#not to be cruel but i hope he cried like thatcher did

[promiscuouspomegranate]

hihi!! sorry if you already have requests or if you’re busy!

could you write a story about a poor fem reader who meets a rich noble? probably not something modern but not too ancient. idc if it’s the stereotypical “omg an injured sexy prince on the side of the road!! let me bring him back to my cottage and feed him stone soup because i am so sickly and poor!!”

thank you !! 🩵🩵🩵

Aching Autumn

Fem reader • Prince Thatcher

TWs: Abduction, Mentions of starvation, Poor living conditions, Reader gets death threats, Thatcher is rude, Violence, + Reader gets her fingers dirty.

(This is my first request I’m literally foaming at the mouth cackling crying sobbing and so HAPPY!! THANK TAHK YOU!! I worked on this a bit and I think it turned out well. If you have ivory skin or locks of gold.. my bad 💔 Feel free to let me know if you wanted anything else. Sorry if it isn’t that good… this is my first time writing in a while 😭)

Although the seasons changed, it seemed the conditions I lived in were stagnant, from the cruel, cold winters that frosted my lips and gnawed at my fingers to sweet spring days that warmed my heart and soothed my soul. It seemed I was destined to live a life of poverty and hunger. After all, what could the bastard daughter of a drunkard wanton accomplish other than lamenting on the town streets of what could have been?

On this particular autumn evening, there was an ache in my heart; no words of comfort or looks of pity could soothe, for I saw the man who was supposed to be my father holding a child with golden hair and ivory skin–something I never had. I tried to elevate myself above the town gossip, but when I heard his name, I knew I had to see it with my own eyes. I needed to see my replacement. He smiled at the child, and I could feel bitter tears streaming down my ragged face.

“My father… You are supposed to be mine. Not that stupid angelic creature who you hold so dearly,” I bit my thumb and stared into the window, “You horrible man! You are my father!”

My father glanced out the window, and I felt my heart shatter when his face contorted into pure disgust. I emptily stared at him and pressed my hand against the glass. That child of his and some refined lady had stolen my leisurely life. I gently knocked on the glass and begged to be let inside. The baby began to sob, and the curtains were drawn. The front door opened, and I was violently dragged into the streets by my father.

“I told her to keep you away from me,” He furiously whispered and tightly grabbed my arm, “You are not welcome near my home. You are no child of mine.”

“But I am! I came from you and will always be a part of you, please,” I cried and pleaded with him, “If I were given an opportunity to clean myself up and become a member of society, I swear I could–”

Before I could finish my sentence, I was thrown into the road and kicked in the stomach.

“You will have to seek your opportunities elsewhere,” My father stepped back and glared, “Perhaps you could sell yourself the way your mother does. You’ll gather enough money to raise a regret of your own.”

He abandoned me, the same way he did when I was nine, slowly and cruelly. Savoring every moment of my cries for him to stay with me and ignoring my presence like I was the wind blowing on his back.

“Horrible man,” I muttered to myself when he was gone once more, “I hope the child dies in his arms and he can feel half the misery that I know.”

I brushed the excess dirt off my dress and readjusted my crimson scarf. I ambled through the town and arrived at the front of my dilapidated building. I decided I had encountered sorrow once too many today and went to the woods bordering my home.

“What I would give, if I had anything of value, to soar in the sky with the doves,” I squinted as they fluttered by, “How lovely.”

The mourning doves called out to each other and perched on pine branches. They hid themselves from me, and I strolled deeper into the woods. I ignored posted signs and warnings to the common people to stay out of the Queen’s forest. I hardly believed it was her land; she had never stepped in the forest. What right did she have to claim what she couldn’t see?

“I suppose it must be nice to claim things as you please,” I felt myself slip into my fantasy of grandeur and smiled, “I would claim the whole world if I were Queen.”

I pretended that the trees curtseyed and bowed as I strolled by. I straightened my posture and pretended the birds were my people. I politely waved and smiled like a queen would–delightfully and regally.

“Oh, I suppose these flowers are for me? Why, thank you, little girl,” I went down and picked what I assumed were wildflowers from the forest floor, “They will look lovely in my crystal vase by the stained glass window. The sunshine yellows would make a lovely spring gown.”

I hummed to myself and stooped down to pick more flowers. I carefully selected each one, though each flower seemed perfectly grown. I selected each by how strong the fragrance was; the more robust the scent, the more I could sell them for in the town.

“I wonder what kind of flower these are? I haven’t seen anything as beautiful growing in the forest before,” I murmured and put one in my hair, “I’ll gather one to replant in front of home.”

I had only begun to uproot the flower when I heard the galloping of stallions and the blasting sound of brass horns. I paid no attention; usually, the royalty stuck to a particular path to hunt the Queen’s favorite animals–ruby red cardinals, acorn brown deer freckled with pearly dots, and soot black bears. I heard the bloodhounds howling as the galloping began to fade into the ambiance of the forest.

I finished uprooting the flower and placed it with the others. I felt something lick my hand and gasped. I saw a bloodhound lazily resting beside me, panting and stupidly staring at me. It licked my hand again, and I pulled my hand away from the dog.

“Stay back,” I demanded but looked nervous, “I’ll.. well, I don’t exactly know what I would do to you.”

I cautiously reached my hand out and placed it on the dog’s head. I began to stroke behind its ears gently and smiled.

“I suppose you’re not that scary,” I mumbled and looked for a tag, “It appears the Queen hasn’t claimed you. Perhaps I will make you my own.”

I took my scarf off and wrapped it around the dog’s neck. I felt joy when it stared at me and rested its head on my lap.

“Such a beautiful thing, aren’t you? You can be my dog since the hunters are so careless,” I squeezed it and sighed, “Yet, I fear you don’t understand a thing I am saying. You probably will run from me the second you see your owner.”

The dog began to howl, and I felt alarmed as the galloping returned. I tried my best to soothe the dog into silence, but it persisted upon howling. I turned around and saw stallions charging toward me. I scooped the dog up, grabbed a flower or two, and sprinted through the woods. I heard men shouting after me, demanding I stop in the name of the Queen. I felt terrified and ran to the frantic beat of my heart.

Yet, no matter how fast I was to run, the horses would always defeat me. I was cornered by nobility and froze in fear. The other bloodhounds were growling at me, and I set mine on the forest floor.

“What an odd combination of bird and tiger. The cowardice of a bird to take flight and the boldness of a tiger to try and outrun horses and your fate,” A man wearing a green cloak frowned upon me–he seemed repulsed by my sight, “Speak, peasant. Make your last words something interesting.”

Promptly, he aimed his rifle at me, and I began to sob in fear.

“Brother, put your rifle down. The woman is clearly lost; why else would she be in these woods? Pity the poor thing and don’t frighten her,” A man wearing a brown cloak intervened–his eyes seemed gentle and welcoming.

“Einarr, could you spare your false sympathies? Not only has she racked up enough crime to be a prisoner in hell as well as Earth, but she also trampled through mother’s flower garden,” He scoffed and put his rifle aside, “It’s either I put her out of her misery now, or mother decides to stroll through the forest and sees her garden missing flowers then makes the whole country suffer her wrath.”

“Thatcher, you seem to forget about our mother’s kind nature. How, if a flower or two went missing, she would smile and think of the beautiful creature that wandered into her garden and was able to appreciate beauty,” Einarr dismounted his horse and clutched its reigns.

“Beautiful creature? I’ve seen more beauty in war than I have her ragged face,” Thatcher dismounted his horse and approached Einarr, “I am assuming this is your attempt at humoring me, so I spare her.”

The two seem more occupied with arguing than dealing with me. I wiped my tears away and fell to the floor. I could feel their eyes burning into my skin as I weakly opened my mouth.

“Forgive my insolence, Your Majesties. I never meant to cause such trouble and ruin your hunt. It is true I wandered into the forest and got lost along the way,” I prayed nothing would ruin my lie, “It tattered my dress and face; I find myself quite weary. I never will step foot in the woods again if it means you so graciously spare my life.”

I heard chuckling from one of the princes and poked my head up. I saw Thatcher terribly trying to mask his amusement as Einarr glared at him.

“Ah! For an ill-bred lady of low rank, she manages the audacity to ask favors from us? Say, do you think you’re more nobility than we are to make such demands? I will fetch your golden crown and scepter, and Einarr will–”

“That is enough, brother. Clearly, she is more worthy of a crown than you are. Such gentleness and kindness despite the cruelty of her circumstance,” Einarr approached me and kneeled to my level, “What is your name? I must know, or I fear I will go mad.”

“Y / N,” I sputtered out and felt breathless, “I am no lady, your majesty. I am only a bastard daughter who managed to lose herself to the perplexities of the woods.

“Einarr, you should be more careful around the animal. She might be rabid and contaminate you with the unforgiving disease of poverty,” Thatcher followed behind Einarr and shoved him aside, “Besides, shouldn’t the heir of the kingdom be at a diplomatic meeting?”

“I suppose you are right about something, Thatcher,” Einarr mounted his horse again and stared at me, “Farewell, Lady Y / N.”

Einarr rode away, and the dogs followed behind him, except for the one I called my own. It was lying beside me, and Thatcher seemed unamused.

“Eris, do not lay with her. Come, girl,” He demanded and crossed his arms, “I said come!”

Eris seemed content lying beside me, to Thatcher’s dismay. He noticed the scarf wrapped around her neck and glared at me.

“You... You were going to steal my dog, weren’t you? You wretched woman,” He clenched his fists and pulled me up, “How dare you steal so much from your providers?”

“I apologize, Your Majesty! I thought the dog was unclaimed and–”

“Silence! Einarr may be foolish enough to entertain your words, but I will have none of it,” He tightly gripped my arm and frowned at me, “Not even death will be enough to punish your crimes. You deserve to be tortured among the criminals of your dastardly rank.”

I felt my lip quiver as his auburn eyes searched into the darkest corners of my heart.

“Yet, even the most painful torture is not fit for you. No, I will choose your suffering myself,” He led me to his horse and forced me to mount it, “I will decide your fate, Y / N.”

He hopped up, wrapped his arms around me, and tightly gripped the reigns. I felt my heart pound as he rode away from the forest.

“Are.. are you going to kill me? Please, just put me out of my misery now,” I begged and felt nauseated.

“I am going to give you a fate worse than death,” He whispered in my ear, “Your fate is intertwined with mine now. Enjoy the scenery of the forest, for I fear this is the last time you’ll see it up close.”

[gayforcarstairsgirls]

This is literally like watching a political drama unfolding before our eyes oh my god

[crimsonrae]

Drowned Desires

Summary: Pirates plunder wasn’t always jewels and gold. Sometimes their bounty was flesh. Captain Cavill had found his treasure in the shape of a feral woman.

Pirate!HenryxOFC

Warning: Kidnapping, coercion, trapped, spanking, ultimatums, dry humping, masturbation. Dark Themes below. read at your own risk.

A/N: I have written and rewritten sections of this several times, but it took nearly deleting it all by accident to get me to post. I hope you all enjoyed. 

Drowned Desires

Wooden planks whined and groaned as waves licked and lapped at the ship's underbelly. It was a familiar tune, as much as the heavy thumps of feet upon the deck, the clash of swords, and the cries of men – so familiar that the Captain heard none of it as he perused the papers and trinkets hidden away in the desk of his now fallen counterpart.  

His men never understood his predilection for ship diaries and official correspondence, not when there were shinier prizes at hand. Yet, he understood what they did not...information would always fetch a far higher price than any piece of jewelry – not that he didn’t take his share of that too.    

A faint smirk spread lazily across his lips as he drew his finger across beautifully inked letters that denoted the mark of nobility. His mind already hungered for the letter's contents – for what could nobility want in the Caribbean wild?  

“Captain!” Sapphire-iced eyes flicked to the cabin door with disinterest before returning to his venture, “Captain!”  

With a roaring slam, the door flew open to reveal his first mate, but he was not alone. A wild maelstrom of silk impressively blocked the large man from view as guttural grunts and screams filled the cabin.  

Henry raised an innocuous brow as he watched the virulent struggle, silently amused by the brief glimpses of frustration on Brooks’s face as he maintained his hold on what Henry could only assume was a feral girl.  

“Be quiet!” Brooks barked, finally having enough as he shoved the girl to the ground. His bulky frame took up the entirety of the cabin’s exit as he glared almost mutinously at his captain.  

Henry licked his lip and smirked before peering curiously over the edge of the wide desk to the sprawled form below. A mass of hair flipped back to reveal a startlingly beautiful and mature face. Unbidden, lust stirred within his veins.  

Not a girl, then. A woman.  

A very angry woman, Henry mused as he sat back and stared at his first mate, “Is there a reason why she’s not locked in the stores with the others?”  

“She ripped Thatcher’s ear clear off, Captain. He’s demanding recompense.” Brooks intoned wearily as he kept a watchful eye on the now oddly quiet woman.

Henry’s brow arched higher, if possible, as again he leaned over the desk to take in the fallen woman. She was paying him no mind, having come to her knees. Her eyes shifted about the room as if looking for an exit or a weapon. It was then that Henry was able to note the faint glimpse of red staining her skin – not on her hands, but her neck and mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what Thatcher had attempted that had cost him his ear.  

“I take it young Mr. Thatcher, is currently being attended to which is why he’s not here to plead his case.” Henry murmured, as he took in the long line of her throat and the gentle swells that teased the hem of her bodice. Blood had stained her flesh here too, but he found his cock twitching despite her dishevelment. He could see why Thatcher had chosen her.  

“Aye, Captain.”  

“And what say you, woman?” Henry queried lightly, smirking as her gaze finally alighted on him. Wariness, fury, and a touch of fear – but not as much as he expected, “Should I let Thatcher have his pound of flesh?”  

She said nothing, her fine eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. It made him want to grin. How had Thatcher missed the fire she emanated? But then, the deckhand was not the brightest of his crew.  

Henry tilted his head, “Oh, don’t play mute now. Not after the ruckus of your entry.”  

He barely had the words out when something wet hit his cheek. If it were possible the entire cabin stilled, even the creaking of the ship had quieted. The captain’s amusement with the situation had disappeared as he stoically wiped the spittle from his person.  

“I suppose I should be grateful to still have my ear.” He muttered with deceptive gentleness as he leveled a cold stare onto the woman. She stiffened in preparation of an attack, but none came as his attention turned back to his first mate, “Leave us.”  

There was a moment of hesitation before the cabin door swung shut with as decorous a roar as it had been opened. To the woman still kneeled on the floor, it was almost like hearing a nail pounded into her coffin. There was little point in trying to leave. She would merely end up on the deck with the savage crew that had taken the ship hostage. If she were lucky then she might make it to the water, but that was only a slower death.  

“What’s your name?” His words were measured and deliberate, “And do not spit at me again lest you wish to feel the back of my hand.”  

“...Mary.” She muttered after a moment.  

Henry snorted, her pause had given her away, “Too pious a name for you. Try again.”  

She huffed indignantly, but acquiesced, “Elowyn. Elowyn O’Dara.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice that agreed with her name, though even this moniker seemed too tame for her spirit, “Ms. O’Dara, why aren’t you locked in the stores with the other passengers?”  

If eyes were daggers, he’d be dead as her glare became pointed, “Your man already told you.”  

“Surely, you don’t simply have a predilection for tearing off ears – or shall I say a taste.” He prodded, wanting his suspicions confirmed, “What exactly provoked you?”  

“He looked at me funny.” Elowyn hissed bitingly.  

Henry pursed his lips, a reproach on the tip of his tongue when better sense prevailed him. Despite the grand silks she wore, her gown was ill-fitted. The sleeve came within a breath of falling off her shoulder and her speech while refined was far blunter than any gentlewoman. He had a new suspicion about his little spitfire.  

“Is that all it takes?” Henry taunted as he towered over her. Well aware that her dangerous mouth was aligned to an appendage far more valuable than an ear. In fact, it was the image of her mouth and that appendage which enticed him to draw closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and avoid undue embarrassment. He swore that he could feel her breath even through the thick leather of his trousers.  

Elowyn growled, though the flush of her cheeks belied any indifference, “Why should it take more?”  

“I think it would take more.” He stated quietly. His finger curled under her chin and urged her to stand. He wanted the full measure of her. Not the defiant victim she had curled herself into.  

The fabric of her gown swished and whispered as it draped around her body like a protective cloak. Her eyes sparkled wildly at him, warily – like twin pillar flames of a candelabra. He had no doubt that she would attack him as fervently as she had his man if he were to push his luck. He was tempted to try anyway...but a greater desire lurked in his heart.  

She would bend to him first.  

He let his finger trail down the line of her throat as he kept his gaze locked with hers, taking in every twitch and tremble that she tried so valiantly to hide. His touch smoothed across her shoulder, warm and chafing against her delicate flesh until, at last, he reached that clinging hem.  

Almost thoughtfully, he traced that strained neckline, “Tell me, did your mistress press you into her dress to hide, or have you been trying to pass yourself off as a gentle lady for your voyage? Graces and airs do open many doors.”  

Elowyn stilled as his words took home, “I’ve no idea of what you speak.”  

“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry hummed knowingly, “A good liar you are not, Ms. O’Dara. Which makes me inclined to think you were pressed into this gown. However, like recognizes like and I think I’ve merely unsettled you.”  

“The devil would be unsettled by you.” She murmured; heat resonated through her bosom as his fingers hovered over her swells, but he didn’t touch... just teased.  

He grinned roguishly, amused by her scorn, “Either way... it does beg the question, how are you going to keep yourself from ruin? Even if you leave my presence – and that of my crew’s untouched – you’re still caught in something of a predicament, lass.”  

Confusion furrowed her brow at his words and only deepened as he stepped away from her to lean against the ornate desk behind him. Smug and insufferable it galled her to ask after his meaning, “The only predicament I’ll have is giving the navy a name for the swine that dared board this ship.”  

Henry barked a sharp laugh before giving a mocking bow, “Why Captain Henry Cavill at your service, milady? But do you honestly think that if I were to return you to the stores below that assumptions wouldn’t be made?”  

Elowyn’s lips pursed, a silent refusal to entertain his inquiry. It only delighted him.

“You’ve been gone too long, lass. They know why Ole Thatch took you. Probably already assume that you’re dead. And let’s say you were pressed into this gown by your mistress... Loyal though you were, what use does she have for a spoiled maid? Best to send you on your way. And if you are a gentlewoman, word of your ruin will reach all and sundry before the ship is even done being berthed. No hoity-toity wealthy gentleman will look at you twice. All your prospects gone.”

Her cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and she gritted her teeth as she scolded him, “Does this please you? These cruel games? I demand to be taken back to the stores.”  

His eyes twinkled mirthfully, “Oh that’s it, Luv. Not bad for a gentlewoman, but you should tremble a little more to sell it.”

She barely bit back a snarl, even as her body moved without permission. To the surprise of both Henry and Elowyn, her slim hand snatched the pistol tucked into his belt and had it pressed under his chin before either could blink.  

“Get. Off. This. Ship.” She sniped, hand minutely trembling as she stared straight into his now unimpressed eyes.  

Outside the sounds of battle and the thumping of steps had dwindled to a steady few. His crew had overwhelmed the other and were taking what ever they could find back to the Kalliope. His time aboard was limited anyway... but still, it wouldn’t do to have this slip of a girl think she gained the upper hand. No longer was he willing to see her submit, but he would see her pride broken.  

It was time he acted like a pirate.  

“I intend to.” He murmured.  

It wasn’t what she had expected him to say, and her moment of bafflement worked to his advantage as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in much the same way she had in entering the room.  

He heard the soft click of his gun and grinned when she comprehended that there was no bullet to be shot. He had used his powder on boarding, his pistol now a pretty decoration for his ruthless image. Her screams became even more enraged.  

He chuckled and ignored her pounding fists to his back as he stepped out to the deck, “Brooks!”  

His steadfast first mate appeared with nary a word and a raised brow. Yet, Henry knew he wouldn’t ask the question dancing on his tongue, “Ms. O’Dara will be joining us. See to it that the rudder of this ship is disengaged and gather the men back aboard Kal. I want to be sailing with the wind within the hour.”  

“Aye, Captain.”  

No further words were spoken nor needed between the two though that hardly stopped the squalling of the harridan thrashing his back. Grunting in frustration, he crossed the boarding ramp in two steps as his palm placed a resound slap onto Elowyn’s wriggling rump. A silent warning to be still which she did not heed.

“Put me down!”  

It must have been the hundredth time she had shrieked this, but as Henry crossed the threshold of his cabin he decided to finally obey, “Very well.”  

Grim amusement touched his lips as he tossed her onto his bed, her skirts flew wild, and he caught a tempting glimpse of the thin cotton of her bloomers. Those would not last long, like the whores of Nassau she would learn to stay bare beneath those skirts.  

Ever defiant, Elowyn flew up from her supine position and slid from the bed before he could blink. Her speed was impressive, but she was not fast enough to beat the closing of the door as the lock clicked into place. Smirking, Henry seized the bottle of whiskey from the corner of his desk as he fell languidly into his chair to watch the despairing storm that descended upon his captive.  

Elowyn yanked heartily on the handle, a torrent of panic and anger spurning her heart. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she was furious to find a sob pulling at her throat as the sands counting down her freedom quickly dwindled. She could not be trapped here. It simply was not to be born.  

All the while, Elowyn could feel his gaze burn into her back. Not for the first time her stomach clenched under the weight of his attention. She detested the stirrings of lust his visage had enticed; his quiet perusal of her body had done much to set a simmering awareness along her skin that could only be calmed by the touch of another.  

She slammed her palm against the hardwood of the door as her head became bowed with defeat.  

“I am no one’s whore.” Her voice hoarse from her screams broke the expectant silence.  

For a moment, the captain wondered if she could read minds. However, the longer he was in her presence the more he thought she was an innocent maid... if only her protest had not been so despondent. Tired. Bitter. As if this was a situation not uncommon.

“Aren’t you?” The words were spoken with seemingly little thought as Henry took a light swig from his bottle. A pleasantly harsh warmth burned over his tongue and down his throat as the dark liquid sought out his blood.  

A low snarl emanated from her, and Henry watched curiously as she whirled to face him. His breath was stolen by the fury in her watery gaze. Her lips had curled back into a sneer, and she stood defiant. Wrathful, proud, and stunning. She was Circe reborn.  

The entertained glint that shined in the face of her rage, merely cemented her ire as she strode across the room with the full command of a Goddess. She let the dress fall from her shoulders to twist and drown around her torso before falling lost to the floor. She trod on it and over it with little care.  

Henry devoured the view of her corset and bloomers. Her curves were more pronounced with the clinging material of her undergarments and yet not enough. He’d rather see her bare.  

Elowyn pointedly ignored the hunger of his countenance and snatched the whiskey from his hand. Her throat bobbed deliciously as she downed one mouthful and then two before throwing the bottle at the very door she longed to escape through.  

A sharp thunk and the glittering clatter of shattered glass echoed through the cabin. Henry arched a brow in mild disappointment, “That was a very expensive bottle.”  

“That I’m sure you stole.” Elowyn countered as she moved to straddle his lap. Her gaze was taunting as her fingers laced into the collar of his shirt, “Is this what you wanted, Captain?  

He hummed, amused by her show of bravado, and respected her attempt at taking control, but he could see the quivering girl just below the surface. He delved his hands beneath the hem of her corset, gliding calloused fingers around the satin flesh of her waist. Goosebumps raised like waves in a storm at his touch.  

A sharp gasp left Elowyn’s throat as one hand slid down beneath her bloomers to grasp the firm muscle of her bottom and squeeze. It was like lightning had been released across her hide. Visceral mordant liquid pooled in her loins, and she tried not to squirm. She didn’t want him to see how affected she truly was, even as evidence blossomed across the flimsy material guarding her.  

Yet, as she held his dark stare, she swore that the staccato beating of her heart had given her away. A cool thrill shivered across her skin, only to be chased by a flaming warmth that she could not control. Beneath the rough cotton of her corset, her nipples puckered and pebbled, and she felt a shameful heat spread over her breasts to her collar and up her neck.  

He hadn’t even kissed her.  

He leant forward, teasingly drawing his lips along the shell of her ear. Henry grinned at the small shivering whimper that spilled from her lips at such an act. He had to wonder if she was worried that he would do to her what she had done to Thatch. Tauntingly, his tongue shot out and suckled her delicate lobe into his mouth as her knuckles whitened to match his collar.  

She mewled prettily and arched into his hold, unable to voice the word stop. He wouldn’t have, even if she begged.  

He lathed attention to her sensitive appendage for another few seconds before gently nipping the tender flesh, “I think this what you wanted, lass.”  

She swallowed tightly and tried to bring forth the dispassionate woman that had brought her to his lap, “No.”  

“No?” Henry almost sang, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He nuzzled the plush swell of her cheek, breathing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers made quick work of the laces of her corset. A faint copper taste dazzled his tongue – had she enjoyed the taste of Thatcher’s blood?  

Her breath hitched as she felt the boned fabric slide from her bosom. It took every ounce of strength not to fold her arms in and hide. She had tried to out bluff the monster but had goaded him into action instead. Brute violence would not remove her from this situation. She knew this instinctively, and as his bristled cheek chafed against the silk of her neck and chest, Elowyn became uncertain if she wanted to be removed.  

Gossamer licks of pleasure pulsated from his rough skimming, and his hot breath ignited a current of desire that made her stomach clench with need. She felt suddenly empty and as his supple lips latched onto her pointed teet, she keened. Unthinkingly, she rocked into his pelvis in a feeble attempt to fill the throbbing void between her legs. Her cunt dripped and twitched needily as he suckled.  

Elowyn sputtered and gasped at his forceful pulls, pressing down harder into his lap and ultimately onto his erection. She wasn’t sure when, but her fingers had delved around the bandanna holding back his wild mane as she tried not to fall into his ardent mouth, but she was helpless against his assault. He would devour her.  

“Please.” She breathed.  

Henry smiled and lightly bit down on her tortured tit, admiring the dark hue her sensitive flesh had garnered from his attentions, before moving his attention to her other breast, “Please, what?”  

She arched as he began his attack anew. Her hips coming alive as she undulated frenetically against him. A pressure had started to build, a delicious force stood just out of reach and she just... just needed.  

Henry’s strong hands dug into her hips stilling her movements. He knew that she was on the cusp of climax. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal, but such satisfaction would not be had until she took his cock.  

Elowyn wailed in frustration, “Please!!”  

“Please, what?” He iterated again. His fingers latched onto the seam of her bloomers. One fierce tug would be all he needed to tear her undergarment in two.  

Her pride screamed at her to remain silent, but the wanton in her demanded she cave. Elowyn bit her lip as she tried to stave off another plea. Instead, she sought out the lace of his breeches and swiftly freed him of his leather confines.

Henry allowed her this and watched with a jovial grimace as she took in his hidden pistol. Her eyes widen at his size, her thighs clenching over his at the thought of taking him. He would not fit, but he would certainly fill her. She dragged a curious nail over his weeping head, jolting as his manhood twitched and bobbed under her innocent exploration.  

He hissed, “Either suck me off, lass, or finish your request. If I must choose what comes next, you will find little pleasure in my actions.”  

Her gaze flew up to his, noting the seriousness she found staring back at her. She swallowed tightly, “T-take me.”  

A cruel grin twitched at his lips, “Take you where?”  

She bristled at his mocking, “Copulate with me, like the pig you are.”  

SMACK!  

She gasped at the pain that flared through her hind-side and barely refrained from moaning as the reverberation echoed with her desire.  

Henry tutted, “Name-calling when you’re begging? Not very gracious. Especially as you were the one to come to me, Luv.”  

“Bastard!” She spat and choked on another moan as he assaulted her rear once more.  

He grinned, “Enjoy that do you?”  

She cursed him again and he laughed, “Should I take the cat and nine tails to you? What a saucy minx you’re turning out to be.”  

“I loathe you.” Elowyn murmured through gritted teeth, “What do you want from me?”  

He smiled bitingly at her, “Ask nicely and remember my title.”  

She growled and tore from his hold as her pride won out for the moment. He watched her with the gaze of a predator as she discarded the last of her garments. She flung herself onto his bed and splayed her legs wide. She would not capitulate to him.  

At least not verbally.    

Henry’s mouth watered greedily as her nimble little fingers delved and played with her soaked mound. She was playing a very dangerous game. She stroked her sweet little nub with feverish intensity, allowing her moans to fill the cabin like a sonorous symphony. She put on a lovely lurid show and he couldn’t pull his gaze away as she ran a finger along the edge of her cunt, teasing him with a view of her seeping hole. It took little time for her to find that pleasure peak again and even less for him to lose his patience.

In less than three steps he was between her legs, knocking her hands away from her lush garden.  

In two breaths, he was poised at her entrance.  

In one kiss, he speared her with the intensity of a hunter claiming his prey.  

He swallowed her raucous cry and reveled in the silent tear the swam down her cheek as he brutal entrance. Unbridled heat scored up his manhood as her wet cavern suckled him reluctantly to her womb. He had warned her what would happen if he were to choose.  

Groaning, he could not still for long and raised his knee for leverage as he began a brutal pace toward release. Despite his harsh embrace, it was not long before her hips met his, seeking salvation from his unrelenting torrent.  

Her muscles strained from being split, but the sharp ache was diminished by the relief of being so completely stuffed. Her pride wailed in horror at being proven the whore, but Elowyn cared little. Pleasure scalded and overwhelmed her like a bubbling hot spring. 

Henry was everywhere.  

Grasping, biting, prodding, and shoving. 

He pulled sounds from her throat she had never heard before... but she was no better. Willing, she spread her thighs wider for him, welcoming his passionate tempest as he soundly cast her to the waves of ecstasy.  

She cried out fervently as she drowned, and her body clung to him as if it were a buoy. Her walls became a vice, now trapping him to her as she fell victim to her carnal desires, “Captain!”  

Henry watched her erupt through half-hooded eyes, captivated by the euphoria that descended upon her. He groaned as her walls clenched even tighter around him, demanding his seed.  

He thrust once.  

Twice.  

Thrice more before he gave in to her delicious demand and came with a roar, filling her to brim as he enjoyed the way his cock spasmed in time with her tremors. Lazily, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she quivered against him.  

Elowyn peered up at him with wide eyes, shame seeping into her mien as the weight of her actions crashed down onto her. She tried to cover herself, but Henry refused to let her move. He trapped her wrists above her head as he trapped her stare with his, “You have a choice now, lass. Be a good girl and warm this bed or walk out of this cabin and warm my crew’s. Either way, you’ll be a whore, but whose... well that remains up to you.”  

Tears welled as he pulled out of her with a wet plop. Only then could she see the image she painted. Ruined and laid bare before the man who had stolen her as he fixed his trousers and shirt. She hated how little she had resisted him, how much she still wanted him. She had no recourse. He had extracted his pound of flesh as she drowned in her desires. 

She would be his whore.  

It was then she knew that Captain Henry Cavill wasn’t merely a pirate, he was the devil too.

[lacklusterswirl]

Montagne’s Protection

Montagne woke up in a cell with his hands and feet bound. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse... well, they do.

aka Angst for a friend on their request :) (~2.9k words)

Warnings: Hostage, child injuries, injuries, death, waterboarding, gun fights/gun violence, mission gone wrong.

“Montagne!” Twitch’s scream echoed across an empty field all the way to Glaz’s ear.

Through his scope, he watched in horror as they dragged the unconscious man to a truck. He shot at a few of the men, killing them instantly, but he couldn’t keep up with the sheer number of them.

“Glaz! Track the truck!” Thatcher’s orders came through and Glaz quickly locked in the bullet, aiming for his own teammate.

Breathe in. Hold fire. Breathe out. Between heartbeats just like he practiced.

A heavy voice came through, “I have a signal.” He has never felt so pleased to hear Thermite’s voice as he was in that moment.      

.

His eyes opened without him knowing. It was hard to tell when he was awake or asleep when everything was dark. Slowly, his eyes got used to the darkness, and he could make out bars in front of him. With a grunt, he got himself up onto his elbows. He couldn’t help but groan at the pain in his chest as he turned to the side. He didn’t remember much, other than the pain of the impact from getting thrown to the side after a C4 was tossed at them. His shield… Le Roc was missing. He flexed his hands and relaxed a little at the feeling of armoured pads on himself.

“Merde.”

But then he saw his helmet tossed on the ground with his balaclava beside it… so they knew his face. This would prove problematic then. There were two parts to secrecy for him, one, his face, the other, his name. And his dog tags were gone too.

He stayed lying on that cold, concrete floor in that half-awake state, wondering if he could even move properly. All around him, and even in his own mind, he could see darkness, and the tendrils reaching out and grasping onto his arms. Perhaps if he stayed even more still, they would pass him, and he would wake up to his friends smiling down at him.

That’s not what happened.

Instead, he woke up next with chains around his arms and feet, and realized that he was no longer on the floor. He laid there, spread out, and defenseless against those white masks and their cruel eyes.

“Giles “Montagne” Touré. I see why they call you mountain now.”

The man who was speaking was wearing a mask with the word ‘muse’ painted on it in red, dripping down the mask like blood. God he just hoped it wasn’t his blood. Muse nodded his head, and a table of tools was brought out for him to look at. There were whips, car batteries, and an array of differently-sized knives – each with their own purpose he’s sure.

“Putain,” he growled, tugging on his chains. Nothing moved, as he should’ve seen coming.

Muse stalked his way from where Montagne’s feet were, all the way so he was right above his head. “You special force guys are all the same. You glare until you close your eyes, and then you all die without saying anything. Boring. But what is fun, is seeing what exactly you’re scared of.”

There was a hissing noise, and the white masks all leave. A light, sweet scent came in and soon, all Montagne could see were the flowery fields he played soccer on as a young boy. He can feel the petals on his fingertips as he bent down to pick one for his mother.

Maman… pour toi…

A cold splash on his face, and he wakes up and realizes that he’s being held at an angle. And he knows what coming next.

“How did you find us? Who did Rainbow have on the inside?”

Montagne held his tongue and breathed. The water that came over his face felt like it was going to fill him up completely, going in through his nose so he coughs, but then get more water through his mouth as he does so.

And it’s a pattern. Right as he’s about to pass out, it stops. A question gets asked again, and he gives that same glare. Then the water starts again. He didn’t know how long it had been, but when it finally stopped, he was left passed out on the floor, in a puddle of the water that remained.

If only he were laying face down.

The next thing he hears is the crying voice of a young girl. When… wh—it dawned on him. This wasn’t a dream. He woke up to see the silhouette of a young girl sitting in the opposite corner of him. When he stirred, she screamed, causing the thundering of feet to come down the stairs.

It wasn’t Muse this time. It was his little henchmen who were too afraid to approach Montagne when he was awake, and had apparently went on their own little trip just now.

“I told you we should’ve taken the boy. He was much older. He wouldn’t be causing such a shit storm at night. We’ll be found out if this keeps happening.”

“Shut up, you know that girls sell for more. We need the money.”

“Fuck man, not worth if we… HEY!”

Montagne had half crawled, and half stumbled his way over to where the girl was cowering from him.

“Shhhh, mon chérie… restes ici. Tu peux dormis maintenant. Je te protège.” And she calmed down to a sniffle when she realized that this giant man wasn’t here to hurt her. He pet her hair and whispered as he saw out of the corner of his eye, what the terrorists were grabbing. He barely had time to mentally prepare himself for—

THONK

—that. It didn’t hurt that much through all the armour he wore, but it still made him collapse back on to the ground. The metal bat clattered to the ground and the other terrorist started scolding the first for causing the girl to cry again.

“As long as he’s not causing us trouble. Two birds, one stone.”

“Alright,” a little wad of spit landed next to Montagne, “just know that if you do anything wrong… well, the people who buy from us don’t mind a few… beauty marks’”

Montagne gritted his teeth, but stayed still. Once the footsteps faded again, he pulled away and started treating her for injuries. They were mainly a few scratches here and there, but otherwise, she was alright. She spoke neither English nor French so he just hummed when he wanted her to sleep.

Perhaps getting to know the girl was the wrong choice. Well, not perhaps. It seems to be that it WAS the wrong choice. Every time he fought back, nearly escaped, or broke free, she would be held at gun or knife point, and he had to give up his fight for her. He took punches, shielded her with his own body when they threw things at her, and just kept up the hope that his team would come back for him.

.

“Location confirmed.” Twitch was typing on a laptop as they were on their way to the location where they had finally located them. The pings from the tracker led them all over the world until they realized that Montagne didn’t have his shield anymore. From the cell the got the information from they formed a mixed-team op, with support from JTF 2 since the actual location was near an abandoned cottage near Lake Simcoe. Twitch just got confirmation from local law enforcement, and here they were.

Ciel was frowning while re-reading mission details with a cold intensity in his eyes that was so off putting, that it made Twitch keep quiet again. Tap tap… tap tap… The tap tap that was staring again was from Rook this time as he kept looking between Lion and Doc. Even Pulse was looking down at his feet instead of making jokes like normal. The sixth Rainbow op sat with his sniper ready, and a wave of guilt coming off of him that was so strong that he couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

Even if he wasn’t Rainbow, Ciel was team leader of this group. And it was time for him to say something.

“Tell me about this man. Why does he mean so much to you all?”

.

“You let her go, putain, and I will consider putting a bullet only in your head when I get free.”

The girl’s right arm was trapped in a grip so tight, that Montagne could see purple edges starting to form. She was fighting against it, but it was no use.

“Our first client has asked about her,” came the snide reply.

Then, they turned back and walked upstairs, ignoring the rattling sound as it felt like Montagne was shaking the very prison itself.

“Merde,” he muttered, but now was not the time. A glint caught his eye in the dim room. The keys were on a table instead of on the wall like normal. They were out of arms reach when he stretched it out though. What to do, what to do… He still had his armour plates. He fashioned a rope-like object that he then managed to slide the entire table over to him, weakened muscles straining the entire time.

With a hope in his heart he hasn’t felt in what must’ve been days, he unlocked his door and slowly crept out. There were no weapons on the table, but no matter. He made his way up the stairs and heard footsteps immediately to his right. He plastered himself up against the wall and watched as the shadow crept up, more and more. Only one… perfect.

He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and snapped it, quickly moving the body into the bushes. The bastard only had a knife and pistol on him though. No matter, he heard cries coming from the little girl upstairs, and he followed them through the hallways until he ended up beside the room. With his ear to the wall, he started listening in on their conversation.

“They did what?!” An unknown voice boomed loud enough that Montagne didn’t actually need to be near the wall to hear their conversation.

“We’ve started a self-destruct code because this facility has been found by JTF 2—”

“How?”

“Sir, we need to you follow us. We can guarantee your safety and anonymity, but we need to leave before the building collapses.”

“And her?”

“We’ll take her too. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

The building rumbled, and the footsteps inside quickened their pace, matching his heartbeat as he stood by the door, knife in one hand, and a pistol in the other. The first man rushed out, and received a knife to the chest. He was dead before Montagne even revealed himself. He reached out for the dead man’s chest and used him as a shield while he pushed forward and shot the last two men down. The girl was back near the door, trembling, but alive. She looked Montagne in the eye, and even though he was covered in hot blood that was quickly cooling down and creating a sticky coat over his body, she hugged him.

“Come here.”

“我们去哪里啊?” Oh, how he wished he could learn another language…

“Je comprend pas…” he carefully carried her, making sure not to squeeze the bruises on her skin.

The shaking got stronger to the point where Montagne couldn’t walk properly.

Then, the ceiling fell.

Montagne curled his body around hers and knelt right there.

.

“What do you mean it collapsed?”

Their vehicles were moving still, despite needing to travel over the heavy layers of snow. Of all the times Glaz has met the Canadian Special Forces officer, this is the angriest he’s seen him.

“Get me a new line, and more back up, we’re taking the jets when we get to Checkpoint B.”

At the mention of jets, all JTF 2 ops stood up and gathered their equipment. Ciel turned and nodded at Doc.

“You’re with me, doctor. Rest of you, pair up and follow my guys. The situation’s… bad. The building has collapsed, and we can’t find your friend. Cham, take Pulse with you, Draco, take the sniper. We’re in the lead. Rest of you follow when you can.”

The JTF 2 ops got out of the stopped truck, which was slowing down more and more due to the prolonged snowfall, and ran over to snowmobiles. Ciel, with Doc holding onto him, raced off, far outpacing the rest of the ops. If the situation was less tense, he’s sure Doc would be terrified, but as they whizzed past all the others, Glaze could only see a glare on the doctor’s face.

He was third out of Rainbow to arrive on scene. Doc and Pulse were already scanning the area while the JTF 2 ops could be heard in the background, firing at remaining terrorist forces.

“Sniper, find a position. Help your friends,” his JTF 2 partner said before making the call to join up with Ciel and the other man. Glaz did so and moved to higher ground so he could use his scope to help him find his teammate.

Breathe in. Hold fire. Breathe out. Keep looking just like he was told to do.

Just as he saw the bright yellow outline, Pulse shouted, “DOC!” The rest of Rainbow, including the machinery and JTF 2 ops returned arrived on scene, and everyone reconvened where the Canadians were performing an extraction, with a worried Rook part of the team, giving advice where he could.

“Ciel…” Glaz murmured… The last time he felt so… so much… it was that cold gaze that was there to help him. This time was no different. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and a presence that has always said more than his words.

“I heard about what happened the night of. You did your best, but those forces were too much. Good job getting a tracker on at all actually.” It wasn’t helping. “Keep watch if needed.” If you don’t want to see for yourself. That’s what he really meant. And Glaz was tempted to take the offer.

With one last heave, the extraction team managed to get a large enough hole to shine a light down. Immediately, a small whimper came out, and a word that tugged on the edges of Glaz’s memory.

“救命啊!”

Ciel was first to launch into action, and despite Glaz’s guilt over what was happening, he understood the voice. The two of them watched as Doc reached his arms down the hole and came back up with a young girl. She was bloodied, eye-half lidded, and an arm and a leg were sticking up at angles that shouldn’t have been possible. The tears on her cheeks were caught in the light of their flashlights, and she strained away from everyone, including Doc, who was doing his best to carry her away.

“你没事吧？?” the Rainbow ops all looked over at Ciel who now had the girl’s full attention.

“叔叔还在下门.”

“Ciel?” Doc was waiting on a response.

“Uncle’s still down there,” he murmured, helping Doc place her onto a stretcher. To the girl, he whispered something, and gave Glaz a look.

“你好,” Glaz said, speaking a language he remembers learning a few years ago.

Ciel gave him a nod and Glaz followed as the girl was led off.

Doc, Pulse, and a few more JTF 2 ops were still trying to look into the hole. Glaz and the girl watched from the back near the jets until Doc broke down. He was on his knees and frozen still.

“Get her away, Glaz” Rook had taken a step back, and gave the duo a look, and Glaz just knew who this ‘uncle’ was.

But it was Twitch who gave it away, who was now sobbing into the arms of Lion. Even the arrogant, haughty Lion looked shaken by the view.

Glaz didn’t see anymore that night, but when they debriefed the next day with JTF 2, he saw it all. Rock smashed into the skull, bits of brain mixed in with the helmet on the floor, metal pipes speared through the body, even with the armour, and a shape any of them could easily recognize. A fetal position with his arms wrapped around something… or someone. The gun and knife found on him didn’t belong to him, but the marks on his wrists showed that he was indeed a prisoner. So, they pieced together the story from the pictures and the testimony of the little girl.

Montagne was already in a cell when the girl got there. He protected her, and helped her. When the ‘bad men’ took her away to another man, he came up and killed them all. Then, on their way to the door, the building collapsed. That was all the girl managed to get out before shock took over adrenaline, and she entered a surgical room, never to be seen by Glaz again.

It was the long way of saying that Montagne was dead. And no one could help him in his final hours.

.

Montagne felt the first pieces of rubble hit him, and then an immediate pain in his right shoulder. He curled tighter around the girl and looked up just in time to see a slab of the ceiling fall down on them.

I hope I did enough.

[scribbledbyhand]

Here’s my story for the Ripper Street writing challenge ... I had much fun writing this nonsense. I hope you will have a bit fun reading it. Enjoy!

...

The fateful destiny came over Inspector Edmund Reid at the evening of an romantic rendezvous when he decidedly incorrect uncorked a shameless expensive bottle of a Champagne.

After the Champanger cork had finally freed itself from the bottle under high pressure, escorted by an ear-splitting plop, a wave of foaming and out welling liquid, the cork made its way through the room at immense speed. It bumped into the ceiling, moved further towards the toilet furniture, hit the mirror there - which slightly cracked - and which distracted it to the porcelain bust of William Shakespeare on the wardrobe.

It had been standing there for years, dusting in dignity. Now hitted by the cork, the bust swayed back and forth for a while, and then it finally decided to fall down - on the head of Inspector Edmund Reid who happened to be standing underneath and of course didn't see the misery coming.

Edmund Reid's skull resisted Shakespare, but nevertheless the heavy author managed to rob the Inspector of his mind for some time.

Reid was immediately taken to the Obsidian Clinic, where he has been under strict medical supervision and observation ever since.

+++  

A week had passed since the incident at the Alexandria Theatre, but the Inspector's convalescence made just cumbersome progress. Certainly, he was approachable and could serve most of his limbs again according to their natural purpose, but his mental state simply did not and did not want to improve.  They had breathed a sigh of relief when Edmund Reid opened his eyes again and babbled the first fragments of words to himself, even more so when he was once again able to form the confused gibberish into understandable words.

Unfortunately, their selection and arrangement in the sentence structure were of mystical or philosophical nature instead of clarity, so that his immediate environment - especially the nursing staff, who were blessed with rather average intelligence - usually did not interpret Reid's needs in accordance with his concerns.

If he was hungry, he demanded something edible with the sentence: "The cannibal can't live of a salad leaf".

If he was in pain, Reid's mind transcribed this into the phrase: „The testicles of Hercules are fighting with a teething snail.“

But the inspector's description of the need to ease his bladder was particularly fatal, however, and for reasons of respect this should not be repeated here.  

The situation was serious!

+++

In this situation, what elso can you do but wait and see, hope for the best, assist and support the tormented friend to the best of one's ability?

That’s what Drake and Jackson did. They visited Reid every day, held his hand and tried to guide his brain back to a normal level.

Such a visit was always exhausting that they needed a big drink afterwards. So after the visit, they went into 'The Bear' pub to discuss Reid's progress and to figure out what else they could do.

+++

Drake put the full glass of whisky on his lips and emptied it in one go. In that brief moment he forgot his sick friend, who looked at him with big, confused eyes and kept urging him: "Bennet, beware! Beware of the headless chicken! Headless chickens are dangerous!“

"What did he mean by that?“, Drake thought, not realizing he said it out loud.

„Rose“, answered Jackson.

Drake looked at him confused. "What makes you think that?"

The Captain explained: "Well, you'll admit Rose already has a lot of chicken and ... Who knows what she's capable of. It might be dangerous for you."

Under normal circumstances Jackson would have caught at least one whistle after this insult, but Drake was too tired for that. Instead he protested calmly, but emphatically: "A mad man fantasizes.”

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? After all, he calls my wife a broom!"

Drake laughed. "Yes! He did", he said. „A nice expression and very fitting. I mean Susan is skinny like a stick and - that I must confess too - she has beautiful hair … and a broom is the place where witches sit on most of the time. So ...“

He filled the empty glasses with whiskey again and said to Jackson: “What is the saying so beautifully: Children and fools tell the truth!“

"Yeah!", murmured the American, "but that doesn't bring us further in this matter." He took the glass, frowned: "What we need is some kind of ..." He shook his head. "I don't know." He took a sip. "Maybe a shock is working ..."

Drake agreed, but neither he nor the Captain had any idea what kind of shock the right treatment was for the currently unusable Inspector.

They had already discarded some ideas when they suddenly noticed an unspeakable stench that became stronger and stronger. Obviously one of these degenerate creatures, an ejection of the gutter, approached the two. Someone too poor, too stupid or too dull to occasionally use water and a piece of soap.  

But they were wrong. It was Frank Thatcher!

+++

„Christ, Thatcher! You stink like the cunt of the devil's grandmother! Stay away.“  

„Keep calm, Benito! I’m sure the lad has a good reason to be the direct competitor of a skunk.“ He waved Thatcher towards him and meant for him to join them for a drink.

The junior Sergeant, obviously a little embarrassed, said after his first glass. „It’s awful, I know, but I have no other choice.“

„There’s always a choice“, said the Captain and put his arm around him. „Tell ol‘ uncle Jackson …“

Thatcher hesitated before he finally came out.

„I inherited my godmother's lucky knickers“, he said seriously, „and I must wear them for a month.“

A moment of silence. The exchange of disbelieving looks. Then, a roar of laughter.

„What?“

„It is true!“ Thatcher started to explain. „My godmother was a soul of woman and a genius at horse betting. Her speciality was betting on outsiders.  I don't know how she did it ... In any case, every horse she betted on won, even if it was the worst nag. I wasn't allowed to, but she shit on it and still took me to the racetrack. She bought me lots of sweets which I enjoyed while she placed her bets. Then we watched the race together. We had such a good time together. “ 

The lovely momory of his deceased relative made Thatcher smile. For a moment he was the little boy again, cheering on some horse at the hand of his godmother. The feeling, the colours, the smells of that time - everything was there again.

"Anyway," Thatcher finally went on, "she wore the same knickers every time she went to the racetrack. If she didn't, she didn't win either. Over time, she also found that washing the underpants had a negative effect on winning too. Obviously, the luck in horse betting actually seemed to get stuck in those underpants.“

"I'm sure there sticks more on it than just luck," says Drake, turning up his nose.

Jackson grinned. „So you want to get into the betting business with that highly flavored dirty rag around your ass?“

Thatcher rolled his eyes. „Of course, not“, he said. „I'm the only heir to my godmother. That means I get everything. But only - and this is the condition - if I wear her lucky knickers for a month.“

„Understand“, said Jackson. „Regarding to her success in betting you expect a fortune ... Well, it's worth to stink like a rotten fish.“

Drake shook his head. „Thatcher, I didn't expect you to be such a greedy bastard. Furthermore, you risk your health and the mental condition of your surrounding. Puh ... Sitting next to you is the death of every decent thought.“

„That’s it“, cried Jackson suddenly.

Drake and Thatcher didn’t understand immediately, so the Captain explained: „We let Reid sniff Tatcher‘s butt.“

+++

It was a cruel idea. But hopeless situations call for extreme solutions. 

After a few more drinks designed to desensitize Drake and Jackson's sense of smell, the trio set off for the Orbsidian Clinic. Reid's treatment should not wait any longer.

With extreme caution and discretion - which was a stroke of genius in light of Thatcher's annoying condition - the three managed to get to the Inspector's bedside.

Reid was sleeping.

They placed Frank Thatcher close to the patient‘s head and waited.

Reid breathed, sniffed, wrinkled his nose a few times before he grimaced his face in pain. Then he opened his eyes. He looked around first and fokussed Thatcher.

„Sergeant, you stink“, he said with sharp voice in very clear and - more of all - in understandable words. „Go, wash yourself and change your underpants!“  

The plan had worked. Inspector Edmund Reid was back. Drake and Jackson burst out in cheers.

Even Thatcher was pleased, although he had to hear from his boss still some instructions regarding cleanliness and the role model effect of police officers.

+++

Whether it was really Sergeant Thatcher's inherited knickers or something else that brought Inspector Edmund Reid's brain back to its usual routine can not be said today. However, it is well documented that after this strange incident everything was back to normal.

The only question remaining is whether Thatcher's month of suffering as an outcast of society has paid off.

In a certain way ... After the demanded time, the solicitor of Thatcher's godmother gave him a box which contained all of her belongings: A bible, a porcelain dog with wobbling head and a letter addressed to her beloved Frankie boy. It said:

My dear little Frankie bunny,

now you have learned that the change of underwear is very important for human beings. You don't need money, just enough fresh underwear. That's why I gave all my money to Mr Saunders in Robson Street. He's an amazing tailor and will provide you with customised fashionable knickers for the rest of your life.

In love your Auntie