a nightcap and her and the other girls would sometimes keep Adva company as she tended to positions or prepared balm and ointments for the customers of the tavern. In those nights sometimes she found herself staring into Adva’s eyes finding herself lost, waking only when the spell lifted. Sometimes time she would be talking to the group in the kitchen then find herself in her room, standing in darkness with no idea how she got there and not a drop of gin had passed her lips.

The tavern whore dodged a pie seller as he barged through her calling his wares, the city centre had never seemed so busy, families lined up the street and women leaned out of windows, even the respectable ones seem to be dangerously dangling their assets for all the world to see, Nesta was sure that word of the Witcher rugged good looks would spread fast. For the most part, Adva seemed to be unaware, her hood shielded most of her vision, but something hung heavy in the air, and it was not the pies, something different, an earthy smell, spiced with something Adva could not put her finger on. The young healer followed her friend as she marched with determination through the thickening crowd. With a sigh of relief, Adva pushed her way through to Cersi who stood a fair distance from the podium; she was smiling up at the stand, a genuine smile then lit up her face, a shine that was on equal to the diamonds that adorned her neck.

‘Adva! I am glad to see Tradi final relieved you of your post. Vivian has been frantic with a need for your tender manner. It seems Vivian isn’t as good a cook like you, my dear.’ Cersi beamed as she held her hand out in a greeting.

Adva could not help but smile up at the woman; she had an infectious good nature. But there was an odd edge in her eyes, a deep concern with an unwavering gaze but her curiosity was diverted by Vivian the raven heard temptress.

‘And why should I be? I have made my way in life on my back in the bedroom, not on my feet in the kitchen.’ Vivian bite out appeared through the crowd and standing next to her. ‘Once this wretched place gets of that… thing, the order will be restored and business as usual. How are you, Adva? You look tired.’ Vivian asked tenderly. ‘Soon you’ll be back with us, might even help take some coin from the Witcher.’

Vivian was a middle-aged woman, the bloom of youth had withered and died long ago, but still, she was considered a handsome woman. The fine lines that were carved into her face had not detracted from her beauty. Always wrapped in corn gold cotton, hair curled and placed into an elegant top do — a mother figure to the girls but a first and foremost a businesswoman.

Adva smiled at the women before observing the crowd who were captivated by the podium, nudging each other and whispering, eyes darted toward the wooden structure in the middle of the square. Fagen Brightwater looked on at the crowd, while one of his guards whispered in his ear. Adva eyes glided over to the bulking figure next to the lord; he was clearly several inches taller than the rest of the men, a set of broad shoulders and muscles that strained against leather amour and fitted tight against his body. Tanned skin glowed against the dull figure flowing hair of purest white and glowing amber eyes. A violent vibration took over her mind, and an immense pressure gathered at the bridge of her nose, the feeling overwhelmed her sense to the point she was only slightly aware that Lord Fagen had begun to address the crowd.

Blinking rapidly Adva tried to clear her mind of the dense fog that seems to decent upon her, in slow motion, her eyes followed his eyes as they scanned the hoard of villages with an intense gaze. Pulling her hood down, Adva’s could now see the full figure of the Witcher, as soon as the hood fell the golden orb zeroed in on her as he inhaled deeply, his chest rolling primally. The penetrating scrutiny of the Witcher’s stare forced the curly-haired healer to cast her eyes downward. There was a heavy air that surrounded her that made her dizzy; she felt drunk; her body felt light and lethargic.

‘Adva…. Adva’ a voice called in the distance.

Raising her vibrant aquamarine eyes, they meet the warm brown of Vivian’s eyes. ‘Gods she is dead on her feet. Nesta takes her back to the tavern. Get her to bed straight away. No arguing, she needs to be at her best, the Witcher will be at work tonight, we best be prepared.’

Nesta looked at her friend with a critical eye, she looked half-stunned, it surprised everyone when she led the girl away without any defiance, Adva was too dazed to argue and let herself be led through the crowd without a sound or a glance back at the golden orbs.

‘Interesting.’ Cersi cooed as she continues to watch the Lord give his rousing speech about unity and the promise of the swift and bloody revenge at the hand of Geralt of Rivia, who remained stoic and deep in thought, but the tell-tell signs of deep shock where his wide eyes as he looked on ignoring the confused annoyance of his companion.

‘Interesting? More annoying…Curse that Tradi, if he had followed the agreement Adva wouldn’t be so frazzled she looks like she had been run over by a cart. Look I need to get back, sort this shit storm out, can you keep the Witcher entertain for a couple of hours, take him to the healer's hut, take him to the armoury, take him to the god damn beauty parlour if need be, just keep him out the way till I sort out this shit show.’ Vivian growled as she marched off after the girls.

Cersi rolled her eyes at the furious madam’s panic and continued to watch the Lord's epic speech that finished with a flourish. The crowd cheered and applauded and departed happily singing out their praise and love for the Witcher and Fagen, even the chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher could be heard as the peasants made their way to their home in preparation for the night to come. A night of barring their windows and hiding under the tables.

‘Ahhhh Geralt. Long-time no sees. We have much to discuss.’ Cersi purred brushing invisible threads of her cuff as she smiled at her old friend.

‘Hmmm’

‘Hello pretty lady. I am Jaskier, Geralt’s personal bard. Can I interest you in a drink?’

[micahscowgirl]

Bite Me ~ Chapter 1

Micah Bell x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Cussing

Word Count: 2802

This is my first post and my first story. I know it’s not the best ever and I know that there are mistakes, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope that y’all enjoy reading it. Sorry in advance... Micah has my heart on a rope dragging behind him. 

Chapter 1

You have been with the Dutch Van der Linde gang for just over two months. You hooked up with them in Blackwater after a run-in with Dutch himself. He saw your life for what it was: pointless. You were working as a "waitress" in a saloon. Bossed around by the owners and your pleasure-seeking customers. Life wasn't so great for you. Dutch pulled you out of it and gave you a new one.

It had only been a month since you had joined your new family when everything went south for the gang. A heist went sour. Everyone was frantic, packing the camp and running around like ants in their tunnels. Everyone seemed so accustomed to it, but it was all happening so fast, you had to step away to breathe. It startled you when Dutch put his hand on your shoulder and, in all this madness, he smiled. "Y/N, I know this is all happening very fast and you haven't been with us for very long, but we would all be grateful for you to join us on our journey."

You had become quite fond of your new friends, but Blackwater is where you spent your entire life. You were born there, raised there, abandoned by your parents, abused, worked as a whore, taken advantaged up, spent too many nights crying, sore, and broke... It wasn't as hard as a decision as you had thought it would be. 

"Of course I will join you and your Family, Dutch. I am a part of this now, too. This has become my battle."

He smiled. "I was hoping you would say that." He stood and began to walk off. A few steps away, he stopped and turned to face you. "Y/N,"

"Yes, Dutch?"

"This isn't just 'our' family, it's your family now, too." He turned back and walked away.

~~~~~~

It was a month now since the gang left Blackwater. Unlike the other women of the camp, you were treated differently. They all knew you were stronger, tougher than the others. Dutch saw it, Hosea saw it, and even Arthur saw it. After the terrible start of spring in Colter, they saw your talents. You had signs of a leader in you, but also a beast that would fight and steal and, overall, make the gang a whole lot of money.

That is why you are where you are now: sitting at a bar in Strawberry, drinking whiskey, and working with--or more like babysitting--the biggest asshole you know. Micah Bell. He is an overall twisted person, always picking and prying at people's skins, trying to dig out the worst in them. He was one of the few people in the gang that you didn't get along with--Pearson and Molly O'Shea being the other two. He would spend evenings stirring and twisting people up, trying to catch them on fire. He must get off on the idea of someone's brain completely blocked out by rage, almost to the breaking point. 

At the moment, he was playing cards with a few guys. No one at that table seemed to be enjoying themselves. They could've been shoveling cow shit and have been a little more enthused. Wearing frowns on all of their faces and fashioning cigarettes and shot glasses either in their hands or in arms reach. No easy conversations, just harsh glares. They're only playing for money, not for sport. 

After your second beer and third shot, you felt drunk enough to get a good night's rest in an unfamiliar bed. You paid for your drinks and room and made your way up the stairs. After pulling off your hat, shirt, holster, boots, and riding pants, it didn't take long for you to fall asleep when your head hit the pillow.

You were woken up just under an hour later by the sound of glass breaking and guns firing. Jumping out of bed, you grabbed your pistol and crouched on the side of the bed opposite the door, pointing it and waiting. After waiting what felt like forever, you could hear lawmen bringing the commotion to a halt. You stayed in your position a few minutes after the saloon had become quiet again, before standing up and sliding back in under the covers. You had seen your fair share of bar fights: fists, knives, and guns, and you knew the best way to handle them was to just stay out of the way but also remain alert. Keeping your gun closer this time, you managed to fall back asleep very quickly. If you dreamed, you didn't remember them.

~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning to a beautiful stream of sunlight making its way into the room. After getting up and stretching, you slide back into your clothes and head out back to the outhouse. After relieving yourself, you made your way around the saloon to your horse. "Hey girl, how was your night?" you say, pulling an apple out of your bag and feeding it to your horse. You pull out your horse brush and begin to wipe away the past days’ grime from its brown fur. After making your way around to the other side, you see him. Baylock, Micah's horse, but instead of being hitched with yours like it was the previous evening, it was standing in front of the town's jail.

"You stupid son of a bitch." You say to yourself. As your brain starts to wash away the sleep and alcohol, you realize that he must've been part of the commotion in the saloon that past night. You mount your horse and begin to trot closer. You see two lawmen standing outside of the door.

"The man in green," --an O'Driscoll, you know-- "said the other guy wasn't in town alone." You freeze. "Says there was a woman with him. Or a girl. She was at that age it was hard to tell." You bow your hat and direct your horse in a different direction. As soon as you passed sight of the town, you kicked your feet and rushed your way back to Horseshoe Lookout. Thinking of your failed mission to find a lead, you realize that Micah has yet again found a way to make your skin burn and your fists tighten. He just had that special talent.

~~~~~~

It was a few days later when you heard that Arthur had broken Micah out, making quite a mess in the process. It was early morning, and you were helping Mary-Beth wash some clothes in a nearby stream when she told you what had happened.

"Micah just had to get his guns from some poor fool in town. Arthur says that Micah shot the guy immediately and then started shooting every lawman and even a few people who tried to get in the way of his escape." She chuckled. "I can't believe Dutch keeps Micah around. Nothing but trouble that bastard is."

"Yeah, and poor Arthur is always picking up his messes it seems." You say just as Arthur starts to walk up.

"Speak of the devil," Mary-Beth says. "We were just talking about how much trouble you are, cowboy." She has always had a thing for Arthur. You wouldn't be surprised if they'd hooked up in the past after a drunken night. If it hasn't happened yet, it was sure to one day.

"You know me, ladies, always picking fights and firing people up. I can't keep my guns holstered for two seconds without getting bored. Oh wait, that's Micah, the asshole that almost got me killed."

"How did that go, by the way?"

"Well, Y/N, I busted him out, broke the damn bars outside his cell, should've been able to get out with minimal casualties, but then our dear pal just had to retrieve his precious guns. We ended up shooting the whole damn town. Barely made it out of there alive. After we got out, he told me that he was going to hang back and try to get something to bring to camp. He called it a 'peace offering'."

"Sounds about right," Mary-Beth says as she drops the shirt she was working on into the basket with the rest of the cleaned clothes. You follow suit and stand, picking up the basket. 

"Here, let me grab that for you," Arthur grabs the basket from under your arm. "Don't need y'all doing all the work." He says with a wink. Mary-Beth giggles, you smile. "Y/N, Dutch wants you to head over to his tent. I think he might have a lead for you. Mary-Beth, I can help you hang these up." She happily skips off with him, turning her head to you to shoot you a smile.

Dutch is standing with Hosea in his tent. "If you could, Hosea, meet with Arthur later and discuss our next move. Speak with Bill as well, and I heard Uncle might have a lead, too."

"Will do, Dutch." He turns to leave, nodding at you as he passes. "Miss."

You return the gesture and walk up to Dutch. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, ma'am. I think I got a lead for you if you're not busy that is. A stagecoach hit, near Strawberry. I know you just returned from your trip there, but I think this will be a perfect job for you since you're so good at playing the part." He's referencing your innocent damsel in distress act. It's a classic, works every time.

"I'm not busy, wouldn't mind some fresh air away from the camp, that's for sure. Washing and mending clothes isn't really my thing."

"Then it's settled." He pulls out his map and tells you his plan. Payroll coach--should be easy enough.

As soon as Dutch is done, you say your goodbyes and head to your horse.

~~~~~~~

It was mid-afternoon when you arrived at the spot Dutch told you. You hitched your horse in the woods nearby and found a tree to sit next to while you waited. It would still be over an hour before it arrived so you figured you'd get comfortable. 

It had been about 40 minutes according to your pocket watch, the sun starting to go behind some hills in the distance. It was still early spring, so the sun set earlier than you liked. Keeping yourself occupied, you picked at the grass around you, pushed your boots around in the dirt, and watched some birds building a nest in a nearby tree. The tree started hurting your back, so you had scooted to sit criss-cross instead, imagining the native Americans sitting around their fires, beating drums, and dancing. They always seemed so happy, so at peace. So lost in thought, you didn't notice the steps behind you, snapping branches and dragging the dirt. It wasn't until you felt a presence inches from your back that your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't react in time; an arm grabbed your torso, locking your arms to your body. A hand covered your mouth. Your heart was racing, your body shifted, trying to loosen yourself, but the grip was too strong, your eyes began to water in terror. 

"Aren't you a little far from home, dollface?" the voice was deep, coming from lips right next to your ear, touching just barely. You shiver, chills running down your entire body. "A damsel like yourself shouldn't be out by herself, there are sick people out there that would just love to take advantage of such a tight, young body." The hold tightens, the strength is unreal, your body crumbles, moving closer to the ground. The weight on your back is too much. You feel tears running down your face. 

You try to say "Please. Leave me be." but all that comes out is a muffled noise coming from your throat.

The voice becomes lighter and immediately more familiar. "What was that, Y/N? I can't hear you. And are you crying?" He chuckles. 

It's Micah, that asshole. He loses his grip on you, letting you fall forward onto the ground, right into the dirt you were digging at what felt like decades ago.

"Micah... you bastard!" you wheeze. You gather the strength to push yourself from the ground. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I should be asking you the same question. You shouldn't be out here by yourself. Especially if you're going to be stealing someone else's lead."

You looked up at him, the tears had drawn lines in the dirt on your cheeks. "You can have the damn coach. And you better not try to pull any shit like that ever again. Not with me, or anyone else." You get back on your horse and begin to ride away. "Fuck you, Micah."

"I'll consider your offer." He says as you trot away. You feel heat return to your face, and your eyes begin to water once more. 

~~~~~~

The next evening is when Micah made his return. The take must have been huge because everyone was celebrating, and most of them didn't like Micah just like yourself. Although, everyone always happily invites a reason to drink and pretend that everything in the world is good. While most of the camp gathered around the fire, you stood from a distance and watched with a beer in hand. Javier was playing his guitar and Uncle was leading the others in song. Micah sat with Dutch's arm around his shoulder, holding a conversation with him and Arthur. Arthur hated Micah about as much as you did, but the fact that he was keeping himself in the conversation for as long as he was, let you know just how great that stagecoach ended up being. That should've been your prize. 

Working on your second beer, your mind started to turn. You wanted revenge on him. There was one thing you could think of that would really make him pissed, and that was confusing him, playing with his head. Turning his own tricks against him.

After everyone had started to head to their tents, you knew that soon Micah would head out. He didn't have a tent, mainly because he suffered from insomnia, but also because Miss Grimshaw refused to make him one. The fire was getting dim now, but you could still make out his figure. Once he turned to walk into the trees, you followed. He claimed a tree to lean on about 50 paces away from camp. He was facing away, so you quietly made your way up behind him, stopping about five feet behind him. He lit a cigarette and started to smoke. 

"Where's my cut?" You say, making him jump, turning to face you.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N! You shouldn't go sneaking up on people like that!"

"You're one to talk." You walk a little closer to him. "Once again, where's my cut, Micah?"

"You don't get one, you didn't earn it."

"You might see it that way, but I think I did my part. I let Dutch know what happened to you. Although, thinking back, I believe I might have left out a part." He frowns. "Yeah, that's right! I left out the part where you were playing cards with a couple of O'Driscoll boys. Maybe I should fill Dutch in on the whole story." You smirk.

Micah laughs nervously, kicking at the ground. "You know Y/N," he starts moving closer, but you hold your ground. "you really are a little twisted 'damsel in distress', aren't you?"

"Why indeed I am." He's moved so close to you, you feel his heat and smell the whiskey on his breath. His blue eyes are looking straight into your soul, but you don't let him see it."Now, my cut?"

He sticks his cigarette in between his lips and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out 50 dollars and hands it to you. "There, for all of your hard work."

You count it. Slowly. Twisting his nerves. "Hmm... I think this is a little short." You look up at him and he snarls. You reach up and take the cigarette out of his mouth and place it in your own, taking a long draw. You release the smoke directly into his face. "There, that covers it." You pat his cheek. All he does is glare at you, hard. His chest is rising and lowering faster than normal. 

"Fuck you, Y/N."

"I'll consider your offer." You say with a smile and walk away. You feel his eyes on you, but you continue to walk. Out of everything that has happened, there is one thought that surfaces above the rest. When taking the cigarette from his lips, you noticed how surprisingly soft they were. You shake the thought away, and head back to your tent to rest, a smile staying strong on your face.

[princesweetpea]

I Found | Sweet Pea x Aurora Jones (oc)

All Chapters Here

Chapter: FOURTEEN

Warnings: Language, angst

READ IT ON AO3

A/N: Hi everyone! Taking a quick break from my hiatus to post this. Sorry, it's been so long, life has been... yeah. (Before anyone comes at me, I based Fangs' heritage on Drew's, in case anyone is confused.) I hope you enjoyed this Sweet Pea focused chapter! We got to see a little bit more of Sweet Pea's personal life and the relationships he has. Please let me know what you think! x

          Usually rain this heavy would keep Sweet Pea from going out on his bike, but his mind was everywhere else as his motorcycle sped along the slick, winding road. His mind was racing, filled with fresh memories that also called back to some that weren’t as recent. His friends, his decisions… Aurora Jones. “You know, if you were always so compliant, maybe we could have been… friends, or something.” He snorted at the memory of her remark. “Me and you, friends? That could never happen.” It was true. They could never be friends, though even he wasn’t sure why not. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get her out of his head. He had completely avoided her for the better part of two months since the incident at the diner. He felt a little guilty for leaving her stranded, but maybe not as guilty as he should have felt. Yes, you do. However, he didn’t want to apologize. You should have apologized the night of the cookout. He shook his subconscious out of his head and regained focus on the road, not wanting to remember the belated Fourth of July celebration that the Serpents hosted in Tent City. It was a bittersweet celebration, considering the sudden and unexpected passing of Fred Andrews a week prior. Fred Andrews. The funeral blurred together in his mind. The memories of the caring, helpful man that took the clan in when they had nowhere else to go. The omnipresent, uncomfortable ache of loss that seemed to never go away. He felt sick and stupid for the way he mourned a man that he barely knew, but unprecedented kindness without expecting something in return was scarce in his life. He thought of everyone who knew him better; he thought of Archie, of Jughead, of Betty, and of Rory. The way she cried at the funeral. He shook his head more forcefully, much more so that his bike swerved. “Fuck!” He did his best not to overcorrect and steadied himself once more. After a few more minutes of hyper-focused steering, he reached his destination.

The crunch of boots against damp gravel was the only distinguishable sound in dead air as he shifted from one foot to the other outside of the modest house. No, not house… home. This was home – well, it may as well have been home for Sweet Pea. He had spent a lot of his time here over the years; but now that Fangs was… gone, the time he spent here was brief and as few and far between as he could handle. If a Serpent is killed or imprisoned, their family will be taken care of, he repeated in his head. Or in this case… Missing. He flipped an envelope over in his hand to open it for the seventh time, thumbing through the bills to make sure it was all there. A hand patted him on the shoulder, startling him, and he immediately spun on his heel with his fist raised. Jughead?

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. I thought you saw me pull up.” Jughead raised his hands as he waited for Sweet Pea to release his shirt. Sweet Pea let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he bent down to pick up the envelope. He brushed the dirt from the outside, drops of water streaking across it as it soaked into the paper. He stood up a bit straighter than before and waved Jughead’s apology off.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It’s Thursday.” Jughead stated easily with a shrug. Sweet Pea sighed, poking his tongue into his cheek, and shifted his gaze up into the trees. Despite everything that was going on, the easy sway of the branches lessened the tightness in his chest. Here it was calm, peaceful.

“Keeping tabs on me, Jones?” He grumbled in faux annoyance.

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” Jughead challenged as he folded his arms and leaned back against his bike, sizing up the taller boy. Sweet Pea shrugged, mirroring his movements. He avoided Jughead’s gaze. “I need to talk to you about a couple of things.”

“It couldn’t have waited? You couldn’t have texted me?” Sweet Pea questioned. This was not the time for Serpent business; and since Jughead seemed to already know what he was doing here, he knew that. The teenage Serpent King simply shook his head, earning an eye roll from his right-hand man.

“Where’d you get all of that? Don’t tell me it’s all from working at the comic book shop.” Jughead pressed, nodding toward the bulging envelope in Sweet Pea’s grasp. Sweet Pea hastily tucked it into the pocket inside his jean vest, scoffing at his friend and avoiding his intense stare. He ignored his question as he pushed himself upright from his bike and swaggered toward the front door, knocking twice and waiting a brief moment before letting himself in. Jughead followed suit a few steps behind. Lena Fogarty greeted the pair with a bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready. Jughead was slightly taken aback but obliged, remembering the state of Mrs. Fogarty’s health.

           “So, you decided to come inside this time around to grace us with your presence,” Lena poked, giving Sweet Pea a hardened frown before cracking a grin. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as they embraced. “You must be Jughead. I’m Lena.” She extended her hand. Her handshake was firmer than he expected. Jughead made a barely audible squeak in the back of his throat at the greeting as she tightened her grip. Sweet Pea smirked as he watched on.

           “Good to meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t come in sooner. I hope you guys have been getting the groceries I’ve been dropping off.” Jughead straightened with the release of his hand from her grasp. They engaged in small talk that Sweet Pea quickly tuned out. He left the pair to awkwardly converse as he made his way through the doorway to the small kitchen on the left of the entrance.

           “What are you making?” Sweet Pea’s voice boomed as he leaned against the doorframe. The small, fragile woman jumped, spinning to face him with a hand over her heart. Her startled features relaxed at the sight of him, but this didn’t stop her from whacking him with a wooden spoon. He recoiled slightly, but laughter and joy filled his lungs as she shouted at him.

           “Don’t you know not to sneak up on the ill?” She huffed, smacking him once more on the arm for good measure. He chuckled in response and pulled her into his chest. She squeezed him tight and stepped back. She brought a hand to cup his cheek. “I didn’t think I would lose both of you at once. I’ve missed you, my son.” He softened and leaned into her palm. His chest constricted at the sight of her pained eyes.

“I’m sorry I disappeared, Marie.” He rasped. Her face twisted slightly as she turned back toward the steamer basket. She stayed silent. His thoughts ran a mile a minute as he shifted his weight onto his other leg and rubbed the back of his neck. It was wrong for him to stay away, and it was not fair to her. She practically took on the role of the loving mother in his life.

“You and your friend are staying for dinner,” She finally spoke after what felt like hours of silence. It wasn’t a suggestion. Sweet Pea nodded eagerly in response. “Set the table.”

Dinner started off a bit awkwardly as the Fogarty women practically interrogated Jughead to get to know him better. Jughead was surprisingly holding his own and definitely not as awkward as he used to be. He seemed to finally be stepping into what usually came with leadership: the ability to speak to anyone with confidence. “This is delicious, Mrs. Fogarty. What is it?” He asked with a grin.

“Jamaican curry goat bao. It’s a recipe my husband and I came up with when we got married, like a way of fusing our cultures and lives together.” She smiled wide, then it suddenly began to fade as she lingered on the memory of her deceased husband. Lena shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, focusing her attention on Sweet Pea.

“So, Sweet Pea, still a delinquent?” Lena smirked as she shoveled a forkful of rice into her mouth. She said this specifically to push Sweet Pea’s buttons since her brother was in the same gang as he was; she clearly paid this fact no mind.

“Lena.” Mrs. Fogarty warned, half present in the conversation.

“Hey, Lena, how is that dishonorable discharge treating you?” Sweet Pea grinned, the devil in his eye, as he fired back playfully. Lena’s brows shot up and she raised her glass to him before taking a sip and striking his shin with her foot under the table. Mrs. Fogarty snapped back to reality and her fork clattered as it hit her plate.

“Sweet Pea! Lena!” She barked, followed by something Jughead couldn’t understand, but it was enough to make the pair shrink in their seats. Her attempt to not bring attention to her annoyance by speaking in a different tongue had the opposite effect she had desired. The rest of the meal was consumed with uncomfortable silence.

           After dinner, Sweet Pea and Jughead said their goodbyes. Jughead exited the house while Sweet Pea hung back, pulling Mrs. Fogarty aside. He reached into the inside of his jean vest to retrieve the full envelope and handed it to her. She furrowed her brows as she went to open it. Her eyes widened. “What is this? I cannot keep taking money from you!”

           “Just take it.”

           “Where did you get this?” She questioned frantically, trying to put the envelope back in his palm. He gently took hold of her hands and wrapped them around the envelope, pushing it toward her.

           “Take it,” His voice strained as he pleaded, his eyes soft. She opened her mouth to protest once more, but stopped when he gently squeezed her hands. “Please.” She hesitantly nodded once after a long moment, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

           “Your bed is still here when you want it. Please don’t be a stranger.” She said softly. His mind wandered to the rollaway trundle bed that they would set up in Fangs’ room whenever he would stay over before, which was more often than not. He thought of all the times they’d bullshit together; talking about girls, eventually boys, once Fangs was ready to share that part of himself, and listening to Earth, Wind & Fire vinyls and debating which record of their discography was the best. He wouldn’t be able to go in that room anytime soon, not while Fangs was still… gone. It would hurt too much.

“I’ll come to stay sometime soon.” Sweet Pea forced a smile and nodded, lying through his teeth.

________________________________________________________________

           Jughead fiddled with a toothpick as he leaned against his bike. Sweet Pea walked down the driveway to meet him and they stood together in silence for a few moments before Sweet Pea cleared his throat. “So, are you going to get to the reason you’re here in the first place, or what?”

           Jughead sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Charles and Betty might have a lead on The Farm. They might have a lead on Fangs, specifically.” He stated, carefully eyeing the taller boy for his reaction. Sweet Pea’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He narrowed his eyes and examined Jughead’s face to make sure he wasn’t making some type of sick joke.

           “How?”

           “Kevin.”

“Keller! I fucking knew it,” Sweet Pea pushed off his bike and tugged at his hair, walking a few feet before turning back toward him. “Why aren’t we telling this to his family?” Sweet Pea asked incredulously. He spun on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Jughead dropped his toothpick and quickly lunged to jump in front of Sweet Pea, trying to stop him by pushing his shoulders. Sweet Pea shoved him back and struggled to remove him from his path. “Get the fuck out of my way, Jones!”

“Sweet Pea!” Jughead hissed, pushing him back roughly and shushing him. “Do you really want to break their hearts all over again if this falls through or hits a dead end?” He tried to reason with him. Sweet Pea stopped struggling and turned to walk back toward his bike. He sunk to the ground and slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands.

“But what about me?” Sweet Pea rasped. He normally would have kept a brave face around Jughead, but he was so tired of pretending he was okay. Plus, there was no sense in hiding his feelings from Jughead if he already knew them nonetheless. Jughead sighed and walked over to sit down beside him. He clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Not even Toni knows. I needed you to know at the very least. Charles and Betty might need you if it comes down to it, you know?” Jughead explained. Sweet Pea sniffed and nodded. They sat in comfortable silence as they gazed up at the sky. The clouds had cleared and the stars glimmered brightly against the darkness of the night. Being further away from a big city had its perks, and one of them was the lack of light pollution. After about fifteen minutes, not a word between them the whole time, Jughead spoke again. “One more thing we need to talk about…” Sweet Pea hummed, waiting for him to get on with it.

“I think Rory should join the Serpents.”

“What, why? No.” Sweet Pea scoffed.

“She pretends that she’s alright but I hear her having nightmares when I’m up late writing every night. Even though the Black Hood is dead and gone, I know she doesn’t feel safe. If I end up going to Stonewall Prep, I need her to have some sense of security since I’ll be gone.” Jughead tried to reason with him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jones. She isn’t one of us. She shrugs off the Serpent title every chance she gets. No.” Sweet Pea protested.

“Listen, Sweet Pea, this is going to happen whether you like it or not. It would go a lot smoother if you were on board. I need her to agree to it as well and that won’t happen if she feels like she’s not welcome. Besides, she’s had a rough go of it and doesn’t have many people that she can rely on. Think of how our lives have changed simply from being a part of a family that always wants us.” Jughead suggested firmly. Sweet Pea groaned and tugged at his hair. She was somehow infiltrating every aspect of his life and he was beginning to lose ways of escaping. “Are you disagreeing on behalf of the Serpents or on behalf of yourself?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sweet Pea fired back defensively.

“I know that you kissed her.” Jughead proclaimed. He wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t talking about the kiss during the game, the one in the Serpent HQ all those months ago. How did he know? How did he find out? He knew that Rory would never tell Jughead. Sweet Pea’s stomach dropped and he faltered, but only slightly. Right… kissed. Images of tangled limbs, lips on neck, hands in hair, face between thighs. “That’s all that happened, right?” No, that was not all that happened – not even close.

“Yes,” Sweet Pea lied, maintaining eye contact as unsuspiciously he could muster. He could lie to cops with ease – surely it would be a walk in the park to lie to Jughead Jones. Jughead searched his face for a few lingering seconds before deciding that he was telling the truth. Sweet Pea bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smirking, satisfied by the rush of getting away with a forbidden lie. He regained his composure. “Nothing to worry about, Jones. We were drunk.” He lied again. He was pressing his luck here, he knew it, but that first part wasn’t a lie. There was nothing to worry about. Up until the funeral and cookout a couple of weeks prior, he hadn’t had any contact with her in months. Their days of hate-sex were over, weren’t they?

[kelyon]

Trio: A Golden Cuffs Story 3/5: Morning

In which Belle and Jefferson have a heart-to-heart (and other-bits to-other-bits)

Read on AO3

Belle was still mostly asleep when she got cold enough to want to cover herself with blankets. With her eyes closed she groped around the big bed, feeling for the covers that she needed. She found them wrapped around a man’s body.

She groaned. Rumple didn’t need blankets! He was just toying with her and keeping her cold! She yanked them away from him and wrapped the warmth around herself and went back to sleep. 

When she woke up again it was because he was trying to roll her over.

 “Please don’t!” she whined, tiredness making her petulant. “If you want something, just order me to do it and let me sleep!”

“Can I just have one of the blankets? Please?”

Belle opened her eyes. That was not Rumpelstiltskin’s voice. She looked over her shoulder. Jefferson was lying next to her, clutching an edge of one of the blankets.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she tried to disentangle herself from the cocoon of warmth she had made. She threw bedclothes over Jefferson haphazardly, trying to give him as much as he needed. 

“It’s okay.” He put a blanket over his naked shoulders and scooted over to her. “Do you mind if I get in close to you? For warmth?”

Belle didn’t answer, but straightened out the bed clothes so that they were both covered. The curtains were thin in this room and dawn crept in with the winter chill. There was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin anywhere.

“Would you allow me to hold you, Belle?”

Belle shook her head and made sure her blanket went up to her neck. “Not if Rumple’s not here to say it’s alright.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Jefferson, or didn’t trust him not to do anything untoward even when they were both entirely naked. But Belle was profoundly aware that she belonged to Rumpelstiltskin. Whether or not Jefferson touched her was not her decision to make.

Nodding, Jefferson eased back to his side of the bed. “He can be very possessive about his things. I’m honestly surprised to be here right now, like this.”

Belle relaxed and smoothed the top blanket over her body. It was morning now, and she wasn’t tired anymore. She might as well get to know Jefferson. “You’ve never shared a woman with him before?”

“I’ve never seen him with a woman before. I mean, I’ve seen him flirt with women but he flirts with men too. And with those who are both or neither. Until I met you, I didn’t think he liked women.” 

Belle rested her chin on her knees. “Until I met you, I didn’t think he liked men.”

“He’s a man of many secrets, our Dark One.”

She looked at him. “Why do you call him that?”

Jefferson shrugged. “He’s never invited me to call him anything else. I know his name is powerful and little good comes from speaking it.”

“In my village, they say it’s bad luck. But he ordered me to use his name and disobeying him would be very bad luck. How did you meet him?”

“He saved my life,” Jefferson said. “Do you believe that?”

“I do,” she answered. After all, he had saved hers. “It sounds like a story.”

“You wanna know?”

“Yes, please.”

Jefferson propped his head up on his hand while he told Belle his story.

“So my father was a man named Jeffer. He was a stonemason. My grandfather was also a stonemason. My uncles were stonemasons, and my brothers were stonemasons. Pretty much every man in my village who wasn’t a farmer was a stonemason. Every day, every man would march down to the quarry to dig in the dirt, using all their strength and skill to cut a block of stone that would go on to form the walls of a castle that they would never see. 

“My father was a good stonemason, strong and steady. I was his first son, but I was a runt and I had no patience to stay in one spot for more than an hour. He tried to work with me, tried to figure how to make me want to do what I was supposed to do. When I was ten, he apprenticed me to a stone carver, instead of a stone mason. For variety, you know. I learned to chisel all the little cherubs and gargoyles that are on the sides of castles. A fifty-pound granite demon is as light and cheerful as stone work ever gets. I tried to be good, but I was completely miserable. No one in my village could understand that I wanted… so much more than they had planned.” 

He sighed and rolled back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. Belle understood his situation, how even loving parents could trap you in a life you didn’t want. 

Jefferson went on: “When I was eighteen, my father arranged for me to be married to the daughter--the only child--of the guildmaster, the head of all the stonemasons in our region. I don’t know how he managed that. This girl was the most sought-after maiden in our village. She might as well have been a princess for all the young men who were desperate for her hand.”

“That wasn’t Leona, was it?”

”No, I didn’t meet Leo until I started traveling. This was a girl that I had known all my life. She was very nice and very pretty, but I wasn’t ready to settle down. I had never been unsettled!” 

Jefferson chuckled weakly, but then became dreadfully serious. “I saw my future written in the stone I worked with: If I married this girl, I would have to become the only kind of man my village could tolerate. I would muddle through to become a journeyman stone carver, and then eventually a master of a trade I hated. I would only ever sleep with one woman. I would only ever live in one town. I would devote my life to making ornaments for castles that I would never see. I would have sons and whether I willed it or not, they would have my life as surely as I would have my father’s. Every day when I went down into the quarry, I knew I was walking into my grave.”

He looked haggard, as he said all that. The misery that could have been still haunted him. Belle understood his plight. She may not have recognized the feeling at the time, but she had felt the same way whenever she had spoken to Gaston. To see the future laid out in front of you, to know the steps that the rest of your life would take, could be a beautiful, hopeful thing--but not if it wasn’t a future you wanted. 

“What did you do?”

“I ran away. On the day I was to be married, I ran into the woods. I ran for half a day before I realized I had nowhere to go. I had no money, no family or friends I could ask to help. The only trade I knew was the only trade I swore I would never do again. It got so bad, I…” He looked at her, clearly unsure whether or not to tell this part of his story.

Belle reached across the bed to put her hand on Jefferson’s bare arm. He was safe now, and she wanted him to know it. “What happened?”

Jefferson looked at her for a moment, and then nodded to himself. He reached up to his neck and loosened the fastenings on his black leather collar. He turned his head from side to side. “Can you see it?”

A thin white line that ran from ear to ear across his throat. Belle gasped. “Is that a scar?”

He nodded and tightened his collar again. “On that day in the forest, I had no future, and no hope of ever finding one. But I had a knife, and even death seemed better than living as I had been.” He swallowed, not looking at Belle. His eyes seemed to be focused on some spot in the distance, in the past. “I watched my blood drip down into the dirt and I wished out loud for a world where I could be happy.”

“You made a wish?” Belle asked. “Did you say you would do anything?”

A grin flickered over Jefferson’s face. “I didn’t say that, but he came all the same. The Dark One saw me and… I don’t know if he took pity on me or if he just recognized my desperation. He healed my injury and saved my life. He left the scar so I could have a memento of surviving my darkest hour. And then we made a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“He gave me my hat and showed me how to use it. Now I can go anywhere in any world. I can trade and sell between worlds, keep tabs on important people for the sake of other important people, and get paid very well to do so. I can go to places my father wouldn’t see in his dreams. I’ve been a guest in castles that my village toiled to create. Now I can talk to anyone and find myself in all sorts of amusing situations, just like this one.”

“And what did Rumple get from you?”

“The best of what I do. I report to him first of what’s going on in other worlds. I give him the most valuable treasures, the juiciest gossip--whatever he needs. Whatever I think he might like.”

“So,” Belle said slowly, “you didn’t make a deal for your body?” Was he not like her?

Jefferson smiled now, with devious but genuine pleasure. “No, that came a little later. Once I had the hat, I spent a long time traveling the worlds for myself, seeing how other people lived--and loved. I learned from a lot of different lovers, and I kept thinking that I wanted to go back and tell the Dark One what I had learned. The first time I heard about sucking cock, I thought, surely this discovery is the greatest thing to come out of any world in the history of sex!

“But as it turned out, the Dark One already knew more than I did. We took a holiday in a world of paradise and he taught me...” Jefferson sighed, “everything. Lust and love and loss and life.”

That word again. Love. Belle felt a strange unease in the pit of her stomach.

“What does your wife think of that? Does she know?”

“Yes, Leo knows everything I’ve done and everything I do. And I know about her past and her present. I met her on my journeys--she is not ashamed of anything. We’re honest with each other and we love each other and we’re devoted to our daughter. We get it to work.”

“You seem to have everything you wanted,” Belle said. She tried to be happy for him, but she couldn’t help being painfully aware that no one would ever say the same thing about her.

“I have everything I was certain I would never have on my first wedding day. This collar covers up my scar, but it also reminds me of it. Every time I’m happy with my work and my wife and my daughter, I remember not to take them for granted. I was willing to throw this future away. I was willing to let all my happiness spill out onto the forest floor. But now, by the grace of the gods and the Dark One, I am alive. And I have a future. And I am happy.”

“And you loved him?”

“Still do, a little. But you love him too. He’s easy to fall in love with.”

Belle went very still. She could feel her mind taking that sentence, You love him too, picking it up, and putting it away for safekeeping. It was too big a thought to think right now. She would think on it later, not now while she was still trying to talk to Jefferson. Not while Rumple could come back at any moment.

“You said… he taught you about loss as well?”

“Yeah, just… realizing you can’t be on holiday forever. Eventually you have to go back to work, move on from silly romances. See what else the worlds have to offer.” He shrugged. “But what’s your story, Belle? What was your deal with him?”

“Rumpelstiltskin saved my life too,” she told Jefferson. “And the lives of almost every person I’ve ever known. Our town was under attack by ogres, and--”

“That was you?” he sat up to interrupt her. “From King Midas’ land? The ogre attacks last summer? In the story I heard, the girl died. I always listen for stories about the Dark One. The way I heard it, he ate your flesh in front of the whole town and it aroused his appetite so much that he was able to devour the entire horde of ogres.”

She blinked at him. “You didn’t believe that, did you?”

“Of course not,” Jefferson shook his head. “But I didn’t think the slave girl serving us drinks was the high-born heroine who martyred herself to save her people.”

Belle stared down at the woven pattern of the blanket. “Do people really think I’m dead?”

“The man I met in a pub said he got this story from the Duke of the Frontlands himself.”

“Oh,” Belle nodded slowly. “More likely the Duke’s son.” At Jefferson’s look she explained. “I also was about to be married before Rumple found me. And I did tell my fiance he could tell people I had died.” 

With a twinge of guilt, she thought about her father and her cousins. They knew this story was false, but perhaps it was easier for them to believe it. From their perspective, a quick death would be a kinder fate than a lifetime of serving Rumpelstiltskin. Did they perpetuate this lie? Was it easier for them to say that than the truth? Did they think that he really had killed her?

“They said your sacrifice saved a thousand people. Is that number true?”

“I think so. The whole village was probably a thousand, what was left of it. All of them in exchange for just me. It was a good deal.”

“I’m certainly pleased with it!”

Rumpelstiltskin stood at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and leaning over them with a leer. “Why so far apart, little ones? Don’t you like each other?”

“We were leaving room for you.” Jefferson thumped the space between their bodies as an invitation.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. “Breakfast first for those who need it! Jefferson, what would you like?”

Jefferson sat up, baring his chest as he spoke. “Do you remember that swamp world we visited? And the chef with the shadow problem? What was that food she made us? I forget what it was even called.”

“Jambalaya!” Rumple declared. He waved his hand and there was a steaming dish of meat and grain sitting on the little table. Belle could smell it from the bed, smokey and sharp and foreign. It made her mouth water.

Jefferson eyed the dish hungrily as he got out of bed. Before he got to the food, Rumple stopped him and offered him a dressing gown to wear while he ate. Jefferson robed himself and sat down.

“Belle, pour our guest a cup of tea.”

She was offered no robe. The cuffs pulled her out of the bed and to the tea tray, which was on the table next to Jefferson’s bowl. There was a teacup at his place setting. Another cup--the chipped one--was in front of the empty chair. 

“How do you take your tea?” she asked Jefferson. 

“Strong and sweet, like my lovers.”

Belle snorted and Jefferson chuckled at his own joke. She put two sugar lumps in his cup and poured.

“And you, Rumple? Will you be joining him?”

He hadn’t sat yet, but had been standing in front of the bed, looking at them. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes of course. It would be rude not to.”

“Shall I get you another cup?”

“No.” He sat down in the chair, his legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

Belle served his tea with cream and three sugars, as she knew he liked it. 

There was something strange about his manner just now. He was distant, masked, acting cool to hide a fire. He was trying to disguise some terrible emotion. Was he angry? Was she going to be punished soon? Or was it just the presence of the chipped cup that made her think he was about to fly into a rage and beat her? 

He had said there would be no pain games during this encounter, but what if he changed his mind? What if she had done something wrong that merited real punishment? Belle couldn’t think of anything she had done to offend Rumpelstiltskin, except talk to Jefferson. And he hadn’t told her not to do that. In the mood he was in, would he punish her for a rule she didn’t know she had broken?

Would Jefferson want to see that? He seemed too kind a soul to take pleasure in her suffering. But if he was familiar with Rumple and his ways then perhaps he would know what a delight it could be to take punishment from him. She hadn’t asked if he had ever subjected himself the way she did. But Jefferson had been a lover, not a slave. Had Rumple ever made a deal like the one he had made with Belle?

She sat at Rumpelstiltskin’s feet and kissed his boots, waiting for whatever would come next.

“Aren’t you hungry, little Belle? Why haven’t you asked for breakfast?”

She shrugged. “You will feed me when I deserve to eat.” 

Above her, the noises of  Jefferson’s meal slowed down. He was looking at her.

“Shall we show Jefferson how I feed you?”

“Yes please, Rumple.” Being humiliated was a better game than being hurt for their amusement. And eating off the floor had become one of her favorite ways to submit herself to Rumple. 

The breakfast tray was on the floor in front of her. The cuffs pulled her to the ground and locked her into place. She was right in front of Jefferson. He would have a good view of her face and her breasts and her backside. Rumpelstiltskin was behind her, his boot pushing gently on the side of her bare foot. It was a subtle but constant reminder of his presence. 

Breakfast was porridge. Not too cumbersome. Belle bent her head down and lapped up the thick goo. She looked at Jefferson as much as she could, looked him in the eye and dared him to judge her. He didn’t. He looked down at her with desire and with awe.

“What a sight!” he said. “And you get to have her do this every day?”

“More or less,” Rumple said. “I like making sure she knows her place.”

“On your knees and licking is a good place to be!” Jefferson expelled a breath and took a sip of his tea. “I wish my wife could see you.”

“Would you ask this of your wife?” Belle asked as she ran her tongue over the empty bowl.

“No, I would want her to ask this of me!” Jefferson sighed. “I would gladly grovel three meals a day if it did to her what it’s doing to me.” He shifted in his seat but kept talking. “To have Leona act as my lady, my imperious mistress...” He shivered. “That would be… exciting.”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. “Has everyone eaten their fill?”

Jefferson locked eyes with him. “I’m hungry, but not for food.”

“Belle?”

She took her cue from Jefferson. “I’m ready for more in my mouth--but not food.”

“Excellent! Would you like to kiss Jefferson’s feet?”

Belle’s face fell, the sultry manner she had been playing with shattered. “No, Rumple,” she said softly, looking up at him. “I… I will if you order me to, but I don’t want to kiss his feet. I don’t owe Jefferson any fealty.”

 There was the slightest twitch at Rumple’s mouth, the smallest softness in his eyes. “Very well,” he said. “Will you sit on his lap?”

“Yes!” The cuffs released her and Belle leapt to her feet. Jefferson opened his arms and Belle wrapped her naked legs over his silk-covered hips. He held her steady with both hands--one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding onto her shoulder. His robe was open at the front and his manhood stood out, long and pink. 

“Tell us, my girl. What do you think of our friend Jefferson?”

Belle looked at the man who held her in his arms. Playfully, he tilted his face back and forth, showing off every angle for her perusal.

 “I like him,” she said honestly. 

“What do you like best about him?”

“He’s fun. Easy to get along with.”

That didn’t seem to be the answer Rumple wanted. “What part of his body is the most pleasing to you?”

“Well, he has very expressive eyes.” But she knew that wasn’t what she was supposed to say. “And his mouth did bring me much pleasure last night.”

“And you, my boy? Do you like this girl?”

“Of course I like her. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned and stood up. Belle shared a quick look with Jefferson. He didn’t understand what was happening either. Rumple came to them and bent over. He put one hand on the back of the chair and the other over Jefferson’s cock so that Belle was pressed between the two men when Rumple kissed him. 

He had kissed her like that before. It was a kiss of ownership, of dominance. Jefferson had no control over this kiss. His only choice was whether to fight it or accept it. He accepted it. One hand reached out to Rumpelstiltskin even as he nearly choked. 

Belle watched as Rumple’s scaly green hand wrapped over Jefferson’s pink shaft. He squeezed and Jefferson made a strangled noise that was muffled by Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth. 

Not wanting to be left out, Belle pulled herself up to push against Rumple’s chest. All she wanted was to be near his body. She reached her arm out behind her and touched Rumple’s tight leather breeches. She groped up and down his thigh and came to rest over his straining bulge. At that touch, he broke the kiss and sent Jefferson gasping for air.

While Jefferson caught his breath, Rumpelstiltskin stepped away from both of them and took a seat at the table. He pulled out a bundle of straw from his coat pocket and  began to spin it on a small spindle.

“What was that about?” Jefferson asked. He didn’t seem offended, merely curious.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and kept his eyes on the gold thread. “I didn’t get much use out of your cock last night, my boy. I wanted to check in on it.”

“Everything to your satisfaction?”

“I’ll adjust my plans according to your needs. For now I would have you finger the girl while I work.”

“Your wish is my command, Dark One.” Jefferson looked up at Belle with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Belle nodded. She wondered what Rumple was making, but she was certain they would find out soon enough. 

Jefferson kept the arm around her waist and used his other hand to open her folds. His fingers were longer than Rumpelstiltskin’s, and his nails were shorter. It felt strange to have this man inside her--to have anyone touch her who wasn’t Rumple. No matter how many people might fumble around between her legs, no one had mastery over her body like him.

“Don’t forget, you’re allowed to speak now, my slut. Why don’t you give Jefferson some of your lovely noises?”

“I will when he elicits them,” she answered saucily. 

“Is there anything I can do better?” Jefferson asked her. 

“Move around more. Don’t stay in one place all the time.”

“You’d think I, of all people, would know that! Alright.” He swirled his fingers around in her wetness--reaching up to her cleft and then dipping down again into her core. His eyes shifted between her face and her body and her master. Rumpelstiltskin was folding the thread between his fingers like a game of cat’s cradle. He glanced over at them occasionally with a small grin.

When Jefferson found her pleasure spot, Belle yelped and her body jerked so sharply she almost fell out of his arms. 

He brought her back to him. “You’re okay,” he told her. “Stay with me, Belle. Am I permitted to make her come?”

“That is the idea, my friend. And after you do, she’ll return the favor.”

Jefferson looked away from Belle and at Rumple. “What?”

“You’re nearly bursting already, my boy. I can’t ask you to last for as long as I want you to. It will be easier for you to start again after you’ve taken the edge off.”

He looked as though he might object, but then he shook his head. “You’re the boss.”

“Don’t forget it.”

He turned back to Belle, looked at her face for a moment, and then buried his head between her breasts. Thrown off balance, Belle leaned forward and grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. Jefferson’s fingers never stopped and his mouth began to suck and bite at her flesh. She cried out and that only increased his fervor. 

Belle felt the pleasure begin to rise inside her. While Jefferson rubbed and sucked, she looked over her shoulder at Rumpelstiltskin. He watched them calmly, his hands stilled around a strip of gold cloth.

She was about to reach her hand out to him--invite him to join them, or at least get a closer look--when her orgasm took her. It was like a bolt of lightning in reverse, coming up from her cunt through her body and out her mouth in a shout. She rocked forward onto Jefferson, who caught her and held her while she shook. 

“Very good.” Rumple’s voice was low and smooth. “Now, Belle, get on top of him and show him what you can do.”

The cuffs pulled her over so that there was no room between herself and Jefferson on the little chair. His cock was red now, so hard it looked like it ached. One cuff moved her hand so that she had to pull him up and slide herself over him. Still throbbing from her orgasm, Belle’s cunt clenched around Jefferson. 

She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of him filling her. His breath was ragged and shaky. She could smell her pleasure mingling with the scent of his sweat. She rocked her hips slowly and Jefferson moaned. She moved her body forward against him, undulating in a fluid motion that ended with her breasts in front of his face.

“You can suck them again if you want,” she murmured.

“Fuck!” he hissed. “May I, Dark One? May I suck on her?”

“Of course, sweet boy. Take whatever you like from my thing.”

Jefferson held Belle’s back and filled his mouth with her nipple. He licked and teased her, bit her gently and made her moan. But he mostly seemed content to rest his head against her breast and suck her like a newborn babe. The sensation created a sharp pull inside Belle, like a cord running from her breast to her cunt. It wasn’t entirely pleasure, but it was an undeniably erotic tension. 

Jefferson kept his eyes closed. He stroked her back and pushed Belle’s body rhythmically, encouraging her to keep moving. Belle moved around his cock slowly, rocking and leaning in as many directions as she could find. Gradually, she increased the pace. She noticed that Jefferson began to suck her more furiously the faster she moved. Before too long, the sensation was too much and she had to push him away from her.

He detached from her breast with a pop. His head lolled a little. His mouth was slack and red from his work. His eyes were unfocused and glassy with lust. 

“Are you ready?” she asked him. “Are you going to come for us, Jefferson?”

He was jerking before she had finished asking the question. His arms around her tightened and he pulled her into him with such force she thought her bones would break. He shouted and spurted and then sank back into the chair.

Rumpelstiltskin stood up. “A perfect show,” he said. “And now I get to join in on the fun.”

[elliemarchetti]

Would write selection version with red queen characters

I wasn't waiting for anything else to fill my sleepless nights.

The Selection AU

Words: 1357

When she found the envelope in the mailbox, Ruth Barrow almost passed out from happiness. It was the end of their problems, and although Mare was decidedly adverse to even the idea of trying to marry a Silver, moreover the future king, it was definitely better than going to the front. Not that they would ever have chosen a Red. There were thirty-five places in the Queenstrial, and she was fairly certain that they would all be taken by Silvers, even if they said the draw was random. However, even if a Red had arrived at the palace, she would’ve been sent home within a couple of days, and that was precisely what she hoped for: those who participated in the Queenstrial were paid, and in order not to offend Silvers the wages had to be high, exactly what her family needed. In addition, the families of the participants were suspended from service for their entire stay in the palace, it had something to do with interviews and specials about girls' daily lives at home, and this also included those who were at war, which meant that Bree, Tramy and Shade could come back, at least for a while. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do for Kilorn, but he had his job as a fisherman, and that would’ve been enough to save him from the front. The benefits for the possible future queens didn’t ended there: obviously having occupied, even for a short time, a place in the palace could make you earn a good job for you and your loved ones, and according to her mother, the discarded competitors, even the Reds, always found rich husbands, not to mention the fact that they were exempt from the call to arms, another pro that she couldn’t ignore, given that she was almost eighteen and had no prospect of finding a job. The truth was that the only con to fill in and send that damned registration form was her hatred for the Silvers who had taken away her brothers, who continued a senseless war, who had made her father the pale shadow of the man he had once been, but for her family and Kilorn, she would put everything aside. So she filled out the form, to Gisa's amazement.

"As you know well, mom can be very convincing," she replied sardonically, and headed straight to the Service Office, which wasn’t so far from her home, but everything in the Stilts wasn’t far. Obviously, she hadn’t been the only one to submit the application on the first day, and the place was already crammed with young women, many of whom lived close to her, arranged in four rows. Mare examined her possible rivals, as an innocent past-time. Immediately behind her there was girl wearing an overall. It was unlikely the mud-strained boots would’ve ended up in the picture they would’ve taken once they verified that the form had been filled in correctly, but the dirt on her clothes couldn’t be hidden. A few feet away, another girl was playing with a tool belt. Mare wondered if the photo would’ve been a close-up or a half-length portrait. Some seemed to have bet on the first, but those who sported deep necklines and dresses that squeezed their waist making them look like a swarm of wasps had to hope for the latter. Mare felt passable, but it hadn't taken her long to get ready, mainly because she didn't have many clothes and had no intention of putting on make-up. The only thing she had done was wash her hair and make sure they were well combed, so that the gray tips weren’t that obvious. She probably should’ve cut them, but she had no intention of losing her place in in the line that was rapidly diminishing in front of her or changing her appearance too much for a guy, she didn’t care if he was the future king. Either way, he worried anyway, but she couldn’t understand why: she did it to convince her family and herself she had done everything she could to save them from poverty and escape the call to arms, nothing more. She certainly didn’t believe she could get to marry the prince: probably she would’ve just seen him on television during the obligatory broadcasts that her mother had told her about, the news they gave once a week in the Report as a summary of what happened. The Silvers, who could afford to do it, would follow every second live, but the Reds had to work, take care of the house and the children, and Mare had the feeling that there would be many more things to steal than usual. However, her mother, who had witnessed the previous one, had told her that it was interesting and that even the most skeptical ended up getting passionate. Mare doubted that something organized by the Calores would be to her liking: who was the queen didn’t made any difference for the Reds, and the whole kingdom would’ve only been a better place if those thirty-five vipers were never born, and the fact that her mother didn't understand it left her speechless.

"Form?" asked a bored voice, snatching her from her thoughts. Mare handed over the sheets she had carefully compiled and went to the adjacent room, where she was seated on a beautiful bench, which looked suspiciously like a throne, for the photo. They must’ve looked like queens, after all, so Mare brought out her best resolute gaze. Throughout Norta there must be no girl who looked as stubborn as her.

                                                           ---

It was Friday, Report day, which started at eight o'clock. Ever since she was a child, her life had been punctuated by a routine with well-defined schedules, and although it wasn’t mandatory, especially for the Silvers of the High Houses, who already knew many of those things, the Friday Report that started at eight o’clock was something that couldn’t be missed in Volo Samos’ house.

“Are the winners going to be announced tonight?” asked Ptolemus absent-mindedly, putting a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.

“The possible candidates still have nine days to submit the application, so it’ll still take a couple of weeks, but don't worry: your sister has a place secured,” replied their mother in a seraphic tone. She hadn’t seen her so calm in year, but it was probably because she finally got something that was vital for her.

"This wait is unnerving," muttered Ptolemus. There wasn’t only Evangeline’s possibility to marry the future king, at stake: just like the prince, her brother had to find his future wife within the candidates too, although this wasn’t known to the public. Their mother had married father like this, and it was clear how little their union was based on love, but at least they were allies on their evil plans, which was the best their children could desire, given their condition as heirs of a High House. If anyone could think that it was a blessing, they were wrong: nobody approached people like them for who they were but only for their money, and after Tiberias VI Calore, Volo Samos was the most influential man in Norta, therefore his heirs were very desirable preys, even if she was sure that no one would’ve defined Ptolemus as such, at least not in front of him, as long as they didn't want to risk their life.

“Here’s your boyfriend, Eve,” Tolly teased softly when Tiberias VII Calore appeared on screen at the end of the national anthem. Even though she was sure he couldn't interest her, she took a closer look at the prince: he was handsome in his own way, but nothing comparable to her brother, that certainly didn’t go unnoticed when he entered a room with his statuesque figure, the hair of a blond so light as to appear white with silvery shades, inherited, just like her, from their father, and eyes as black as wells. If only she liked boys, she surely would’ve wanted someone who was up to his standard, but she liked girls, although nobody in that house seemed to care.