#The Colored Reins of a Loving Wife | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heyimkana · 28 days ago

Text

Pillow Talk (2/4)

Read Part 1 | AO3 Link

Sequel to Come Home to Me but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, slight hurt/comfort

Summary: Although the two of you yearn for each other's touch so badly, you start the night slow. Cuddling with your husband in bed, you ask him questions you've never had the bravery to ask before. And as he comforts you, he can't help but tease and play with you a little.

Content Warnings: constant flirting, endless banter and teasing, some nipple play (you'll sit on his face in the next part tho 👀)

Word Count: 10K

The bed sheets wrinkle underneath your fingers, your heart thumping in excitement as the word ‘reward’ rings through your ears. You watch him hover above you, your body caged by his own. “I can ask for... anything?”

With a chuckle so soft yet titillating, Jinwoo prods his nose against the pulsating vein on your neck, savoring your sweet, intoxicating scent. “Anything.”

You swallow thickly, a thousand different wishes bursting into your head at once. “T-then… I want you to…”

Kiss me. Touch me. Make love to me.

These words echo vehemently in your head, a plea that almost physically pains you to ignore. “K-ki…” You can’t say it. You stop yourself from saying it. You don’t want to let him win, not like this, not without effort. Your husband is already a fucking tease even without you giving him a reason to be. If you surrender now, he’ll flaunt his cheeky, cocky grin all day tomorrow, and while he’ll look unbearably sexy when he does that, you’re not sure if your pride can take it.

A mischievous glint coats his eyes simply from noticing the changes in your behavior. Jinwoo drags his face closer to yours, his sentence coming out in a low, seductive purr, “Getting shy now, Sweetheart? How cute.”

See? Even when you haven’t said anything yet, he’s already annoying.

Though flustered, you keep yourself composed. A little teasing like this isn’t something you can’t quickly recover from. Determined to step up your game, you bite your bottom lip, both to restrain yourself from begging for him to touch you as well as to entice him so he’ll make the first move. You know he wants this just as much as you do. If anything, with the way he’s trapping you underneath him right now, his hips eager to seek friction, he’s already craving something more than a kiss. It’s a shame that he’s just as stubborn as you are, but then again, that’s what makes it more interesting for you.

Your eyes travel down to his lips, lingering there for a moment to ensure he receives your message. When they traverse back to his cobalt blues, your lips parting in the shape of his name, his gaze darkens, permeated by nothing but the carnal desire he’s trying to rein in. Unfortunately for you, Jinwoo has played similar games in the past, and he’s committed to winning each time. This one, especially, is the one thing he’ll never allow himself to lose, keeping himself strong and unswayed no matter how much he longs to kiss your pout away. His victory over you would grant him the most satisfaction of all. He’s certain of it.

Jinwoo cups your cheek, his thumb playing with the edge of your mouth. He mimics what you did before, letting his gaze cascade to your lips, the soft breath of his whisper ghosting over them. Seduction colors every line of his face, every letter of the words he speaks. “Does my sweet wife want a kiss?”

‘A kiss? No, I don’t want a kiss. I want you to stick your tongue in my mouth’ is a thought you promptly dismiss the moment his smirk arises on his lips. “I don’t know. Does my annoying husband want one?” It surprises you that you can still muster something witty when he’s looking down at you like that, and seeing how he laughs slightly in response, it appears he feels the same way, too.

“Maybe he does,” his mouth shadows your lobe, nipping lightly at the shell of your ear to remind you how thrilling it was to have his teeth grating against your skin, leaving marks that would set your heart on fire every time you caught your reflection in the mirror. “Maybe,” he continues as he wedges his leg between your own, pushing the end of your nightgown to your thighs, his knee pressed dangerously against the thin fabric of your lingerie. “He wants to have more than a kiss.”

Your breath hitches in your throat; the urge to just grind on his thigh threatens to consume you. Another layer of haughtiness paints his smile. He knows exactly the effects he has on you, and he wants you to act on it, to give in to your desire so he can finally do what he’s been craving to do all day.

You won’t let that happen, not yet. “Mm, yeah, thought so.” You play high and mighty to put a cloak over your soaring heart, which only entertains him further. “So, what is he going to do about it?”

“Hmm… Why don’t you close your eyes and see?” He’s testing the water, checking to see if you’ll be an obedient pet for him, but this thought doesn’t spring to your mind, at least not immediately.

Though you know you should fight it, your body yearns terribly for him. Just a kiss is fine, right? Everything else, you won’t make it so easy. Sinking into a moment of weakness, you shut your lids as requested, waiting. And as you do, you fail to see how pleased he looks, how your little act of submission adds another layer of desire to his gaze.

You can feel Jinwoo leaning down, closing the already imperceptible distance between you. His lips hover right above yours, the sweet caress of his breath skimming across your mouth and chin. You wait in anticipation, but the kiss never comes, not in the way you wanted it to be.

Instead of locking your lips together, your husband places a tiny, tiny kiss on the point of your nose, a peck similar to what your daughter often gives you. You snap your eyes open, squinting at him almost menacingly as you grumble, “You’re such a tease.”

“Am I?” Another chuckle breaks free from his throat, a spark of glee underneath the huskiness of his voice. “I asked what you wanted me to do for you, but you didn’t answer my question. I’m not a mind-reader, you know. If you want something, Sweetheart,” he pauses just to glide his thumb over your lips, his tongue peeking out slightly to wet his own pair as he gazes down at your inviting mouth. “You need to be a good girl and ask for it.”

Although your stomach flips in response, your mind refuses to accept defeat. You know what? Fine. You decide inwardly as you try to keep yourself collected. If he wants to do this, to toy with you as he pleases, then you’ll play with him all night long. “You’re right. A peck on the nose was exactly what I wanted,” you utter almost through gritted teeth. “You know me so well, Husband.”

His body vibrates slightly with mirth. “Well then, I’ll give you one more.” His grin presses against your skin as he presents you with another one, still the same stupid little peck on your nose. “And a little bit of this,” he nuzzles the tip of your noses together, acting cute. “To chase the pout away.”

God, I hate him so much, you think, as your heart flutters for him, falling in love all over again. “I’m not pouting.”

“Sure, you aren’t, love,” he simpers as he plants a playful kiss on your head. Then, as if he wasn’t affected by the smothering sexual tension between you, Jinwoo falls back to the bed, settling himself right next to you. “Let’s chat for a bit before we go to sleep. I wanna hear you talk about your day.”

Before we go to sleep? You almost scoff. Oh, he’s completely messing with me. The worst thing is, you don’t hate it. You’re frustrated, sure, but you don’t hate it. He looks so incredibly young and boyish this way, the kind of juvenility that only you are allowed to see, judging from how stoic and composed he carries himself in public.

Like him, you roll over to lie on your side, facing him with your sulk slowly fading. “My day is hardly any interesting compared to yours.”

“Maybe not, but you are.” His wolfish grin has altered back into the usual smile he displays, charming and tender, brimming with affection. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jinwoo draws you closer and lets you rest your head on his chest. “I want to know everything about you, Sweetheart. I want to see if there’s something I can help. How are you feeling? Did you get to eat much today?”

“Not really,” you answer, followed shortly by an enervated exhale. You nuzzle your face further into his chest, basking in his wonderful, comforting scent and the warmth that rivals your velvety duvet. His bare chest and the toned muscles beneath his flawless skin should’ve been distracting—they are, still, to some extent—but right now, the need to be cared for and spoiled by your husband surpasses the craving your body thirsts for. “Everything still makes me nauseous. I kept forcing myself to eat just to get something inside, but I ended up vomiting every time. I’ll keep trying, but… I just hope the supplements are enough to keep our baby healthy for now.”

He runs his palm up and down your spine, his face sketched with sympathy. “I wish I could find a way to stop it. I can only imagine how hard it is for you.”

“It’s fine.” You feel soothed, your muscles unwinding under his touch. “As long as our baby is okay, I’ll deal with anything. I’m scared, yes, but… I enjoy it, too. It’s part of being a mother.”

His gaze softens, shimmering with the gratefulness he feels for having someone like you as his wife. “You’ve done so well, Sweetheart.” He rewards you with a kiss, his smile plastered directly on the little spot between your brows. “I’m so proud of you,” he strokes the back of your head, an act of consolation you didn’t think you needed this badly.

Your spirit brightens, your body feels so much lighter as you embrace him close. Those words he spoke… They might have been simple, but you truly needed to hear them today. It feels amazing to have someone you can lean on, to listen to you without judging, to be proud of the sacrifices you make for your family. Jinwoo could’ve easily acted stoic and unsympathetic after witnessing the horrifying things he’d encountered in the dungeons, but with you, he never did. He understands your struggles, and he admires you for getting through them each time.

As you enjoy this moment of comforting silence, he whispers, “I’m sorry…”

“Hmm?” You lean your head back to capture his gaze, your hair brushing against his chin in the process. “For what?”

“‘Cause I made you go through all of this again,” he gently brushes his knuckles against your cheekbone, gazing down at you with remorse.

“You’re sorry ‘cause you got me pregnant?”

“Well… Yeah.”

Your hushed giggle fills the air. “You’re not sorry. You love getting me pregnant.”

If there was a blush blooming on his cheeks, he tried his best to conceal it. “I mean, yes, I do, but seeing you like this… I can’t help but feel bad about it.”

You snort. “You should apologize for almost breaking my back during our last session, not this.”

You can feel the vibration of his laughter directly from his chest, one that doesn’t last long. “I’m sorry for that, too—though it will most definitely happen again.” Jinwoo returns a small distance between you, tilting your face up by the chin. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” There’s sincerity in his question, replacing the previous devilment in his eyes with concern.

“Thanks for the thought, honey.” You curl your fingers around his wrist as a feeble smile crawls back to your lips. “But no, I’ll be fine. It will pass, don’t worry.” You intertwine your fingers together, every space filled perfectly as if you were a set. “But if you want to make me feel better, why don’t you tell me what actually happened in the gate today? Not knowing the full story makes me anxious, and I don’t think that's good for our baby.”

His soft titters ruffle your strands. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but really, everything is fine. All you have to know is that I’m safe, and I always will be.” Bringing your joined hands closer to his face, Jinwoo adorns the back of your hand with a reverent kiss. “I have you waiting for me to come home, don’t I? I’ve promised you once that I would return to you no matter what, and I’m a man of my word. Nothing can keep me away from you, Sweetheart.”

His tender tone pacifies you, but it’s never enough to completely excise your past traumatic memories of nearly losing him. “It wasn’t like the last time, was it? The beast that put those wounds on your chest?”

“No, nothing like that,” he answers with haste, not wanting you to fret even further (it’s just a stupid game he plays to get your attention, after all). “It was just Beru.”

As if being summoned, the shadow soldier materializes out of thin air, still in the shape of a small, floating head. “M-My liege,” Beru greets, the pitch black, smoggy cloak around him quivers just as much as his voice. He hovers close to his summoner’s face, beseeching him for forgiveness. “I can no more bear this guilt within mine own chest. To make amends for mine sins, I shall taketh mine own life. Though I shall be reborn through thy mystic powers, the anguish must needs be worth the price of thy fair skin I have besmirched with these abominable hands. I shall end mine existence a hundredfold, nay, a thousandfold—”

“Can you not waste my mana, please?” Your husband sighs, breaking away from you with a frown. All the romantic tension he’s been building before to sweep you off your feet? Gone. “And what did I tell you about not snooping into my private moments?”

“Mine most humble apologies, my liege!” Beru panics, flying back and forth like a little ball of black flame in the soft, golden glow of your bedroom. “I hath but come hither to bid thee good night! Naught did I desire to intrude upon thy sacred, amorous moment with thy lady wife, most especially when thou hast longed for her gentle caress all the livelong day—”

Jinwoo slaps a hand over the ant’s mouth, his large palm nearly covering his entire face, grasping it hard enough for Beru to start mewling under his hold. His smile is nothing but menacing, a warning for the shadow to for the love of God, shut. the fuck. up. “Yes, yes, good night, Beru. Would that be all, or is there something else you wish to tell me?” Despite his sweet offer, Jinwoo tightens his clutch over his face. Shaking like a leaf and unable to speak, Beru shakes his head fervently, wanting nothing more than to flee the scene. “Good. Then, I suggest you take your leave. Now.” The necromancer then raises his voice a tad louder, sounding just as firm as he speaks his command. “Not just you. All of you.”

More floating heads emerge before you at once, cowering as they have been caught red-handed. You recognize them as the nameless, lower-ranked knights and mages whose enthusiasm for their master’s love life vies with Beru’s obsession. They hide themselves behind the Ant King, their faces painted with both guilt and horror.

“Hie thee hence, ye peasants!” Beru shouts at his underlings the second his master releases him from his, quite literally, death grip. “Ye heard what our lord and savior hast spoken! Flee now! Pronto!”

They vanish as suddenly as they appeared, returning the two of you to silence’s embrace once more. Jinwoo throws his head back to the pillow, releasing what must have been his most exhausted sigh yet. “Sorry you had to see that,” he mutters as he massages the bridge of his nose. Not even an S-rank gate could make him feel as worn out as the antics his little shadows had pulled just now.

“It’s okay,” you chuckle. It’s heartwarming to see how close he is with his soldiers. Every single being in his army doesn’t just respect and fear him as their lord; they adore him as a family figure who cares for and protects them. Their curiosity for his love life was born out of fondness. They pray in their own way for their master to always be surrounded by joy as it delights their hearts just the same. Sure, they can be a little immature sometimes, but it’s part of the reason why they’ve become so endearing to you. “You know, I’m starting to think that they’re not your soldiers anymore. They’re your sons.”

“Honestly, that sounds about right.”

“Except Igris.”

“Except Igris, thank god.”

The way he looks so utterly grateful for it amuses you, but not as much as the fact that—if what Beru had said was true—your husband has been so blatantly yearning for your touch that even an ant could see it. “So,” you nestle close to him, using his arm as a pillow. “You’ve been thinking about me all day, huh?” A flirty twinkle veneers your eyes as your fingers absentmindedly draw circles on his chest, feeling him grow tense under your touch. “Did you get that cut because you were distracted during the raid, or did you get hurt on purpose to get my attention? Which one is it?”

A part of him was ready to drive Beru’s head into the ground for exposing him like that, but then again, as a lover, a friend, and a person he can call home, you're the only one who always sees right through him. It’s only a matter of time before you start figuring things out on your own, the way you always do.

Does he feel embarrassed that you see right through his plans? Yeah, maybe a bit. Does he feel guilty about it? Sort of, yeah. But showcasing those feelings would be accepting defeat, and that’s not an option he can take. So, instead of coming clean, Jinwoo quickly replaces his shame with mischief, showcasing the naughtiest smirk on his lips. “And what if I was?” Jinwoo questions seductively, twining his fingers around your wrist. “Would you be flattered that I thought about you all day?”

Your reaction, however, is far from what he’s expected.

“Would I be flattered?” You flick him on his nose, earning a surprised flinch out of him. “You shouldn’t have gotten distracted during the fight—it could’ve been dangerous! Thank goodness it was just a cut, but what if it was worse? What if it was life-threatening? Also, why do you still have that in the first place? Can’t you just heal it with potion?”

He enjoys this. There’s nothing cuter to him than the way you look when you’re upset. It just makes him want to tease you even more. “Maybe I want my wife to kiss it better,” he replies, an elfin grin blooming on his lips, one that you scrape off almost immediately by grabbing his face, your thumb and index finger digging into his cheeks.

“Do not try to flirt your way out of this, Sung Jinwoo. I’m very angry at you right now.” No, you’re not, not really. After all, there was no harm done. But still, you need to get your point across because otherwise, his dumbass would keep doing it.

Now that you’ve refused to give him a kiss, his plan backfires. Sighing in defeat after you release him, he reveals the truth with a slight jut of his bottom lip. “Fine. The truth is, no, I wasn’t distracted during the fight because I was never in one to begin with. I just stood there on the sideline, waiting for my shadows to clear the gate for me.”

“And what were you doing exactly? You can’t just simply be standing there, Jin. You’re an S-rank hunter.”

“Uhh…” He begins to sweat, one finger scratching his cheek as he tries to come up with an excuse. “I was busy, umm… thinking.”

“Not about me naked, surely.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. “Of course not. I was trying to come up with a plan. Another raid is coming soon. I want to find a strategy to do my next mission more efficiently.”

“Mm, sounds like bullshit, but okay. So, how did you get the cut?”

He racks his brain as best as he can. Nothing comes up. He does it a second time. Still, nothing comes up. The truth, it is, then. “Well, like you said, I wanted to get your attention, so—”

“I swear to God, Jinwoo, if you said you did that to yourself…” You don’t even bother to finish the sentence. He knows what you mean, and he knows exactly what you’re capable of in terms of disciplining him. No weapons and hunters could harm him in this world, but being deprived of your touch? Of your kiss? Now, that’s torture.

“Not… exactly like that,” he answers, his eyes straying away from your own.

Then, it clicks. “You asked Beru to hit you, didn’t you?”

Bullseye. He’s completely avoiding your gaze now. Only silence answers you, but that, itself, is the evidence you need.

“Unbelievable. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” And yet, you find yourself giggling even before you can finish your sentence, the sound airy and pretty, a perfect symphony to his ears. The whole image of Beru, who was most likely crying as he obeyed his master's command, punching him in the face just because your husband wanted your attention is just downright ridiculous to you.

Jinwoo's eyes droop in fondness, his chest overflowing with the affection he holds for you. You seem so carefree and light at this moment, your face relaxed as if you hadn’t been weighed down by the stress that’s consumed you all day. He keeps himself quiet as he watches you laugh, his heart missing a beat.

“There it is. My favorite sound in the world,” he smiles so endearingly at you, so breathtakingly gorgeous, it causes your stomach to twist and churn at the sight of God’s most perfect masterpiece. “I was worried that I wasn’t going to hear it today since all you’d been doing was scolding me.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?” you reply with a light poke to his abdomen, his soft chuckles intermingling with yours in the close space between your mouths. “I can’t believe you went through all that for me.”

He captures your hand, bestowing a soft kiss on the ridges of your knuckles. “It’s worth the price.” He looks so dreamy like this, picture-perfect, a handsome prince with a devilish grin.

“I’m gonna have to apologize to Beru on your behalf.” You watch how pretty the rosy shade of his lips looks upon your skin, entranced. That, too, is picture-perfect. “You can’t keep torturing him like that, Jin. Just how many times has it been already? He’s just a kid.”

“Do that later.” He places your hand on his cheek, his stare so soft, it’s almost imploring. “Spoil me first.” Your lover sinks his face in the dip of your palm, nuzzling against it with his eyes closed. “I may have been a bit naughty today, yes, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t work hard during the raid.”

“You just said you were doing nothing but standing there while picturing me naked.”

“But I’ve missed you." He resorts to his ultimate weapon, winning your heart with his raspy voice and his pleading eyes. “I miss you so much, baby… Don’t you miss me?”

The longing sigh, the soft blush plating his cheeks, the glimmering blue eyes—he’s cute, so cute, which is such a weird thing to say as you never thought that he and the word cute could belong in the same sentence. Who cares if he's gaslighting you now, right? He’s pretty.

“God, what am I going to do with you?” You mutter, followed by a playful roll of your eyes. With a doting smile coating your lips, you spread your arms for him. “Come here.”

Jinwoo wastes no time, burying his face in your chest and holding you so tightly that he almost steals all the air in your lungs. You laugh, the sweet, hushed sound reserved only for his ears to hear. “Big baby,” you croon, cradling his head close. He pays no heed to anything anymore. You can call him whatever he wants; he no longer cares. No, the Gods can burn down the world to ashes right now, and he’d still refuse to leave your embrace. He’s finally home, where he belongs, and he just wants to submerge himself in this moment and memorize every detail—the sound of your breathing, the beats that your heart sings, this sweet serenity you bring him, the warmth and the softness of your skin, the scent that intoxicates him with both love and desire—everything.

He wishes that you’d let him stay like this for a while, while you beg the heavens to let you have this moment forever. It makes you feel worthy, special, needed, to be the only one in this universe who can offer him this sense of solace.

You card your fingers through his hair, his raven strands smoother than silk. And when you brush a tender kiss on his forehead, he lets out a soft sigh, relieved and contented, as if a single kiss from you managed to wash away all the burden the world had bestowed upon his shoulders.

Jinwoo closes his lids, letting you stroke his hair like a child. He relishes the intimacy as your scent fills him, grateful for the comfort you offer him simply by just being here in his embrace.

Seconds pass by, a company to his steady breathing. Guided by the quietude of your bedroom, your thoughts begin to wander. “Jinwoo…”

“Hmm?”

“These foster kids of yours,” you begin with a joke. “What do they think of me?”

His eyes slowly flutter open as a smile ornaments his lips. “Let's see... The knights think of you as their queen,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the skin that covers your heart. “The mages think of you as a goddess that needs to be worshipped, which is honestly true,” he flirts, as smoothly as always. “The ants see you as their mother, and Kaisel loves you like a pet loves its owner. You can tell by how much he wags his tail when he’s around you, right?”

“Right,” you reply fondly, recalling the way the wyvern always bows his head low before you, his tail swaying back and forth as he waits for your gentle hands to pet his scales. “What about Iron?”

“Iron thinks you’re a great cook. He loves the cookies you baked for him before. He did not like the ones our daughter made him.” You exchange soft laughter with your husband. The memory of your daughter stuffing a dozen burnt cookies into the warrior’s mouth never failed to tickle your stomach.

“Beru…” Jinwoo continues, humming lowly as he mulls about it. “Well, Beru admires you for being the only person who can put me in my place. And he thinks of you as, and I quote, the worthy bearer of my king’s seeds, so he—”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that already, thanks,” you mutter. Hearing that title the second time doesn’t make it any less mortifying. “And Igris? Does he ever talk about me?”

For a moment, Jinwoo turns hushed, uncertain if he should reveal the truth. “Igris… thinks of you as my biggest weakness,” he murmurs, causing you to stiffen in response. He runs a hand down your backside, reassuring you before he elaborates further. “He thinks you’re the one thing that I can’t live without. He worries about your safety constantly, knowing that I would be as good as dead if you weren't there with me. He cares about you as much as I do. He’s even sworn to protect you with his life.”

With how quiet and tender these words flow past his lips, you can tell that he doesn’t simply reiterate Igris’ words. They come from the bottom of his heart, too. You tighten your hold around him, burying your nose in his hair. “I’ll always be safe, I promise.”

“I’ll make sure you are,” he vows, shutting his lids and sinking into your embrace once more, thankful for this moment.

“Tell Igris I said thank you, okay?”

“No need, baby. He already knows.”

He does? Oh… Right. “He’s always with you, huh? Every one of your soldiers.”

“Since they’re connected to my shadow, yeah. They’re part of me now.”

“And they… can see and hear everything that’s going on between us?”

Jinwoo blinks before a peal of his deep laughter reverberates to your skin, tickling the dip of your cleavage. You can tell he already knows where you’re going with this. “Mm-hmm, they have their eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Always?”

“Always.” He pulls away just enough to take a good look at you, a little smile playing on his lips. “What is it? Are you worried they might be watching us right now?”

“A little bit,” you answer reluctantly, feeling rather childish for even bringing this topic out in the open. You’ve been with the Shadow Monarch for years. Surely, his shadows must have seen everything by now, and yet… You can’t help but long for a moment of privacy. Tonight, especially. “I know you just told them to disappear, but they can still hear us, can’t they? They can close their eyes when you tell them to, but it’s not like they can control their hearing, right?”

“That’s right.” He’s not bothered by it in the slightest. If anything, it amuses him. “They can still hear us, yes, but there’s nothing to worry about. They’re very loyal to me, and they respect my privacy more than anything. They know better than to listen in on our private moments.”

“Beru and his gang literally popped out a minute ago.”

“Yeah, but that’s Beru.” He speaks of him as if the Ant King were this stubborn child that he’d given up to control a long time ago. “They’re gone now.” Seeing how your focus is still somewhere else, he gently grabs your face, trapping your gaze and holding it still. “You’re thinking about them when you should’ve been focusing on me—your husband who’s been craving for your attention all day. You’re breaking my heart, Princess.”

“I want to focus on you, darling; that’s why I’m asking you this. There’s something I want to do with you, and knowing that they can hear us, I… can’t help but feel a bit…” Your voice shrinks to a murmur as fire licks your cheeks. “…embarrassed.”

Jinwoo examines you for a moment, taking in the way you turned flushed so adorably as you spoke your words. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any cuter,” he comments, adoring you. “I could ask them to go on another patrol if that could make you feel better. You just want us to be alone, right?”

You answer with a nod. He can sense the guilt that radiates off you for asking something so selfish. “All right,” he assures you with a light kiss on the top of your head. “Give me a second.”

They begin to gleam, his irises, switching from sapphires into brilliant amethyst as his magic power exudes. He then closes his eyes, spending a brief moment to spread a mental command to his soldiers. By the time his lids flicker open, they’ve returned to the gentle cobalts that you’ve grown to cherish more than anything. “There. They’re gone now.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. I asked Igris to keep them in check, just in case.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out in relief, tension leaving your body. “Sorry for asking you this. I didn’t mean to be so selfish, but…”

“It’s no problem, baby.” Your husband runs his hand gently down your naked arm, enjoying the soft feel of your skin under his fingertips. “I know how important privacy is to you. And don’t worry, they’ll be gone until I summon them back. We have this moment all to ourselves now. That being said…” Like a snake shedding its skin, his previous soft smile morphs into a naughty smirk. “What is it that you’re planning to do to me that you don’t want my shadow soldiers to know?”

“Nothing.” And yet, you can’t seem to look at him in the eyes. “I, umm… I just wanted to ask you some questions.”

His fingers have now slid down to your thigh, gliding against the satin of your nightgown. “Dirty questions?”

“J-just questions.”

“Hmm,” he purrs in dissatisfaction. The sound so sultry, it elevates your heart rate by tenfold. “Can’t say I’m not a little bit disappointed by that, Sweetheart. Will I, at least, get a reward if I agree?”

“I mean, you can ask me anything you want, too. I’ll answer them honestly.”

“Anything?”

You’re already regretting it, even now. You didn’t think it would be a big deal for him, but knowing Jinwoo… Of course, he’ll take every opportunity he can get to rile you up in the best way possible. “Anything… I guess…”

He snickers at your uncertainty. “Well, I’d be a fool to refuse that.” A little glimpse of his fangs grace your eyes as he grins, already looking so pleased and confident to play your game. “You better live up to your words, Sweetheart. Or, don’t, it’s up to you. I’ll be enjoying this in one way or another because if you run away, I’ll have a reason to punish you.”

It feels like you’re already losing before you even begin. God, this whole thing is a mistake, isn't it? “I-I’ll go first. If you could only keep one shadow soldier for the rest of your life, and another one for me, who would you choose?”

His whole expression changes. Saying that he looks utterly dissatisfied by it would be an understatement. “That’s your question? Really?”

Okay, that might have been a little boring, but— “I’m curious about who your favorite shadow is, sue me. And don’t look at me like that, Jinwoo, I already said I wouldn’t ask you anything dirty. And you better not, too!”

“Can’t promise you that, my love,” he tosses another smirk toward your direction. “Well, let’s see…” To your surprise, he takes a moment to ponder to himself. You realize as you examine his expression that he holds every soldier in his army dearly, caring for them just the same. Asking him this question carries the same weight as asking a parent who their favorite child is. “I think I’d take Igris,” Jinwoo answers after a while. “Not only is he strong, he was the first high-rank shadow I obtained, so he’s special to me in a way. He’s also the most loyal, most responsible out of everyone else. I trust him with my life if it comes down to it.”

“I thought you’d say it would be a tie between him and Beru.”

He smiles, happy to see how you could predict his answer perfectly. “That’s true, and that’s why I’m choosing him, too. For you.”

“You’d give me Beru? Even though he praises you non-stop, worships you like a God?”

“That’s exactly why I’m assigning him to you,” he grimaces at the thought. “Igris is more serious and mature. Personality-wise, he suits me better. I like the fact that he doesn’t talk much, and yet he knows me better than anyone else. I would enjoy the comforting silence between us, the way I always have. Beru, on the other hand, is much more… enthusiastic. He’s got a lot of personality and can be a little high-maintenance. I have no doubt you two would get along and be trouble together. You both drive me crazy.”

You find hilarity in his words. “Beru would cry if he heard about this.”

“He won’t. He loves you just the same. He has a statue of you in the shadow realm—I’ve told you about that, right?”

“You have.” And you would’ve chuckled at that had a grim thought never occurred in your mind, but it did, and now it’s all you can think about. You try to refrain yourself from asking, but your curiosity swells faster than you can control your tongue. “Jinwoo, when I die… Will you turn me into your shadow soldier? Or would you just let me go and bury me?”

Your husband freezes at the question, the humor gone from his face. The abrupt change of topic leaves him with his tongue tied, but the second your question sinks in, his answer is immediate. “You’re not going to die.”

He states it like a fact, indisputable, and it pains you a little to press him further on this, but you must know. “Everyone will die eventually—”

“Not you.” The firmness in his tone stuns you, silencing you at once. “I won’t let you die. I'll do everything in my power to save you. You’re mine. Nothing will ever change that. You will always be with me, right here in my arms, just like this.” His hold is possessive, perhaps even selfish, but beneath all that, his heart races when you place your palm over his chest as if merely the thought of losing you scares him to death.

You alleviate your voice, pacifying him with a gentle caress to his cheek. “It’s just a hypothetical question, darling… I’m just curious, that’s all.”

His mood has changed completely, the same way the tension between you turns palpable after your question rings in the air. “It’s not something I want to think about.”

Regret starts to feast on your heart, causing you to feel remorseful for bringing this topic to the table. “I’m sorry…” You kiss his lips once, hoping it will ease whatever storm rages in his chest, if only for a little. “I’ll rephrase the question, okay? Have you ever wondered about having me as your shadow? Even if it was only a fleeting thought, did that possibility ever occur to you?”

His jaw remains clenched tight. Altering the words doesn’t change the fact that you still die in this scenario, and he won’t allow himself to walk down that path, even if it is only an imaginary situation. “I would never turn you into a shadow.” Jinwoo doesn’t answer whether he has thought about it or not. All he informs you is the decision he had made many, many years ago. “You’re not a possession. You're a person—my person. And as much as I love the idea of having you by my side forever, it would be the worst thing. Losing your humanity and free will… I could never do that to you.“

You nibble on your bottom lip. His sincerity, the way his voice quivers a little when he utters his words, they bring joy to you, spreading warmth to your every nerve. But even so, you cannot deny that there’s a part of you that turns crestfallen from his answer. The same side of you that thinks:

So… he’d rather let me go forever than have a part of me with him..?

“You’re so kind, aren’t you?” You say in a voice barely above a whisper, your heart weighing you down like an anchor. “If I were you… If I had the power to make you stay when God takes you away from me… I would’ve turned you into my shadow without a second thought. That’s just how much I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know it’s selfish, I know it’s cruel, and I know you won’t be the same person as you are now, but… I just can’t imagine a life without you.”

His expression softens as he takes in your words, his joy unfolding like a flower at the thought of you ready to defy the Gods just to be with him. But you don’t own this power. You don’t know how terrifying it could be, the consequences it brings, the darkness that surrounds him, the sins that gnaw at his humanity.

“Sweetheart, listen…” Jinwoo brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gently stroking your cheek. “The truth is… I have thought about it. I think I’ve mentioned it before—how scared I am of losing you. I dread every second that passes by when you’re not standing next to me, so, yes, of course, I’d considered that possibility before, more times than I’d like to admit. It’s the only way I know to keep you with me, as of now. But each time the thought popped into my head, the more I came to realize that… I could never do that to you. I won’t take away your freedom, your personality, your desire… If you became my shadow, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me, and you’d be bound to obey my command no matter what.”

“But Beru can talk to you. That means I can do it too one day, right?”

“Beru can talk because he’s a high-rank soldier. If you were turned into one, you wouldn’t be, and you wouldn’t get any chance to increase your rank because I would never allow you to go to battle. I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of you getting hurt. And then you’d start feeling that you lost your purpose, not being able to serve me the way my other soldiers could. And I’d be constantly worried to death, not knowing what you were thinking. I’d start wondering if you truly felt happy that I resurrected you, or if you felt trapped with me, that you wished to move on.”

It only dawns on you, then, just how much your husband has thought about this through. You might have asked him out of curiosity, but Jinwoo already thinks about it as a possibility, one that he chooses to decline no matter what. The pain of losing you would strike deeper than a javelin through the chest, but he’d rather carry that wound for eternity than be shackled by the guilt of turning his beloved into anything but human.

He draws you toward him, eliminating every inch of space between you. “I love you,” he whispers near your ear, his face twisted in agony. His arms ensnare you by the shoulders, embracing you so closely as if you’d vanish into thin air if he weren’t holding onto you tightly enough. “I love you so much, Sweetheart. I would do anything to keep you safe. I’d die a thousand deaths just to protect you, so please… Don’t talk about leaving me.”

You feel tears filling your sockets before you know it, and you can blame your pregnancy hormones for it, but you know you wouldn’t have felt this way if it wasn’t for the heartbreak in his voice. “I’m sorry…” You wrap your arms around him, your voice a quivering murmur as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry I brought this up…”

“It’s all right.” He kisses your temple, his hand skating up and down your spine. “I know you were just curious.”

You're grateful that you can keep your tears from breaking. You pull away, doleful. “I completely ruined the mood, huh?”

He chuckles softly. “No, you didn’t. Come here.” Guiding you toward him, your husband raises himself to sit on the bed, his back leaning against the headboard as he gathers you in his lap. “You okay?”

You answer with a weak nod.

You’re not okay, not really, he can tell. Jinwoo tucks a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear, his smile soft with a hint of melancholy. He hopes a little chaff would lighten the tension. “So, Miss Necromancer. You’d turn me into your shadow in a heartbeat, huh?”

“Well, no, not anymore,” you pout a little. “I understand how you feel now. I wouldn’t want something like that to happen to you, too.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. I was wishing you’d stay selfish.” He settles his hands on the curve of your hips, eliciting fire upon your skin even with your nightgown staying in between. “I’m strong, you know. If you turned me into your shadow, I would be able to talk to you just like this. I could protect you. I could always be with you, hidden in your shadow. And we could do so, so many things together. Fun things.”—his words skate over the shell of your ear—“Dirty things.”—his lips moving lower to brush a featherlight kiss to the spot below your lobe—“Wherever we want.”—down to your jawline—“Anytime we want.”—to your neck—“However we want.” He ends his journey with a wet kiss on your bare shoulder, his tongue pressing flat against your skin, his teeth scraping deep enough to make you squirm but far from bruising you.

You giggle amidst your tattered breaths. “You sound so happy about it.”

“Of course I do, baby.” His smirk grows. “You want me to be with you for eternity. I’ve never felt so wanted.” He leans close, his lips a mere inch away from yours. “Do you still have depressing questions to ask, or can I entertain you with the things I’d do to you if I became your shadow?” Unlike him, who can easily put a veil on his troubled emotions for the sake of your happiness, your worry still shows no matter how much you try to conceal it. Noticing that, he cups your cheek. “What is it?”

You shake your head, forcing out a smile. “Nothing.”

He can see right through it, knowing that you’re holding back for his sake. Kissing you briefly on the lips, he says, “Go ahead and ask, love. It’s all right.”

Your hesitation halts you for another second before you choose to come clean. “Since you said you wouldn’t turn me into your shadow… If I di—if something happened to me,” you quickly correct yourself. “And I could no longer be with you… Would you ever consider… remarrying someone else?”

He stops. “What?”

“B-because, you know—our daughter will need a mother figure and I… I don’t want you to feel lonely and…” You start to panic, cursing yourself internally for being such a fucking idiot. Yes, you were curious about it, but still—what the hell was that question?! Perhaps it was born out of your desperation to be consoled. You understand clearly how your husband chooses to honor your death instead of keeping your soul trapped with him, and yet, loneliness shrouds you, still. This is you seeking some form of reassurance. This is you trying to heal the thought of being separated, of being… left behind. It’s pathetic, you know that, and now that the words have flown past your mouth, you feel a hundred times worse. “N-never mind. I was being stupid, I’m sorry.”

As you twist restlessly on his lap, your face burning with shame, Jinwoo watches you with nothing but solemnity written in his eyes. He doesn’t laugh at you, nor does he find this situation amusing in the slightest. If you think he’d move on with his life after your death—if you think there’s even a tiny part of him that could forget you, the center of his universe, you’re awfully mistaken.

He holds your face with one hand, his touch possessive, his eyes intense, filled with promise. “I would never marry anyone else.” The resolution in his voice stops your heart. “No one could ever replace you, Sweetheart, you know that. And our daughter…” He pauses. He knows that a mother’s role in a family is crucial, and he doubts he could fill your shoes no matter how hard he tries, but he just can’t accept having someone else in his heart, in his home, when she doesn’t own your face, your personality, your sweet kiss, your gentle touch, your everything. “I would do anything for her. I would give her all my love, everything I could offer. But I promise you, I would never remarry. You’re the only one for me. You always have, and you’ll always be, even if you were—” He chokes on the word, his voice turning quieter when he continues, “…no longer here with me.”

The same quiver that runs through your fingertips now dances on your lips. “You’re the only one for me, too…”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to remind himself that none of this scenario is true, nor will it happen anytime soon. No, he’ll never allow it to happen. He’ll find a way to save you, even if it means sacrificing his own life for it.

The kiss ends, but none of you finds the will to break free from each other’s embrace, his voice low and cracking with emotion when he speaks. “You're the only one who’s been in my heart and mind. You're everything to me. Nothing could ever change that, Sweetheart. Nothing.”

“I know,” you plant a chaste kiss on his lips once more. “I feel the same way. And I figured you’d say that, but… I just wanted to hear it in person.”

He mirrors your smile, just as tender, understanding that some feelings are meant to be spoken as a promise to chase away all fears and doubts in your chest. “And did I answer it well?”

“You answered it perfectly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side, brushing your lips against the dip of his palm. “Thank you, Jin. No more depressing questions, I promise.”

He feels lighter, his face much more relaxed. “No more depressing questions,” he echoes with a playful smile. “What’s up with all the negative thoughts? You were being all playful before.”

“I’m sorry,” you heave a heavy sigh. “It’s just the pregnancy hormones talking, I guess. You know how it is. I can feel like I wanna bawl my eyes out one second, then beat someone to a pulp the next.”

“If those are the only two options available, let's go with crying. You look pretty when you cry.”

Grabbing him by his jaws, you narrow your eyes playfully at him. "I don’t know, Husband, option two sounds really good right now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles in relief, seeing you return to the person you were before. He takes your hand away, intertwining it together with his own. “Is it my turn to ask questions now?”

“Hmm, not yet. One more question, and then you can go.”

“So demanding,” he scrunches his nose cutely. “All right, ask me.”

It only takes a second for you to ponder. “What is the one thing I do that you like the most?”

“One thing you do?” He pretends to ruminate just to tease, elevating the suspense. With one corner of his lips tilting higher than the other, he plays with the thin strap of your nightgown, twisting it around his finger before he moves closer. “You want me to be completely honest with you, baby girl?”

Shivers run through you as his hot breath skims over your collarbone, the tip of his nose brushing against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “O-of course.”

“Hmm…” You can almost feel his mouth on your neck as he purrs, but he doesn’t kiss you there just yet, maintaining the infinitesimal space between his lips and your skin to drive you crazy. “I think I love it when…” He kneads the supple flesh of your thigh. “You’re so needy for me.”

You nearly flinch when he, without warning, clasps his mouth firmly against the side of your throat. The way his deep, husky voice vibrates on your skin, the lightest touch of his tongue against your pulsating vein—it’s starting to be a bit too much. “N-Needy? I don’t think I’ve ever acted that way before.”

“Oh, really?” Your husband pulls away with one of his eyebrows raised, a little amused that you’re denying it. His hand slithers around your waist, his nails raking against the fabric, so eager to tear it apart. “You've never been needy, Sweetheart? Never once asked me to pay attention to you, touch you, hold you, make you feel good?”

You gulp, face aflame. “No…” Seeing how your answer doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, you divert the topic. “Why do you even like it when I’m being needy anyway?”

He reciprocates with a sly smirk, his eyes traversing down from your neck, your collarbone, to your cleavage before he flicks them back to your face. Still with his smirk intact, his voice turns low and dark, dripping with desire. “Because I love knowing that you want me. I love having that power over you. The knowledge that you need me, crave my touch, that I can give you pleasure and take care of you. It drives me mad.”

His gaze locks onto your face, taking a moment to appreciate your beauty, the changes in your expression, and the anticipation in your eyes. “Besides…” Two of his lean fingers trace your jawline before they rest on your chin, lifting it up to take a more thorough look at your features. You appear so innocent under the soft, golden glow of your night light, so adorable and pretty, almost doll-like, and it awakens something primal within him. Something that he’s afraid he won’t be able to tame should you continue staring at him like this. “Do you know how cute you look when you want me to touch you? When you’re whining and begging for me to give you what you want?”

You can’t form a word, hypnotized under his gaze, controlled even before he begins pulling on your strings. He traps your chin, tugging it low enough for you to part your lips for him. “And this face you’re making right now…” He breathes out heavily as lust starts to coat his irises. “I want to ruin you so badly.” He’s already thinking about it, to run his tongue across the seam of your lips before he pushes it inside, tasting you, devouring you. “I want to make a mess out of you, to mark you as mine in places that everyone can see.”

A certain glow in his eyes causes the soft hairs on your nape to rise. Every nerve of your body pleads for his touch, but he won’t grant your wish just yet. “But I have to be patient, don’t I, Sweetheart?” Jinwoo continues with a glimpse of cockiness written on his lips, knowing he already has you dancing in the palm of his hand. “After all, the game just started. Although…” He leans close, his lips barely touching your ear as he speaks hushedly. “I doubt I could resist it if my sweet girl starts acting all needy for me now.”

You force out a scoff even when your body is eager to have his taste in your mouth. “You wish.”

He simpers at your reaction, entertained by your desperate attempt to mask embarrassment. “Don’t try to deny it, love. I can see right through you. The way you’re clenching your legs together” —his hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing deep into your skin— “the way you bite your lip,” he kisses you, catching your lower lip between his own. He keeps it brief, just the lightest of bites and the purest of kisses, but the soft, sultry moan he makes on purpose is anything but innocent. “You’re already getting needy, aren’t you?”

Your stomach somersaults at how his smirk breaks so naturally, so seductively on his lips. Afraid you’ll succumb to your desire, you push a hand to his face, returning the safe space between you. “Your turn to ask me now.”

Jinwoo lets out a small laugh at your childish act, gently prying your hand away from him. “Someone’s avoiding the question,” he says, amused. “All right, my turn. I’m going to make sure you answer mine, okay, Sweetheart?”

The subtle threat only excites you. “Okay. Just don’t ask anything weird. Or perverted.”

Your husband chuckles, diving his head back to the dip of your neck again. He tugs on your strap with his teeth, his hand now brazenly glides over your chest, feeling the way your sensitive bud hardens under the satin but leaving it ignored—for now. “But you’d like the perverted ones, wouldn’t you?” His grin blooms on your skin before he places a warm, open-mouthed kiss on your clavicle. Your fingers clench into fists, doing everything you can to suppress your moan. When he breaks away, he carries himself nonchalantly as if he didn’t just grind his teeth against your skin a second ago. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll behave,” he finishes with a coquettish grin. “For your sake.”

“J-Just give me the damn question.”

“Patience is a virtue, my love. Let me think for a second. I don’t want to come up with something… boring.” His gaze turns playful when it meets yours, referring to your earlier question.

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“Me? Make fun of you? Never,” he coos as his smirk proves otherwise. “If you could change one part of my body, what would it be? But, of course, if you think everything is perfect, you can say that, too.”

You send him a flat stare. “Your dick. Would’ve liked it better if it was bigger.”

He laughs out loud at your answer, his seductive smirk morphing into a perfect view of his marbled teeth. He appears so young like this, refreshing and sweet. “Oh, baby, you know I don’t lack in that area, don’t you? If you were saying something about my face, I would’ve believed you, but that…” He snorts in amusement. “Come on now.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.” You throw a playful jab at his stomach. Well, it is true that he’s packing more than necessary down there, but… You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, are you? “Where does this confidence even come from?”

He chuckles, catching your hand. “Of course, I’m confident. After all…” His fingers slide past your elbow, up to your shoulder, traveling over soft skin until they cup the side of your neck. His thumb rubs over your lips, his eyes misted with desire when he says, “You look too satisfied most of the time. If not, always.”

You can feel his digit applying pressure on your lips, wanting you to take his finger inside and give him a preview of what you can do with your mouth later when he makes you drop to your knees. You curl your hand around his wrist, a quick reminder for him to behave. “Maybe it’s just because you’re good at using it, not because of the size itself.”

Jinwoo smiles almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming in the dimness of your bedroom. “Careful now. I’m gonna get cocky.”

“I’m not complimenting you, dummy. I’m trying to make an argument!”

Your attitude only amuses him further. “Oh, no, Sweetheart, I can tell you’re complimenting me. Don’t worry, I know I’m the best. And I know you know that, too.”

You roll your eyes despite your heart thrashing against your ribcages in response. “Next question.”

“Is my dick really your final answer?”

“Next!”

He chortles, as deep and as soft as he speaks. He can honestly play with you like this for hours. Watching you turn flustered, all fidgety and cute, solely because of him… That’s the kind of satisfaction he seeks after a long day. “You know there's a consequence you need to pay for not answering that one honestly, right? I’m starting to think maybe you want to be punished.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. God, yes. “Of course not,” you scoff. “I just don’t feel like answering ‘cause you’re being annoying.”

“Changing the rules as you please, huh? That does sound like you. Always not playing fair.” But he likes it. Oh, he loves it when you’re not playing fair. It gives him more reasons to teach you a lesson afterward. “Fine, if you’re so stubborn about it, then I’ll ask you this: if you had to choose one of my features to keep, what would it be?”

A question like this again? Is he fishing for compliments? That’s a bit cute, you can’t lie, seeing how he’s so needy for your praise. Unfortunately, you have a role to play and a facade to maintain. “That’s hardly any different.” You exaggerate your complaint with a snort. “Why can’t you just ask me what I want to have for my birthday or something?”

“Because I already know what you want,” he replies with a cock of his head. Arrogance has never looked this good on a man before.

“You do?” You don't think you’ve ever given any clues about what you want for your present this year.

“Mm-hmm. And I can’t wait to show it to you.” Lifting you by the waist, he shifts your weight until you stand on your knees before him, his face now on the same level as your chest. He tugs on your strap, watching it slide off your shoulder until it pools around your elbow. Hungry eyes feast on your exposed skin, one side of your chest caressed by the cold air before the heat takes over in the shape of his hand.

Jinwoo kneads your supple mound in his large palm, his fingers squeezing, teasing, itching to do more as desire mists his gaze. He encloses his mouth firmly around your breast, groaning softly at the taste of your skin on his tongue. The vibration runs straight south to your core, almost making you writhe when he combines it with a gentle nip of his teeth.

“In fact, I’ll give it to you all day, baby,” he suckles on your chest, tongue flicking against your protruding tip. “All night.” He moves to plant a wet, lingering kiss on the underside, breaking goosebumps along your skin. “I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world, you’ll see.”

Your breathing quickens under his ministration, your fingers grasping tightly against the roots of his hair as he maps his way to your other breast. You feel so much more sensitive today, your toes curling even from the lightest suck of your bud. Is it because he hasn’t touched you in a while? Or perhaps your pregnancy? You honestly can’t care less. “My birthday present—ah—It’s not s-sex, is it?”

He chuckles a moment before he unclasps his mouth. A smear of red rose blooms upon your skin, ready to turn purple by the morning. “No, honey, it’s not sex,” he looks up with his head tilted slightly to the side, staring at you with stray hairs falling over his pretty eyes, his gaze as titillating as his sultry smile. “Could be, if you want to.”

You chew on your lip. You can play hard to get as always, but you know nothing drives him faster to the edge than you acting so docile and submissive for him. This game of push-and-pull has been going on for a while. It should be about time you have a little fun of your own, right? “I think I’d like that, too… To have you as my present.”

It stuns him for a second, your confession. His eyes darken, turning as pitch-black as the sky that’s been deprived of its jewels.

Jinwoo draws a shaky breath, his grip on your waist growing alarmingly tight. He wants to describe it, all the filthy things he wants to do to you, but he knows if he just lets one slip out—when he’s already in the state of losing his sanity—he’ll end up demonstrating each one of them right here, right now. And you’re trying to keep this game innocent, aren't you? Is there a reason why?

He can see the desire in your eyes, the need to be with him, but just how far are you willing to go? Just how far can he touch you, be rough with you? He needs you to start it first, to give him more than just a sign. He wants to make sure that you’re ready. Until then, until he can hear you say what it is that you desire, he’ll respect this boundary between you, no matter how thin it is. He won’t cross it till you beg him for it.

But… A filthy thought resurfaces, tugging on the corner of his lips. A little poke can’t hurt.

***

#sung jinwoo #jinwoo smut #solo leveling #jinwoo x reader #jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin woo #jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo smut #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo fluff #solo leveling smut #solo leveling fics #kana.fics #fics.pillowtalk

720 notes · View notes

oskea93 · 9 months ago

Text

Kansas Anymore (2)

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst, suggested smut, fluff. ✶ Chapter One ✶

■ Italics = Flashback ■ A/N: You guys are amazing! I just want to say thank you so much for loving this story and follwing the tale of Riley and Tyler ❤️ ■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can't wait to hear from y'all

TL: @ellesmythe @18lkpeters @hookslove1592, @djs8891, @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek

“You know when you said that we were going to a show, I didn’t expect it to involve horses and mud.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, my heels sinking into the soggy ground with each step. I had been in Arkansas for less than a month – choosing to attend the college that my father spoke so highly of growing up. As each day passed, it was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to pack all my things and head back home.

My roommate Sarah, who had grown up in the area, laughed as she turned to face me. "Welcome to the South! This is what we call a rodeo. Trust me, you'll have fun."

I glanced around at the bustling fairground. Families gathered around food stalls, the smell of popcorn and barbecue hanging in the air. Children ran past us, their boots splashing in puddles, their laughter ringing out above the distant sounds of country music. Cowboys in worn jeans and hats moved with purpose, leading majestic horses by the reins.

"Fun, huh?" I muttered, trying to pull my heel out of yet another patch of mud. "It looks like a real blast.” Sarah grinned and tugged at my arm, leading me toward the main arena. "Oh, come on! You haven't even seen the best parts yet. The bull riding, barrel racing, and don't forget the rodeo clowns. They’re hilarious!"

As we walked, I noticed the vibrant colors of the stands selling cowboy hats, boots, and all sorts of Western memorabilia. There was an infectious energy in the air. People greeted each other with wide smiles and friendly nods, embodying the warmth of Southern hospitality that Sarah had talked about.

We passed a group of teenagers gathered around a mechanical bull. They cheered each other on, daring one another to take a ride. Sarah nudged me, "Think you could last eight seconds on that thing?"

I shook my head, laughing. "No way! I'd be thrown off in a heartbeat."

A mischievous smirk broke across her face. “Never know till you try.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk away, but her grip on my arm stopped me. “Just once.” Her eyes widened with a playful challenge. “Have a little fun, Riley.”

My eyes glanced between her and the machinery behind her, taking in the sight as a teenage boy was thrown from the contraption, his friends commending his effort with hoots and hollers. The boy, though dusting himself off, wore a wide grin as he rejoined his group, their camaraderie infectious.

I sighed, feeling a mix of reluctance and curiosity. “I’m not wearing the right clothes for that thing,” I said, the excuse as flimsy as it sounded. “Plus, I could break a bone or som—”

“You riding or not, darlin’?” came a loud voice from behind me.

Sarah’s eyes shifted to the voice, and I turned to meet the face of the commenter. He was a tall fucker – had to be over six foot with an overinflated ego. His boots were dusty, and his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but I could still see the arrogance etched in his smirk. “Excuse me?” I replied, my tone a bit harsher than intended.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning casually against the gate. “You gonna give it a go or just stand there making excuses?” His cocky smile shone bright, and I could practically taste the mockery in his voice. “Too scared you're gonna break a nail?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, not out of embarrassment but anger. I clenched my fists and took a step forward, feeling the rough texture of the ground beneath my boots. “Listen, cowboy,” I said, my voice steady despite the irritation bubbling inside. “I’m not here to play games or prove anything to you.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes darting between us. I could sense her unease, but I wasn’t about to back down. The man’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension he was stoking.

“Prove something to me?” he chuckled, pushing off the gate and taking a step closer. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to prove anything to me.” His eyes slowly moved up my body, lingering in a way that made my skin flush. “Just to yourself.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk centered on his chiseled face. Clearly, he thought he had me all figured out.

I turned back to Sarah, her eyes showing concern as I handed off my purse and coat. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley.” Her tone shadowed her eyes. “Tyler’s just being an asshole. He’s like that with all the girls in town—” She paused shortly. “You’re just the only one who’s ever talked to him like that.”

“Let’s see what you got, city girl!” The Tyler guy hooped, causing those close enough to center their attention on the situation.

Rolling my eyes, I hastily removed my purse, pushing the bag into Sarah’s arms. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley,” Sarah's voice now hesitant as she looked at me with concern. “We can just go somewhere else and have fun, forget about that guy.”

I shook my head in protest, my resolve hardening as I cast one last glance at the idiot across the room. His smirk fueled my determination. “No way. I’m not gonna give that jerkoff the satisfaction of watching me wuss out,” I declared, my voice tinged with defiance.

As I pushed up the sleeves of my designer shirt, a small act of rebellion that would have my mother clutching her inherited pearls in horror, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was my moment to show that I was not someone to be pushed around, not someone to be intimidated by an urban cowboy fool at a fucking rodeo.

I confidently approached the bull, climbing onto the steel, gripping the handle with white-knuckled determination.

"Hold on tight, darlin," the elderly operator smiled warmly, his weathered face lined with experience and mischief. With a practiced hand, he flipped the switch, setting the mechanical bull into motion.

As the bull lurched forward, the world around me seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colors and sounds. The contraption bucked and spun with unpredictable ferocity, testing every ounce of my balance and resolve. I clenched the reins tightly, my muscles straining as I fought to stay atop the bucking beast. Sarah’s cheers blended with the roar of the crowd, a chorus of encouragement that spurred me on.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, my focus narrowing to the rhythmic movements of the mechanical beast. Just as I started to think I might actually last the full eight seconds, the bull gave a particularly violent twist, sending me flying into the padded arena.

I let out a groan of both relief and exhaustion, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I managed to flip myself onto my back. As I lay there, breathing heavily, the cool night sky spread out above me like a vast, dark canvas adorned with twinkling stars.

Sarah's figure quickly loomed over me, her expression a mix of concern and relief etched across her features. With a swift movement, she crouched down beside me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry and care as she assessed my well-being.

I slowly nodded my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I think so," I replied, my sentence trailing off momentarily as I gathered my thoughts. "Was that okay?" I inquired, seeking reassurance after the whirlwind of the mechanical bull ride.

Sarah's expression shifted from slight confusion at my question to a mischievous smile that lit up her face. "Are you kidding me, Riley?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pride and excitement. "That was more than okay. You had Tyler Owens, the reigning rodeo champion, dropping his jaw so far to the ground that he's gonna need some help putting it back in place."

We shared a laugh as she helped me off the mat, my black slacks now dotted with dust and dirt.

"You did good, little girl," the older man remarked with a warm smile as we exited the gates of the rodeo arena. I shyly thanked him, feeling a surge of pride at his encouraging words, but my smile quickly faded as a tall stranger approached us, his hands casually tucked into his denim pockets.

"Wasn't expecting you to last a second, city girl," he remarked with a smirk that seemed to gleam in the dim light of the night. "Gotta hand it to you though, you make riding a bull look easy."

I met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, my own smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, well," I retorted, taking a step closer to him, the adrenaline of the ride still coursing through my veins. "It's all in the hips, really."

My words hung in the air between us, a playful challenge laced with a hint of confidence. “Is that right?” His voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gonna have to teach me your ways then.”

A flicker of a smile danced across my lips, “Me teach you-“ I took a step back. “From what I hear you’re a world-renowned bull rider, probably the best in the county, maybe even the state.” My words boosting his overstrung ego. “I’m sure a bull made of steel is no match for-“ I paused, tilting my head. “What’s your name again?”

“You know my name, darlin.” His words igniting a burn in my stomach.

He arched an eyebrow as I drew near, clearly taken aback by my sudden boldness. His cronies and Sarah exchanged glances, unsure of what was unfolding before them. I could almost taste the tension in the air, thick and crackling with anticipation.

Without a word, I stood before him, my gaze unwavering. The hint of a smirk played on his lips, a challenge in his eyes. But I held my ground, a silent defiance radiating from every fiber of my being. My hand slowly trailing up his flannel covered front, his breath hitching with each touch.

In one swift motion, I reached out and plucked the Stetson hat from his head, the symbol of his false bravado. Placing the hat atop my head, my smile smug as I looked up at him, almost daring him to take it back.

“You shouldn’t let strangers get too close to you, Tyler Owens,” I remarked coolly, the gravel crunching under my heels as I took a step back. “That’s a lesson us city girls learn at a young age.”

10:54am (2.21 hrs since arrival)

“I can’t believe it's been over a year since we’ve seen you and the little bean,” Lilly smiled warmly over her coffee cup, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and longing. “I mean, we get to talk to her on video chat, but it’s just not the same.”

I nodded in agreement, a tinge of guilt flickering in my chest. “Yeah, work has been so hectic, and I never know where you guys are gonna be, especially during the season. Tyler’s like a butterfly – floating wherever the wind blows.”

Lilly chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of understanding. “I know he misses her a lot –” Her sentence paused, a moment of hesitation flitting across her features. “Misses you a lot too.” Her gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and unspoken truths. “He still has that picture of the two of you nestled in his visor.”

The photograph that Lilly had taken two weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Caroline. The storm clouds black as night loomed behind us, a stark contrast to the brightness of our smiles that shone as radiant as the sun in the sky.

Tyler had insisted on capturing the moment, his easy laugh filling the air as he playfully teased about becoming parents. Despite the uncertainty and fear that lingered in the depths of my heart, his unwavering support and infectious optimism had been a beacon of light in the midst of the looming storm.

The diner's door suddenly swung open, and in walked Boone, a towering figure with my four-year-old daughter, Caroline, perched high on his shoulders. "Here she comes, Ms. America!" Boone's southern twang echoed through the small space, causing a few of the older folks to turn their heads in mild disapproval. Caroline's infectious giggle, so reminiscent of her father's, rang out as she played along with the theatrics, her smile radiant as ever.

I watched as the two of them made their way through the diner, drawing smiles and curious glances from the other patrons. Caroline's tiny hand waved enthusiastically at the strangers, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Boone, ever the playful uncle, hammed it up for her, making exaggerated gestures and funny faces that elicited peals of laughter from the little girl perched on his shoulders.

As Boone approached our table, I made space for him in the booth, eagerly awaiting Caroline's arrival. Her tiny hands reached out for me as I gently lifted her off his shoulders, her eyes alight with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy said I could go with him and Uncle Booney when the 'nado comes," she announced proudly. "Daddy said there's gonna be one real soon."

My eyes immediately darted to where Boone still stood, his gaze evading mine as he focused intently on the intricate pattern of the floor tiles. "No," I said firmly, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently grasp Caroline's pigtailed braid. "Sweetheart, it's far too dangerous to go with Daddy and Uncle Boone. You need to stay here with me where it's safe."

Caroline's face began to crumple into a disappointed pout, her lower lip trembling slightly. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity and mischief, now filled with a mixture of defiance and longing. "No, Mommy," she protested, her voice rising in a blend of frustration and determination. "I want to go with Daddy!"

Her attitude shifted suddenly, like a fault line in an earthquake, her small arms crossing over her chest in a display of stubborn defiance. The tension in the room seemed to thicken as her words hung in the air, charged with the raw energy of a child's unwavering will.

I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. My eyes flicked over to Lilly, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Caroline, I'm not having this argument with you," I said firmly, my voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. The tears that had been threatening to spill over now glistened in Caroline's wide green eyes, her lower lip quivering with unshed emotion.

"You're not going, and that's final," I stated, my tone leaving no room for further negotiation. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of my words, the tension between us palpable.

Caroline's shoulders slumped in defeat, her small form trembling with suppressed emotion. A single tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek in a silent testament to her disappointment.

Lilly sat forward, her presence a comforting anchor. "Caroline, honey, Mommy is just trying to keep you safe. Sometimes we have to trust that the grown-ups know what's best for us, even when it's hard to understand."

“But you go with daddy to the nados.” Caroline's matter-of-fact statement catching Lilly off guard, her surprise evident in the way her brow furrowed slightly.

"Well," Lilly began, her voice gentle yet tinged with a sense of hesitation. "It's my job to go with your dad and help with the tornadoes. But if my mom told me not to, then I would listen to her and stay behind." Lilly and I shared a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

We both knew her words were a facade, a carefully constructed lie meant to shield Caroline from the harsh realities of the world. Lilly's mother's disapproval of her association with Tyler and the gang was no secret, a source of tension that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

The chimes above the door sounded again as Tyler stepped across the threshold. His smile on display as he greeted those in the restaurant, sparking a conversation with the random patrons. “Daddy!” Caroline quickly stood on the booth’s seat, her arms waving in the air to get Tyler’s attention.

Tyler waved goodbye to his admirers, his smile growing even wider as he approached our booth. As he drew closer, I could already anticipate the first thing that would escape Caroline's lips—the reminder of how I had told her she couldn't go with him on a chase, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from me.

"Hey there, sweet pea," Tyler greeted Caroline, his voice brimming with affection as he stepped behind the booth. Caroline's arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as he lifted her out of the seat with practiced ease. "Have you gotten something to eat yet?"

Caroline nestled her head against Tyler's shoulder, her small frame shaking with soft sniffles. Concern etched across his face, Tyler gently pressed, "What's wrong, baby?" He reached up to wipe away a stray tear that was making its way down her cheek.

"Mommy won't let me go with you and Uncle Booney for the nado chase," Caroline whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of disappointment and longing.

Tyler's gaze, the same shade of green as Caroline, locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's the deal, Riley?" he inquired, his voice gentle but probing.

My face betrayed my emotions before I could even formulate a response. A wave of unease and protectiveness washed over me as I struggled to find the right words to convey my concerns.

"The deal, Tyler, is that she's just a baby," I began, my voice tinged with a blend of firmness and vulnerability. "She doesn't need to be out in the truck, spinning around in a tornado. It's not safe for you and the guys, and it's definitely not safe for a 4-year-old child."

"I'm not a baby, mommy!" Caroline quipped, her voice filled with a mix of defiance and determination, catching me off guard.

My eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected retort. "Well, you're my baby, little girl, and like I said, it’s too dangerous to be out there with daddy. Maybe when you're a little older – say twenty –“

“Twenty!” Tyler exclaimed. “You can’t have her living in a bubble all her life, Riley.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense as my jaw slacked in immediate anger, my eyes narrowing as Tyler stared back at me. "Excuse me?" I retorted; my voice edged with frustration. "Like you have any control of that, since I'm the primary parent here and you're just someone who comes and goes like the fucking wind you chase!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed as Boone and Lilly stepped forward, "Hey, little bean—" Lilly approached Tyler and Caroline, who was actually crying at this point. My frustration with Tyler causing me to forget that she was right in front of me in his arms.

"Why don’t you come with us and help us sell some t-shirts?" Lilly suggested, her warm smile aimed at Caroline, who sniffled and wiped away her tears.

Boone stepped lightly behind me, his easygoing demeanor a calming presence. "Yeah, who's gonna turn down an adorable kid?" he added with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.

I hastily ran a hand through my hair as Caroline climbed into Lilly's arms, her giggles filling the room and momentarily easing the tension. Tyler's face remained stoic as he sent glares my way, the unspoken emotions between us hanging heavy in the air.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, I met his eyes with a mix of defiance and weariness. The complexities of our relationship, the unresolved issues simmering beneath the surface, were laid bare in that moment of silent confrontation.

Tyler's voice was low and filled with hurt as he spoke, "That was a really shitty thing to do, Riley. To bring that up in front of Caroline – make me look like a bad dad. Real nice."

I lowered my head in frustration as Tyler stormed past me, his steps purposeful and heavy. The hushed whispers of those around us mingled with the clinking of cutlery, casting a spotlight on our tense exchange. With a heavy sigh, I gathered my composure, steeling myself against the onslaught of prying eyes and whispered conversations. The weight of their scrutiny bore down on me, a reminder of the fragility of our private struggles in a very public setting.

#tyler owens #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens imagine #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #twisters movie #twisters #glen powell imagine #glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell fluff #glen powell smut #glen powell x reader #Spotify

342 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 7 months ago

Text

Day.20 ~ Haunting and pausing ~ Hallowtober

Thranduil x wife!reader

warning : fluff, kissing

summary : Four times a year, the royal couple has to ride out of Mirkwood into the forest to look for the perfect components for the crowns. And so, in the beautiful dark of autumn, the couple rode out again, with a few quick discoveries and loving gestures like last year. What could be more beautiful than love in the fall, when you're bound to live forever anyway?

info : So the hallowtober is finally moving on and I will catch up on the missed ones, but I am happy to finally be able to give you something again. Enjoy reading :)

masterlist

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

Life is transient for some, a curse for some, and a blessing for some. But for elves, life is as insignificant as the blink of an eye. It was as good as non-existent for them, why should it be when you live forever, when you break away from this world and go to a better realm into the light of eternity, where everything is so beautiful that you feel like you are among the stars in the sky.

That's just how it was and that's how it would always be, not only for the elves, the old and new creatures of the world, who would last for centuries and millennia before they disappeared and became legends and myths like elves.

That was life in Middle-earth and that would not change, not for the simple farmers of men, the dwarves in the mountains or the Mirkwood King Thranduil and his wife, his beloved light of life.

Both had seen the seasons come and go and while her husband took no conditional joy in any of the repeating events, he was all the more pleased when he saw the shine in her eyes when autumn came to the surrounding lands.

When the colors changed to a reddish orange and the sun seemed to bathe everything in a liquid gold, it was the months, the passing moments that pleased the queen the most, especially the day when the royal couple set out to find new parts for the crowns that they had made every year. ,,If you're ready, my light, we can go,” she heard his voice.

She looked into his eyes, which had been gazing at her with the same love for thousands of years, and saw the royal couple riding on the elks with a group of soldiers as a patrol behind them.

But even if she had seen something, she had learned to ignore it. ,,Nothing stands in the way of our harvest except our ability to see too much grace in everything,” she replied, hearing the silent smile from his lips before the couple swung themselves onto the majestic animals and rode out through the castle gates, over the bridge and into the forest.

A ride they had both done thousands of times for each season, four times a year, and it never got boring, the forest had beauty and treasures that could be rediscovered over and over again.

She looked to her left and saw her husband's thoughtful expression, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he considered which plants, flowers and berries he would choose. He looked cute, she thought, remembering his first years in office when he was not yet fully aware of his power.

Taking her hand from the reins and going to his, she squeezed it lightly, seeing how she brought him out of his thoughts and he gave her a briefly wounded look before shaking his head at himself and giving her a kiss on the forehead, ,,Thank you, my light,” he said, and the couple continued on their way.

Sometimes it only took an hour and they were back, much to the delight of Legolas, who wanted to spend more time with his parents. Sometimes, however, it took hours if the couple could not make up their minds and felt that the forest had other concerns to share.

Being the king and queen of Mirkwood was both a curse and a blessing, but whenever she saw his loving gaze, when he took her hand and kissed her on the forehead, she knew that everything would be all right.

When the sun shone through the thicket of trees and bushes, warming her skin and bringing the forest to life, she saw the orange among the bushes and made her stag stop.

,,You're thinking too much again, my dear… I'll take this pumpkin with maple and oak wood,” she announced to him and to the group, who had a basket ready to collect the said ingredients from the surrounding area , although they had already gathered it themselves, but after they both sensed something approaching from afar that was not good for them, they knew that the safety of the kingdom and especially of the two of them was greater.

She couldn't stop the smile that crept across her lips and her sensitive ears caught the snort that her husband let out, ,,Once again I am surprised by your connection to small things, things, my love,” he said in a slightly snide tone that turned into laughter when he saw her bewildered expression and he brushed an apologetic cheek against her.

She felt the cool rings on her skin before she leaned forward to return his kiss, which they exchanged before they went back, knowing that her beloved would make the same choice of crown as she had.

If he chose the crown alone, they would stand here for another hundred years and make no progress. ,,My heart is yours,” she heard him murmur before she turned back to the castle and ran her fingers over his one last time before he followed her.

The couple made their way back to the palace, where they were not only greeted by a relieved Legolas, but also received a warm welcome from the king, who fetched a fine wine from the cellar for the loving ruling couple.

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

#hallowtober #the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil x reader

123 notes · View notes

giuliettacapuleti · 6 months ago

Text

Mrs. De Winter’s costume for the Manderley Party in various adaptations: an analysis

This is the costume the Narrator gets tricked into wearing by Mrs. Danvers, who wants to destroy the relationship between Max and the second Mrs. De Winter. It was previously worn by Rebecca, who modeled it after a painting hanging up in the Manderlay gallery. Mrs. Danvers suggests this painting as an inspiration to the Narrator, who naively believes she is just trying to be helpful. An already unstable Max believes the Narrator is mocking him by wearing the costume previously worn by his dead wife.

“I always loved the girl in white, with a hat in her hand. It was a Raeburn, and the portrait was of Caroline de Winter, a sister of Maxim’s great-great-grandfather. She married a great Whig politician, and was a famous London beauty for many years, but this portrait was painted before that, when she was still unmarried. The white dress should be easy to copy. Those puffed sleeves, the flounce, and the little bodice. The hat might be rather difficult, and I should have to wear a wig. My straight hair would never curl in that way.”

White is a color usually associated with innocence, and so white dress is often worn by heroines of Gothic literature (especially nightgowns or wedding dresses). The second Mrs. De Winter, unlike Rebecca, is innocent and oddly virginal (despite being married). Worn by Rebecca, the costume is ironic and meant to mock Max, but it’s perfect for the second Mrs. De Winter, who is innocent and wants to be closer to Max by being a part of his family.

Let’s start with Sir Henry Raeburn, who was a real artist despite the painting in the book being fictional. Raeburn was born in 1756 and died in 1823.

White dresses became popular in the 1790s and were in vogue throughout the 1810s. It’s almost impossible to tell the difference between a day, ball, evening, or wedding dress from the early 1800s - all were white with an empire waist, and sometimes even the same fabric - muslin. It could be worth mentioning that these dresses were controversial both in their time and especially later - the light fabric and prominent display of the bosom was scandalous and thought to essentially be underclothes worn as dresses (think slip dresses of the 90s). This leads to an interesting contradiction in the style itself - innocence and sexuality in one look. It’s really interesting, I think, as a symbol of both the Narrator’s innocence and the fact she wants to be seen as a woman (read: sexy) by Max.

So, we can conclude the painting was likely painted somewhere between the late 1780s and 1810s

The 1780s saw the rise of the chemise à la reine - so named because it resembled a chemise (a white shift that was meant to be worn beneath a dress) and was popularized by Marie Antoinette. The skirt was flouncy and the dress was tapered at the waist, or slightly above it. The waists on dresses steadily rose in the 1790s, until they became full on empire waists, which fell just below the bust. A large sash was worn around the waist.

Above is a portrait of a young girl wearing a chemise style dress by Sir Henry Raeburn, presumably painted in the late 1780s or 1790s. The girl depicted is very young, but older girls and women wore their hair curlier. Three adaptions go for a chemise style, the 90s miniseries, and the Japanese and Korean versions of Rebecca das Musical. Note the curly hair and hat as well. It’s also pretty flouncy! This is most likely what Du Maurier envisioned.

However - Du Maurier also mentioned the dress having ‘puffed sleeves’ and a ‘little bodice’, which could support the theory that the dress was not a 1790s chemise style dress, but an 1800s empire waist Regency dress.

Below is another Raeburn, this one painted later, in the early 1810s. The empire waist was still in vogue (though beginning to lose popularity). You can see her hair is curly, though in an updo this time.

To my knowledge, the 70s series is the only adaption that goes with an empire waist style dress. Note the puff sleeves and the ruffles at the bottom. Though the screenshot is a bad quality (sorry) and it’s hard to tell, but her hair is in a curly updo. I’d show more photos but I’m at my picture limit already.

Now, the 1940 film decided to go with an 1840s or 1850s ballgown, which was almost certainly not what Du Maurier was going with, considering Sir Henry Raeburn died in 1823. It is, however, very pretty.

One of the Austrian and the Hungarian version go the other direction time-wise. The gowns are 1770s or 1780s inspired judging by the silhouettes. The Hungarian costume (right) in particular is baffling - it’s a silvery blue Marie Antoinette-esque dress that doesn’t resemble the novel’s description except for the curly wig.

But the most confusing is the Vienna version, which is not historically accurate to any period and in no way matches the novel’s description except for the fact it’s white(ish). It seems like they were going with an 1880s bustle, but the fact it’s strapless ruins it. I’m not sure what’s going on with the “gloves” (arm warmers???) or top hat.

#Rebecca #rebecca daphne du maurier #rebecca the musical #rebecca das musical #might make a part 2 if anyone’s interested #theater costumes #film costumes #historical fashion

82 notes · View notes

aqua-the-smiter · 11 months ago

Text

I DID IT. I WROTE SOMETHING FOR MERMARY Selkie!Ferrus Manus x Argena Seeva (oc) Argena meets a rather peculiar stranger along the seashore. Ferrus is a selkie bc Scottish Iron Hands make brain go brrr. SFW Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SR7QTKe1D7Q Writer's note, Ferrus's seal form is a leopard seal :3 Divider by @squishyowl

It was the most beautiful singing Argena had ever heard.

The voice was male, and it was unusual to think of a man’s singing as beautiful, but there was no other way she could describe it. It was deep-bass deep-and as clear as sunlit seawater. It was strong and steady, the singer’s voice never wavering or breaking or missing a note.

Once a fair and handsome seal-lord lay his foot upon the sand For to woo the fisher's daughter and to claim her marriage hand. "I have come in from the ocean, I have come in from the sea, And I'll not go to the waves, love, lest ye come along with me."

It split the quiet, late summer air. Her singer wasn’t loud, per say, but it carried easily over the sound of the lapping waves and up the short cliff to where she had been perched on her mare. Quickly, she slid off the bay’s back and tied her reins around a post she had driven into the ground some years before for the purpose. She pushed her way through the long grass and heather to peer over the cliffside, hunkering down to let the long stalks curtain her.

There, among the rocks, far away from the other seals that populated the shore sat a man. He was huge. Even from this distance she could tell he would easily tower over her. His skin was pale and scarred, glistening from the seaspray. His body was all coarse black hair and hard, thick muscle from his broad shoulders to his strong legs. Despite his obvious strength and bulk the way he sat was almost elegant, draped over the stone he was sitting on with the same effortless lounge a seal would. His face looked like it had been chiseled from white mountain rock, as scarred as the rest of him was. His eyes were a bright, oddly metallic silver and his short hair black as shale.

There were two things that stuck out about his appearance, aside from his sheer size and obvious power he exuded. His arms were gloved from the very tips of his fingers to around mid-upper arm in interweaving knotwork tattoos. Clearly done with loving detail, and absurdly intricate. Second, an enormous sealskin cloak rested over his shoulders. It didn’t look like any sealskin she’d ever seen, both big enough to wrap up a draft horse and colored differently. Black or dark gray on the back before shading to a lighter gray on the sides, and dappled with dark spots. The flippers hung down over his chest.

It has nearly as much fur as he does. She thought with a small smile.

She sat for a while, head in her hands, listening to him. No human should have been able to sing so enchantingly. Especially not a man who looked so tough and strong. And rather handsome, now that she studied him for a while. She hoped she was able to keep the ditzy look of pleasure off her face. Such a sweet voice for such a strong man.

"Lord, long have I loved you as a selkie on the foam. "I would gladly go and wed ye and be Lady of your home But I cannot go into the ocean, I cannot go into the sea. I would drown beneath your waves, love, if I went along with ye." "Lady, long have I loved you: I would have you for my wife. I shall stay upon your shoreland though it robs me of my life. I will stay one night beside you, never go back to the sea, I will stay and be thy husband though it be the death of me."

Wait…

Her head snapped up suddenly as a thought struck her.

The sealskin…his voice.

No…it couldn’t be, could it? Surely not.

Argena remembered back to when she had been a child, and her father would tell her and her older brother stories before bed. About faeries and elves, kelpies and the nuckelavee. And…selkies. At the end he’d always told them that there had been fantastical creatures once, a very long time ago, but they had shrunk away from the world as men grew more numerous. It was something she kept in mind even now in her adult life. For example, growing increasingly wary of the odd white horse that lived by a deep pond and always seemed to stare at her whenever she walked by.

Like it knew she wouldn’t fall for that.

“I didn’t think there were any of you left.” She whispered softly.

It took her a moment to realize he stopped. What’s more, he was staring right at her. His piercing silver eyes met her gold ones, and she felt her heart skip.

“You may as well come down here, if you’re going to sneak around.” He said, sounding none too pleased about it.

Her mouth went dry as she extracted herself and slowly picked her way down the cliff. Her bare feet sinking into the sand and her skirts billowing in the sea breeze. She stopped a few paces away from him, and he sat up, attentive.

“Do you make a habit of spying on others?”

“Do you make a habit of sitting naked in the middle of nowhere?” She asked back, a little annoyed.

His jaw worked for a few moments before he conceded. “Aye, fair enough..

“I come down to this stretch of beach often.” She explained quickly, not wanting things to be even more awkward. “I heard you singing and stopped to listen. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.” She told him earnestly.

He inhaled sharply, but his stance relaxed. “It’s been a long time since I heard something like that from a mortal.”

“So you’re not human?”

“No. Of course not.” “Ha! I knew it!” Argena crowed triumphantly. “You are a selkie, aren’t you?.”

Then she paused, and held out a hand. Realizing she may have sounded a little rude.

“It’s an honor to meet you. Don’t misunderstand me. I just…I thought you were all gone. I never would have dreamed in a hundred years that I would meet a real one.”

After a moment he accepted the offered handshake. His was huge and engulfed hers. It was warm and slightly damp. The tattoos were even more intricate up close, and covered his palms as well.

I thought you were all gone.

Her words stuck with the selkie for a moment. He had been under the impression that humans largely didn’t believe in anything magical anymore. As new beliefs swept over the land and as they continued to advance. They were relegated to superstition and fairy tales. Some pockets still believed, of course. Some always would. But most didn’t, and even now he still wasn’t sure of how he felt about it. For all his strength and power, he wasn’t fond of being forgotten. It might be better that way.

But he had to admit it was nice to be recognized.

“Do you have a name?” She remembered something vaguely, about fae names being important.

He didn’t seem to hold the same truth. “Ferrus. And you?” “Argena. Er, you can just call me Gena, please.”

She sat on the rock next to him as he gazed out to sea, deep in thought. It was a little awkward, and she wondered if she’d offended him somehow.

Good job, Gena. You meet a real magical creature and you piss him off within the first five minutes.

The sun was starting to go down, turning the sand golden and making the water shimmer and flash. The light breeze carried the scent of heather and thistle flowers, mingling with that of the salty ocean air, and the sound of the waves and cries of the gulls overhead were making her drowsy. Finally, he spoke.

“We’re still around. We were never gone. It’s just wiser to keep to yourself these days.”

“Hm?” She looked up at him. He sounded oddly melancholy. “So there’s still selkies around?”

“Not just us. There’s still plenty of…I suppose you would call us mythical beasts now. Dragons and faeries and unicorns and kelpies. Albeit many in lesser numbers. But as I said. It’s just wiser to retreat from the world. There will always be places wild and untouched.”

Gena frowned. “Not all humans would mean to harm you.”

Ferrus nodded in agreement. “I believe you. You are right in front of me after all. We have been sitting here for a good while and yet you haven’t asked to touch my sealskin, or reached out for it.”

“I figured that would have been rude even if you weren’t a selkie, seeing as how we’ve just met. And I promise I have no intention of stealing it. If there was even a chance I could overpower you.”

“There is not. But just by that alone I feel that you are at least somewhat trustworthy.”

She flushed, a bit flattered. “Honestly? I’m just in awe to meet you in the first place. I was raised on all the stories and old tales. I would never dream of taking your sealskin. Has…has anyone tried to, in the past?”

His expression darkened. “Once. My brother stole it from me, and hid it so well I couldn’t find it. I don’t know how, some magic or other. I went to all my other brothers and asked them for help, but none of them would. So I beat the truth of that wretched little bastard. Since then, I haven’t spoken to any of them. So I am amused, if nothing else, that a little mortal woman such as yourself has more respect for me and mine than my own family.”

“I, well…you’re welcome." She couldn't imagine having a family that awful. Hers wasn't perfect. They drove her nuts on occasion, what with her brother treating her like a child at times, her younger sister conspiring to make her chores infinitely longer than needed, and her mother dismissing her as a dreamer with her head in the clouds, constantly pestering her to accept a marriage proposal already. But it wasn't all bad in the slightest, and she loved her family.

"I don't think mine are anywhere near that bad, but they drive me up a wall too sometimes. I have a brother and a sister. How many siblings do you have?"

"18 brothers."

"18?!"

"One of my brothers has a twin. It would've been 17 otherwise."

"You have 18 brothers and nobody helped you?!"

“Twisted, isn’t it?” He gave her a rueful smile. “You’ve been better to me than all of them. The real foot in the nads is that the one who stole my sealskin was my best friend. There used to be times I’d forget we weren’t twins.”

“I assume you never want to speak to him again.”

“I do not.”

They fell silent again, but this time it was a little more congenial. He decided he liked this mortal woman. She was kind, but not flat. There was a spark in her. Very beautiful too, with those bright gold eyes and long wavy black hair. Her skin was fair but not nearly as much as his. And, he noted almost absently, she had a very nice figure.

Ferrus held a section of his sealskin out to her. “You can feel it if you’d like.”

Gena stared at it in surprise before looking back up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’m offering it to you.”

“Ah…alright then.”

She had been curious, and so reached out to brush her hand against it. It didn’t feel at all like she was expecting. It was covered in thick, dense fur. The section he’d offered had been sitting in the sea spray, so it was slick, smooth, and almost oily. It felt nice against her hand, and she stroked it a few times like she was petting it.

“Not what you expected?”

“No, but it feels nice. It’s so smooth too. I bet it’s really comfortable to curl up under.”

That got his first real smile out. “It rather is. The waters I tend to frequent are very cold. Even more so than here.”

“Do you not live around here?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t, for a long time. I may come back though. This is my homeland in a way. I prefer it here over anywhere else, but I wished to disappear for a long while.”

“This would be the first place your family looked?”

No reply this time, but he nodded.

“What else do you know about me?”

“About selkies you mean? Well…” She put a finger to her lower lip as she thought for a moment. “I heard one version of the tale that said you couldn’t be on land past midnight or you would die. But I never thought that made any sense. When would you be able to turn into a human when you took the skin off otherwise?”

“Why indeed?” And she felt a little happy flutter as she saw she’d made him smile again. Ferrus was a rather dour selkie. “What else?”

“I knew about your singing. Although that also varies from story to story. And I know a lot of stories about humans stealing sealskins and forcing the selkie to marry them. I never liked those. And I know that selkies are said to be indistinguishable from real humans underneath, except for all being very good looking.”

“My brothers were all very aware of that little tidbit. They seemed to think I didn’t fit the bill.”

“Well they’re not the ones who you’d want to be attracted to you anyway. They’re your family. For what it’s worth, I think you’re a very handsome man. Er, selkie.”

Ferrus laughed. It sounded vaguely like a seal’s bark, but warm. “You don’t mince words, do you? You’re a very honest woman.”

“Just telling it as I see it. Besides, your family sounds terrible.”

She glanced up at the sky again, before suddenly standing upright.

“Damn it all! It’s getting late. I should get going so I’m not going home in the dark. Thank you for talking, Ferrus. I’ll never forget it.” Gena gave him a small curtsy.

“...I will be here tomorrow, if you’d like to continue this. Gena.” He offered slowly. It had been a very long time since he’d spoken to anyone. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. The sound of another voice. Hers was sweet and silvery and calm.

“Wait, really? Sure. I would love to talk with you again. Imagine me befriending a real selkie.” And she laughed with the sheer joyful absurdity of it.

“Befriend?”

“Why not? I wouldn’t mind being your friend.” She smiled at him, and began making her way up the cliff. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Ferrus.”

“Aye. You as well. Stay safe, Gena.” He called after her. Then she was gone, disappearing over the ledge with a final wave of goodbye.

He lingered on the rock long after the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, pondering what had just happened. It had been…centuries since he’d last actually talked to someone. The last time had been when he’d gotten his sealskin back. He gripped it tighter, pulling the precious thing more around his shoulders. Time had passed by without his notice. And it seemed he’d grown much lonelier than he wanted to admit to himself. His decision had been spur of the moment, but it might be nice to have a companion again.

Pulling his sealskin over himself fully, he finally slid into the water and disappeared into the deep. But he’d be back for sure. Maybe he’d sing the rest of that song for Gena, next time he saw her.

#mermay #mermay 40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k x oc #primarch x oc #primarch x female oc #warhammer #ferrus manus #ferrus manus x oc #ferrus manus x female oc

25 notes · View notes

ask-missparker · 1 year ago

Text

A Wedding & It's Muse / Ouat Au series ⚔️

Pairing: Snow!Amelia x Prince!Nicholas

Extra characters/mentioned: May Parker, The Pirate Gang, King Alexander, Darcy Lewis etc

Notes: Right off the bat I'mma say this is angsty and fluffy.

Timeline: Flashbacks

Summary: Every visit has their story, this one meant a sweet like surprise at the end of some kind. In another words, Nik and Mia decided to see May at her cabin.

Season: 2

---

"You ready?"

"Hm? Yeah."

He looked over his shoulder, seeing his bride to be stepping out of their shared home in the cabins dressed in her brown jacket, cream color pants and boots. Her hair was deemed shorter and her makeup was blushed on like it was nothing.

It was a contrast to his darker browns and creamy reds he was wearing. His hair was slightly longer than usual, he liked it that way, and he was wearing his famous chains around his neck, along with his rings.

Today was a day, Nicholas didn't believe he would ever get.

Meeting the parents.

Yes, he has met his friends parents when he was a child, but this was completely different. It was the mother of the bride. May Parker. He has heard stories, seen photographs of her and even used the women's jewelry to find his way back home multiple times. But he never once met her.

He was nervous, he tried not to show yet, but his wife bride knew. She knew he was nervous, it's way she made him tea that morning to calm the nerves and kept a hand on the small of his back, rubbing circles to comfort him the whole way to her mother's house.

God! He shouldn't be nervous to meet her but here he was scared out his mind. What if Ms Parker hates him? What if he overhears her telling her daughter she made a mistake choosing him? What if-

"Honey."

Nicholas looked down at his bride who's kind yet soft smile meet his eyes. She gave him a reassuring smile that seemed to ease him a bit.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, as they walked along the path.

"Hm? Oh no, nothing..just thinking.." He replied, holding the horse's reins as he loops his fingers around it.

"I know your lying, you're nervous..tell me what's wrong."

He sighed, "..okay, I um, I'm scared about meeting your mother. What if she hates me? I mean, come on, my brother is pure evil, so she might think that-"

"She won't. She knows, you're not some mad titan or some horrible prince who stole my heart." She replied, reassuring him.

"There are posters with my face on it."

"So? My mother is kind, caring and deeply protective of her daughter. She would know from my letters that if you were wrong for me."

"She knows about me?! Luv, what did you say?"

"Only that you fought for me, helped give us a home...and how you're loyal to those you care about."

"You didn't tell her...about the part where I broke your heart right?"

"No! And you did for good reason. Hey, she will love you. Just be yourself, okay?"

"Okay, love."

----

And somehow Snow was right.

Because the moment, they walked the path and found the small house, he was met with the sight of timeless devoting care. May Parker was reading a book at the front of the house, looking once she heard their horse, Maximums, footsteps and her daughter's calls. She put her book away and stood up, to bring herself into Amelia's embrace as two hugged.

For Nicholas, he saw the ease in her face when she looked at him. May smiled kindly, fixing her bangs and took his hand gently into her own as she greeted him. Her smile was so soft, he swear he melted into her embrace. He also saw where Mia got her look's from. Both women were breathtaking as they led him inside the house, leaving Max outside to enjoy the fresh breeze and a couple of carrots.

Once inside, Mia beside him with a comfort hand on his shoulder talking to her mother. Nicholas got every other word that came out of her mouth as he listened to the two talk. He chuckled hearing their laughs, as he slowly involved himself into the conversation.

At some point Mia went out back to check on Maximum and collect extra water from the well, leaving him and May alone. Which lead Nicholas back to sitting awkwardly in front of his future mother-in-law.

May poured him another glass of water and said, "So, now that she's gone. I wanna know about my future son-in-law."

"Oh no, ma'am, th-there isn't mu-much for me to ev-even say, really..I um just some prince.." He replied, taking a big gulp of water.

"You don't seem like a prince to me, honey."

"Ma'am?"

"I mean, your eyes are of a prince and your background seems to be of one as well. But your soul isn't filled for the royal class."

"I uh..I am sorry to disappoint then..ma'am.."

"First, you can call me May. And secondly, it's not disappointing, it's inspiring. Your soul is meant for the sea. For adventurous minds."

That seemed to stop Nicholas, as he heard those words escape May's lips. Yes he is born royalty and after his folks died, he has been on the run from his brother finding adventures elsewhere away from the throne. And when he left those royal clothes, he found himself with pirates, who soon became his friends.

He soon learned he loved to sail, going to pubs, sword fight and live on his own. Hell, he adored search and rescue, getting a treasure as a reward. He loved to explore and embrace the more curious side of things as a pass time.

No one where said anything about that to him before. And here stood May seeing right through him, as a pirate prince.

A smile grew on his lips.

"Can you adopt me?" Nicholas said out of the blue, chuckling as he did.

May chuckled, "Well no. But we are gonna be family so, you're in luck, I got a space here for you."

"I gotta ask, how did you..know?"

"About the sea part?"

"Y-yeah.."

"My husband had a friend who loved the sea, despite being a farmer. He used to go to the harbor and just take it all in."

"Well I'll be damn..well you should also know, I am a swordsman and I fighter.."

"I know. My daughter said from your letters that your crafty with that sword of yours."

"Ah well, I try. Speaking of your daughter, I promise that I will treat her right and that I will be a good son in law to you..even if I mess up.."

May just smiled. She could tell he had a lot of things on his mind and his past wasn't so bright, but he was willing to make an effort to do good in this world. Bring a spark of light back to the surface, despite him having to work twice as hard to earn it.

The two of them kept chatting, sharing stories about their lives and so much more. By the time Mia returned, May brought out her famous pies, which resulted in the prince of light to dig into the savory sweet treat. His bride laughed, but soon shut her mouth the moment he stuffed a piece of blueberry pie in her face. She hummed wiped the blueberry treat of her lips and took another pie.

To May Parker, they looked like a couple of children enjoying her homemade food. She chuckled shaking her head at the pair, not seeing a princess of fairness and the prince of light who fought to be together, but a girl and boy giggling in peace. She left them to go outside and check on her flowers, telling the couple she will be back later.

"I like your mom." Nicholas said, licking his lips before taking another bite of the pie.

She took a sip of water and replied, "Is that so?"

"Yeah. She's all too kind and harmless."

"So you're not scared of her anymore?"

"Nope. She had me speechless and.."

"And what?"

"And had me realized how beautiful you're gonna be when older."

"Oh shut up!"

She playfully pushes his shoulder as he laughed.

"I'm serious you're mom is stunning and I know your gonna be smoking hot as-!" He exclaimed grinning.

"Don't finish that sentence!" She laughed taking another bite of pie.

"Okay, okay, in all seriousness, meeting your mom made me remember how it felt to have one. And I am so lucky you're gonna be wife."

"Aww, baby, I promise you this. We will visit my mother more often if possible, or you can write her letter too, if you like."

"I'll love that. Remind me to thank her later for the warm welcome too."

"Noted."

Before the two of them can wash up and head upstairs to unpack, they heard a piercing scream and the sound of grunts followed behind it. Nicholas pushed past the doors and rushed outside, as Amelia followed gasping at the sight.

Five knights rushing around invading their private moments. Nicholas took a sword and went to fight them, Amelia grabbed her crossbow as she yelled for her mother to run off. May nodded and ran away as quick as she could.

The couple fought as the knights, to the best of their abilities. Amelia shoot one in the back and escaped the grasped of another, huffing as she did.

By the time Amelia looked up, she saw Nicholas already slaying the solider and his men. She winced the way he cracked the neck of one and killed the other two. He looked inside the wagon with the horses, to make sure none of them were hiding.

But there was none.

Another silent scream was heard.

The two rushed over to the where the flowers were, Amelia kneeling over to gentle get her mother to stand. He noticed his mother-in-law was huffing and whining, holding her chest.

Nicholas thought quickly, seeing May Parker was shot in the chest and bleeding out, he gently rested her in said wagon hearing the older women humming deeply. He knew she needed to be comfortable.

"Wh-how..who could've done this?" Amelia said, using whatever cloth in the carriage to apply pressure to her mother's wound.

"You know who, love, my brother. Might even be Shaw." He said, unsure which of the two, but seeing the dark horses he knew, "..yeah, my brother.."

"Why would Alexander..?"

"He hates us that's why.."

"H-how can we..how can we help her?"

Nicholas rested his hand on top of May's giving it a gentle squeezed as she smiled softly at him. He knew he needed to try something, even if he failed. He told them about a lake once used to heal others, it was a tale and there might no real spell but he had to hope for something. Amelia was hesitating to do so, not wanting to risk a trip and rather just find another solution but one look from her groom told her to have some kind of hope.

----

So then the three were off. Max wheeled the wagon, as Nicholas steered the way to the lake. Amelia was sitting inside the carriage, patting her mother's forehead with a cloth and applying pressure.

May mumbling words and getting the others to talk with jokes, and thoughts on her mind. She hated the silence.

"..tell me about your wedding..h-have you two started planning a date?" She asked softly.

"No, mama, we haven't. I don't even have a dress made yet." Amelia admitted with a soft chuckle.

"Me and your father got married in our second hand clothes..we just needed each other..you can use our rings for that.."

"N-no, mama, they are yours to keep."

"Have you picked out a cake?"

This time Nicholas spoke up, "I keep suggesting on soft angel cake but the missus wants classic vanilla."

"I like angel cake.." May said softly.

"Me too! And I might have to add your pie to our list of treats."

"That would be nice..I would like chicken at the wedding and white rice..oh! And flowers!"

"What kinds? I saw daisies in your front yard."

"Oh no, the daisies were from a friend..Darcy Lewis..I like..I like orchids."

"So did my mother. She liked sunflowers too."

-----

Mary chuckled softly, hissing and growing weak over time. Thankfully Max arrived just in time to the area where the lake was supposed to be. However when the two climbed off the wagon to go searching for water, they found the lake was deemed as empty.

Barely any water left.

Amelia hurried scooping up whatever water she could into a bottle, hoping it would work to save her mother. Or at least buy them more time with her.

Nicholas was gently patting his mother-in-law's forehead and softly smiled, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired..weak..my chest hurts.." She responded, clearing her throat smiling back.

"I bet you are. Look, May, I apologize for today..if-if I known my brother was going to look for me, I would've scouted the area before and.."

"Hey, you couldn't have imagined this to happen..it's not your fault, none of it is.."

"But..you're badly hurt.."

"It's okay..and I'm not afraid to end my life this way.."

"No, no your gonna be alright. Just breathe.."

"How much do you want to live at life with my daughter?" She asked suddenly changing the topic.

"W-what..?" He muttered.

"How much are you willing to do so be happy?"

"Whatever it takes, I'll try my best.."

"Start with the thing you like to do so most..what is your favorite thing?"

"..uh..um, when I child, I used to draw a lot..and sing..I haven't done a lot of it lately.."

"And return to those hobbies, my dear. Aside from your skills like fighting, your strength comes from your art..am I right?"

He nodded in response, smiling softly, "..y-yeah, it is. I hope to one day paint so much as possible.."

"..maybe you might show my grandchildren a thing or two about that..but it all starts with you.." May added smiling.

Amelia returned once again, holding the amount of water she was able to collect, requesting for her mother to drink it slowly. May nodded drinking the water from the lake, taking a deep breath as she did.

Amelia knew it wasn't much but she hoped for the best, waiting for the results. Her mother's color started to come back slowly and her labored breaths subsided for a bit. She chuckled softly at the results, yet she stilled worried. Nicholas smiled to himself, readying the wagon for their journey back.

She sat beside her mother, "..mama, how do you feel?"

"A little better..but not the best right now.." May respond.

"No shit, you got shot, ma."

"N-not funny."

"Sorry, I just hope your okay.."

"I will be..knowing you're gonna be happy.."

"I am happy.."

"Cause you will be marrying your prince."

"Is that how you felt when you married dad?"

"Oh yeah, I married my prince..well, he was more like a knight in shining amor.."

She chuckled at her mother's light joke. She knew her mother's stories and jokes were a way to keeping the memories light, even if they might feel sad.

Her mother was dying, she knew it..

"..mama I am sorry..so-so sorry.." Amelia said, as tears started to appear.

"Hey, no, shh. Don't be.." May said, placing a hand on her cheek, "Don't cry.."

"But..but your not getting better..and we let you get shoot and..and.."

"Shh, it's not your fault..it didn't know it would happen. And I'm not mad at you."

"But those..and the lake wasn't enough.."

"Hush my darling..promise me, you will save me a seat at the wedding."

"Y-yes mama..yeah.."

-----

It was getting late, very late, and the older women wasn't getting any mother.

The pair knew it like the back at their hand.

There was this painted feeling in Snow's chest at the thought of her mother going to the stars and this being her last time seeing it. It took all her strength not to let tears show, as she played with her mother's hair braiding it as she heard May talk.

She smiled hearing her mother speaking her thoughts out in the open, as if letting the nature know she was one with them.

Nicholas was quietly smiling, listening to his mother-in-law talk to them, as he chuckled holding the reins of the horses. He only met the women yet he felt like she was a memory coming back to life. One he won't forget.

She kissed her mother's forehead listening to the wind and watching the sun set below the trees. Despite it all, Amelia wasn't too scared of watching mother join the skies.

However, she couldn't shake the feeling of her mom not being at her wedding. When she became a princess, she vowed her mother would watch her get another chapter to her story and inspire her next move.

And that's what she wanted to do.

"Stop the wagon." She said, looking up to face the front of the carriage.

"What?" Nikolai exclaimed softly.

"I said stop the wagon, darling."

"Why? We're almost home to your mother's house."

"Let's get married."

"Excuse me?!"

That caught a gentle laugh from May.

"Let's get married. Today!" Snow repeated.

That's when Nikolai stopped the carriage and whipped his head around to say, "Are you insane?!"

"I fell for you, didn't I?"

"I-that's not the point! We can't get married, not now, I mean!"

Nikolai thought for a moment onto what she meant, looking around at the forest they were in and the fact that they were alone. No bad brothers, not knights on their tail, no weird friends or foes. Not even magic to stop them.

Yes, he wanted to have a grand ol' wedding with their friends around, dressed in their best clothes, guards around the castle around to protect them and a brand new home waiting for them to enter.

But then again, all he needed was a kind moment with her to seal the deal and make her his wife. Aside the fact that his mother-in-law was dying, it was somehow peaceful. Here, he stood with no worries about threats or fears in front of them.

"Let's do it." He said after a moment.

"Really?" She asked, wanting to confirm his words.

"Yes, yes, let's get married right here, right now."

The pair grinned, leading the carriage to a spot that was all too wonderful. They were surrounded by greenery, flowers such as tulips, daisies and orchid, there was a small lake that shinned behind them allowing the reflections of the sun set to play above.

There was no one to marry them, but it didn't matter.

A couple feet away was Max as his rein were connected to the wagon that held May gently applying pressure to her wound, as if the pain wasn't there at all. As she was deemed to be at peace with the sight in front of her.

In front of her stood, her daughter and son-in-law, holding hands standing in front of their makeshift arch, saying their vows to one another. The two of them were chuckling and grinning, shaking their heads as the words escaped their lips.

Most of the words were inaudible to her, catching every other word possible, as it seemed so beautiful and intimate to her eyes.

"I do."

Nikolai smiled leaning in to press his lips softly against her very own as she hummed in respond resting her hands against his chest. They held one another close sealing the deal, pronouncing each other as husband and wife in their minds.

May watched seeing the two smile, to utterly in love, as the kiss seemed to be a mix of love, strength and wishful thinking all meshed into one. It reminded May of her wedding day years ago with her husband, knowing Ben Parker, Nikolai’s mother and all the angels above were watching this ceremony in glee.

She smiled as her eyes slowly closed, allowing that to the last sight her eyes gazed upon. She let out a exclaimed breath, as if telling the world she was now ready to join the others in the sky tonight..

..So still.

So bright.

When Amelia and Nikolai parted lips, resting in another's arms, their shoulders dropped looking over at the view of May.

She was resting peacefully..

Their muse.

----

—-💍💫—-

Ahh so that’s what I got for this season 2 flashback fic. I hope you like it.

Tell me what you think in the comments below!

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @thecavalrywife @cherrysft @yetanotherwells and etc

#ouat au #once upon a time #once upon a time au #ouat s2 #once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #ask missparker #aunt may #angsty fluff #thomas doherty #danielle campbell #marvel oc #shadow and bones oc #flashback fic

11 notes · View notes

meowmeow-motherfucker · 1 year ago

Text

Covenant- Chapter 4

Summary: With the five year anniversary of the attack on New York approaching, Odin and Fury come to the agreement that an arranged marriage between Asgard and Earth would show good faith toward all future interactions. When Odin refuses Jane’s candidacy, Agent Coulson is tasked with finding a suitable wife for the prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @icytrickster17 @mysteriouslyfriedjellyfish @lokislilkitten @justjoanne242 @amlocked @ddmariegirl @mags-04-blog @sharris8 @meepycheep @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @the-fantasy-loving-angel @jaidenhawke @smolvenger

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Thanks for coming along on this journey with me! Buckle up gang :D

28 days until the wedding

Ragna woke Claire far too early, when the sun was barely up. Didn’t people sleep in here? She wasn’t in a great mood from yesterday’s events, but hopefully today would be better.

Claire let herself be wrangled into a warm dress and riding boots. She thought it was an odd combo, but it was an improvement over the dress and corset from yesterday, so she put up little resistance. She dozed off while her hair was brushed, jerking awake when she snored loudly. Claire and her ladies shared a laugh at her expense, and Claire did her best to wake herself up with a splash of cold water before she had to leave.

When Ragna led her outside of the palace and a large paddock with horses came into view, the outfit began to make sense. The sprawling stable stood tall and dark before the high mountains and rolling fog in the distance.

“Good morning, dear,” Frigga greeted her as she entered the stable. “I trust you slept well.” She gave a small smile when Claire yawned.

“I did…” Claire replied as she rubbed her arms against the chill of the morning air. “So well that I want to sleep some more.”

“It’s a short lesson today, dear.” Frigga patted her on the arm as Loki entered the stable.

“Yesterday was meant to be a short lesson; look how that turned out,” he said sharply, glancing at Claire meaningfully. Claire rolled her eyes, annoyed by the reminder of their disastrous encounter the day before. Claire would never claim to be a skilled dancer, but somehow next to Loki’s graceful movements she’d looked like a newborn fawn, and he’d yet to let her forget it. “Good morning Mother.”

“Good morning Loki. Perhaps things would go more smoothly if one kept his temper in check?” Frigga suggested.

“Yeah, what she said.” Claire smirked. Loki scoffed, burning her with an ireful glare.

“It’s rather rude to interrupt conversations.” He scolded her.

“And it’s too early for you to be an ass.” Claire countered.

“Agreed,” Frigga said curtly. “I know how much you adore sniping with your intended, Loki, but I’m afraid I’ll be giving you little time for that today. We shall practice for the parade as quickly as possible and Loki and I must see the tailor immediately after.”

“Can’t wait.” Loki supplied sarcastically, smiling at Frigga cheekily when she glowered at him.

“Lady Claire, have you ever ridden before?” Frigga asked, pointedly ignoring her son’s good-natured attempt to make her smile. Claire shook her head.

“Only once when I was a kid,” She said. “I’ve avoided it ever since.”

“Wonderful,” Loki threw his hands up in aggravation. “Best inform the tailor, Mother, we’ll be here until nightfall.”

“Hush,” Frigga scolded Loki. “She doesn’t have to become an expert, she merely needs to learn what’s necessary for the parade. Everything else can come later.” She led them outside to the paddock, where a stable hand stood waiting for them. A horse the color of butterscotch pudding grazed at the far end of the enclosure, her flanks bespeckled with white splotches.

The stable hand bowed in greeting before trotting off to collect the horse. The horse whinnied, tossing its massive head about in agitation as the stable hand put the reins in place. The man spoke to the horse in a low voice as it stamped its powerful hooves, teasing it toward them with a few clicks of his tongue.

“Is now a bad time to mention I don’t like horses?” Claire asked, eyeing the incredibly tall horse being walked toward them warily. The horses long thin legs seemed to stretch on for miles, its silver mane whipping about as it shook its head.

“It’s just a mare,” Loki replied. “Barely ten hands high.”

“Yeah but see, the ground is safe. The ground can’t kill me.”

“That’s not very encouraging to the ground. It certainly could if it tried-”

“Loki-”

“Well it could,” Loki argued when Frigga chastised him. “Earthquakes, mudslides...it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. After all, mortals are exceedingly fragile.”

“Yeah but there are warning signs for those things. I’d be able to avoid them. A horse can just decide to kick you and in the next second you’re dead.”

“Then don’t antagonize the horse.” Claire rolled her eyes at Loki’s patronizing advice.

“Right, because it’s that simple.”

“It is, remarkably,” Loki replied as the stable hand reached them with the horse. “It gets easier with practice.”

“How long have you been riding?”

“Since I could walk, of course,” Loki said pompously. “Did you not have opportunity on Midgard?”

“My mom sent me to horse camp when I was twelve,” Claire replied, watching with trepidation as a stable hand brought the horse meant for her closer. “My horse threw me.”

“Embla is one of our more docile horses, she will do fine for your first time,” Frigga stepped between them to take the reins from the stable hand. “She will take her cues from you. Like in all things, you must be calm and confident. Come, say hello. She will not bite.”

“Are you sure about that?” Claire asked nervously as Embla chomped at the bit in her mouth. The butterscotch colored horse fixed its beady eyes on Claire and whuffled, and Claire pulled her hand back for fear of losing a finger.

“There is nothing to fear. Embla is curious, nothing more.”

“Okay, sure. What do I do?”

“Offer out your hand, just like that, so she may smell you,” Frigga coached. Embla whuffled at Claire’s hand, her soft lips tickling her skin. “Excellent. Now you may pet her, let her get comfortable with you.” Frigga encouraged. Still fearing she may lose her hand, Claire palmed the horses nose, the buttery soft skin warm and twitching with what Claire hoped was excitement. Claire stroked the horses muzzle, pulling back abruptly when Embla protested. A mighty hoof stomped the ground and Embla whinnied again, louder than the last time.

“What did I do?” Claire asked anxiously.

“She wants a treat,” Loki grinned. “She always does, don’t you?” he said smoothly, producing an apple as he stepped toward the horse. Smelling the treat, Embla began rooting for it, taking the apple from Loki’s outstretched hand with great big yellow teeth. Claire watched the horse chew the entire apple as Loki stroked her muzzle fondly. “She’s quite happy now. You can mount her.”

“I can what now?”

“Place your foot in the stirrup, my lady,” the stable hand said from beside Claire, his hands stroking Embla’s flank beside the saddle he’d just cinched into place. “Then step up, and swing your leg to the other side.”

“Right, sure,” Claire said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Easy peasy. If Annie Oakley can do it, I can do it.” she muttered, her knees feeling wobbly as she grabbed the horn of the saddle. “Wait, are there cowboys here?”

“What?”

“You know, herd cattle, train horses...what else do cowboys even do?” Claire trailed off. Instead of answering her question, Loki stepped around the horse before grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto the horse, setting her gently in the saddle.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked.

“I could have done it myself!” Claire argued.

“Is that so?” Loki asked dryly. “Ragnarok would likely have come and gone before you did.”

“Which is supposedly your fault, so…technically, you not letting me do things at MY pace is kind of speeding up the process of the whole universe exploding. So thanks for that.”

“Only the best for you, darling.” Loki said sarcastically.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have!” Claire gasped theatrically, bringing her hand to her chest. “If you keep lavishing me with such gifts I might think you actually like me.”

“Well we certainly can’t have that.” Loki sighed. He smacked the horse’s behind, making her rear up and take off at a gallop. Claire screamed and lunged forward, hugging the horse’s neck for dear life as it sped off. Embla raced toward the paddock fence, Claire bouncing with every pound of her hooves, and Claire suddenly began to worry Embla was going to jump the fence and take off with her. What if she fell off and broke her neck? What if it trampled her? She’d probably never walk again. She didn’t remember the last time she’d been this scared.

“Oh my god, stop, stop, stop!” she begged the horse, hugging the horse with her entire body when it reared back and came to a sudden stop.

“It’s alright, my lady, you can let go,” the stable hand who’d brought out the horse must have stopped the horse somehow. “I’ve got the reins now.” he assured her. Embla stomped her deadly hoof impatiently, as if to say ‘Get off me already!’

Claire looked around frantically, heart pounding in her throat as she realized the horse was indeed back under control.

“How do I get down?” she asked quietly, afraid to be too loud and spook the horse. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Swing your leg over, my lady, I will catch you,” the stable hand said. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“Okay,” Claire forced herself to loosen her grip on the horse’s mane, pausing when she’d sat up. “Wait, forward or backward?”

“Backward, my lady, so you’ll land facing the horse.”

“Okay, sure. I can do that,” Claire muttered to herself. “This is fine. It’s fine. It’s not like I’m sitting on a wild animal that could kill me with a single kick.” she managed to get down from the horse with the stable hand’s help, doing her best to straighten her dress.

“I see you managed to get off the horse!” Loki laughed. “Well done.”

“You…asshole!” Claire seethed as she marched on shaky legs toward him. “What the fuck is your problem!?” Without waiting for an answer, she punched him in the face, sending him stumbling back into the water trough. Claire was so mad she couldn’t even appreciate the sight of him falling into the water. “You could have killed me! You- You are just…unbelievable!” she yelled, turning away from him to see Frigga watching them with a concerned look on her face. Claire took a deep breath to calm her herself. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “Thank you for the lesson.” She gave her soon to be mother-in-law a small curtsy and walked into the stable. Frigga rounded on Loki with a stormy expression.

“What in the world could have possessed you to do that? Not just to an inexperienced rider but to your fiancée!” she scolded, storming to his side as he climbed out of the trough.

“I didn’t choose her.” Loki groused, paying no mind to Frigga as he touched his smarting cheek gingerly.

“Nonetheless, you are supposed to look after her; not try to kill her off before the wedding!” Frigga said sharply as Loki rubbed at his cheek. “I expected better from you.”

“This actually hurts,” Loki remarked softly, frowning when Frigga began to chortle. “It isn’t funny Mother.”

“Oh but it is!” Frigga cackled. “Loki, you must stop trying to goad her. Marriage is meant to be a partnership, not a skirmish. Go find her and apologize,” She reached up to cup his reddened cheek and gave another quiet snicker. “Go.” She said sternly when Loki frowned at her.

Loki entered the stable to search for Claire as instructed, stalling when he saw Claire seated on the bench outside his horses stall.

“What do you want?”

“I came to-”

“Please,” Claire scoffed. “We both know you’re not actually sorry. You’re here because your mom made you come.”

“I’m simply giving you a chance to gloat,” Loki spread out his arms so she could see the water still dripping from his form. “You got your revenge, mortal. Though if you had paid more attention to the lesson-” Loki ducked to escape a flying bucket.

“Stay the hell away from me!” Claire shouted across the stable. “Just leave me alone, you psycho!” she stormed out of the stable, slamming the door behind her. Loki scoffed as he put the bucket away. His horse huffed at him as he drew near, begging for treats as always.

“I’m not a psychopath,” he grumbled to himself. “It was a fun prank, was it not?” his horse shook its head, tail swishing in agitation. “I suppose you like her, do you?” Loki asked accusingly. The horse neighed enthusiastically, causing Loki to roll his eyes dramatically. “You would. Everyone does.”

26 days until the wedding

Claire hadn't seen Loki in a few days since the horse riding incident. She was still mad about it, but since she hadn't seen him, she hadn't been able to give him a piece of her mind. She glanced at the package she'd had delivered from home, wondering if she was taking things a bit too far. Screw that, he could have killed her! He deserved it.

“Ragna, will you deliver this to Prince Loki please?”

“Of course, my lady. Can I do anything else for you this eve?”

“No thank you. I'll head to bed in a bit. See you in the morning.”

“Good night my lady.” Ragna curtsied before taking the package and leaving Claire's quarters. Your turn, asshole. Claire finished her wine and headed to bed.

Across the palace, Ragna handed the parcel to Astrid at the door to Loki’s chambers. Astrid took the parcel inside, holding it aloft for the prince to see.

“This just arrived for you, Your Majesty. From your betrothed.”

“Thank you, Astrid.” Loki looked up from his book to see the older woman holding a parcel. She waited for him to set his book aside before handing it to him.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Do you require anything else for the day?”

“No, you may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“And you.” Loki replied absently as he turned the parcel over in his hands. It was not a large or heavy item, whatever it was. She'd wrapped it in thick brown paper, so he had no clues as to the contents Was this a sign of peace? He did feel guilty.

Mostly.

Well...enough.

Whatever it was, the parcel could wait til morning. Loki abandoned the box on his breakfast table, already thinking of what he'd have to break his fast the next morn.

The next morning Loki woke in a delightful mood. Astrid brought his favorite breakfast, his bath was delightful, and he had no boring meetings this day. He could do as he pleased. He regarded the unopened package from Claire as he ate, deciding he should open it before he began his day. He worked his fingernail beneath the seam of the neatly wrapped paper, tearing it slowly to reveal a small box with a message.

TO: Loki FROM: Claire

She'd even drawn a heart.

Loki rolled his eyes. The mortal was pathetic, but at least she had the sense to apologize for striking him. He opened the box, curious what her idea of an apology would contain.

“Ack!” Pink clouded his vision as the box practically exploded, spewing pink sparkles everywhere. Norns it was in his mouth! He spat out the flimsy paper, rage building in him. “What in Hel's name was that?!” He shouted. “Oh no. Oh, for Odin's sake!” The offending pink sparkles lay all over the table and his half-eaten breakfast, even on the floor and nearby wall. Loki scurried away from the table, a cloud of pink following after him like a shadow. “Damn her to Hel!” He shouted when he saw his reflection. He was coated in the pink sparkles of all sizes, from his hair to his waist. “Wait- is this-” he looked closer at the largest sparkles. They were- surely a woman would possess more class than this. He plucked a sparkle from his hair to inspect. It was a cock.

A pink, sparkly cock.

Claire sat in the feast hall enjoying breakfast when Loki burst in covered in garishly pink penis confetti. Claire barely contained her laughter as he glared around the great hall. His gaze darkened as it settled on her, striding determinedly across the room toward her.

“What in Hel's name is this?!” He demanded to know, slamming his large hands down on the table in front of her. “I have taken 3 baths and it will not come off.” He was indeed very sparkly today. The smaller particles of glitter coated his skin, giving him a shimmery complexion that reminded Claire of the laughable vampires in Twilight. Above his left eyebrow, a large, metallic pink dick was hanging on for its life.

“It's called glitter. It doesn't come off.” Don't look at the dick on his face, don't look at the dick on his face.

“Ever?” Bless his heart, he actually looked concerned.

“Ever,” Claire held her composure as the sparkly pink dick fell from Loki's eyebrow. “What's wrong? Did you not like it?”

“Like it?!” Loki scoffed. “My chambers are covered in this- this-” he growled. “I should make you clean it, groveling on your hands and knees like the peasant you are.” Ooooo, talk dirty to me baby.

“Are you upset about the color or the shape?” Claire asked, ignoring his threat and the heat gathering under her collar. “I thought you would like the dicks, considering you are one.”

“Mark my words, you little wretch. This is far from over,” Loki seethed, before spinning on his heel and storming out, leaving fragments of glittery hand prints behind on the table top. “What are you staring at?!” He bellowed from the hallway, startling the young women coming in to eat.

“Jesus Christ Claire,” Phil muttered from her right. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he could have killed me and he needs to know I'm not an easy target,” Claire replied calmly, clucking her tongue as she looked down at her plate. “Aw man, he got his dick in my eggs.”

“Ew,” Phil's nose scrunched up in disgust. “You can probably ask for new ones.”

“No way, I just got these. Besides, it's hardly the worst thing I've eaten. I'll just flick it off.”

Claire was shanghaied right after breakfast for a "family meeting", along with Phil. Odin and Frigga did not appear amused, but Thor burst into laughter when Claire walked in.

“She bested you at your own game, brother!” He guffawed, high-fiving Claire despite Phil shaking his head at them.

“This has gotten out of hand,” Odin spoke loudly over Thor. “Sit down.”

“Lady Claire, I realize you were upset by the incident at the stables. But is this not a touch extreme? What were you thinking?” Frigga asked with disappointment.

“Me?” Claire balked. “All I did was send some glitter.”

“Wildly inappropriate glitter.” Phil offered quietly beside her.

“Thank you, that's very helpful,” Claire hissed. “But this is what gets me brought in for a heart-to-heart? Nearly getting thrown off a horse is fine, but sending dick confetti is crossing the line?”

“Lady Claire-”

“I know, I know, I should be acting more ladylike, but there seems to be a double standard here. Where was Loki's meeting? Did he get a talking-to?” Loki stiffened beside her. The girl had no idea the price he'd paid.

“Loki has already apologized-”

Foolish boy! Odin's words rang in Loki's ears. The Allfather's wrath still made Loki's back ache with each breath. He'd more than paid for his reckless behavior.

“Have you? I must have missed that,” Claire looked at Loki. “You do realize you could have killed me, don't you? Killed me, because of a prank. You seem pretty smart so it must have occurred to you.”

“I expect you to apologize.” Frigga said, her tone brooking no argument.

“I'm sorry the glitter wasn't green. How's that? I thought the pink was nice. It brings out your eyes.”

“Claire!”

“What? It's true. I'm not sorry I sent it and I don’t believe in saying things I don't mean, so I won't be apologizing.” Loki gave a quiet huff. The foolish mortal had no idea the wrath she courted. He almost respected her.

“Both of you will be confined to your chambers this day,” Odin decreed curtly. “Go.”

“Your appointments will be postponed until tomorrow. I expect far, far better behavior from the both of you moving forward.” Frigga admonished them as they left.

~~~~

Claire was more than happy to spend the rest of the day alone, stewing in her apartment. Regardless of what Frigga or Odin or whoever said, she didn’t feel guilty about sending the glitter. As far as she was concerned, Loki got off easy.

A knock on her door made her roll her eyes. Apparently being confined made it easier for people to swing by and annoy her. Snapping her book shut, Claire got up to answer the door.

Njord stood outside, looking more dour than ever.

“I’ve just been informed of your...shenanigans concerning His Majesty Prince Loki,” he sneered. “May I remind you that I personally selected you for this undertaking? You should be honored to even be breathing Asgardian air, not playing childish games.” Claire didn’t appreciate this uppity fucker on Earth and she sure as hell didn’t appreciate him now.

“My shenanigans were retaliation because Prince Loki could have killed me at the stables a few days ago. But surely you knew that,” she snarled. “I didn’t ask to come here-”

“You could have refused the offer. Gods know how much easier things would be if you had!” Njord barked. “You shall keep in mind that your poor behavior reflects upon me, and I shall not have a pathetic, lowly wretch like you ruin my good image.”

“You don’t give me orders. I outrank you now.”

“You outrank no one, mortal. You are nothing until you wed the prince, and even then it is debatable.”

“Look, buddy,” Claire snarled. “You have no right to talk to me that way. For whatever reason, you pulled me into this, you chose me. Deal with it,”she straightened to her full height, satisfaction filling her when he back away. “Now get the fuck away from me, and don’t come back.” The guard at her door sprang into action, unsheathing his sword and brandishing it in Njord’s direction as he blocked the open doorway with his body.

“Step away, sire.” Njord held up his hands, backing away.

“Remember my words, mortal.”

“Get bent, you little troll,” Claire called after him. The guard sheathed his sword and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my lady. If I may…”

“Absolutely.”

“The lord is known to have bad taste,” the guard said. “That is to say, he thinks himself superior when he is not.”

“Yeah, I got that. I thought he just didn’t like me.”

“He is unkind to everyone, my lady. My brother Agnar tells me many things.”

“I’m not surprised,” Claire muttered. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“You wish to know my name?” the guard asked in surprise. Claire shrugged.

“I’m going to be here for a while, so I should know, don’t you think?”

“As you wish, my lady,” the guard smiled, giving her a polite bow. “My name is Gunnar.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gunnar,” Claire extended her hand, holding it out until Gunnar took it with a look of confusion. “You shake it.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lady.” Gunnar graced her with a smile.

“I’m about to order a snack, do you want anything?” Claire asked. Gunnar withdrew his hand, falling back into his protective stance beside the door.

“I shouldn’t. I am on duty,” he said resolutely. “But I appreciate the thought, my lady.”

“Okay, no problem,” Claire replied. “But if you wanted a snack, what would it be? I should probably learn about all the snacks here, right?”

~~~~

25 days until the wedding

On Frigga’s insistence, Loki escorted Claire to the marketplace the following morning. Though he could practically feel himself being dragged to the gallows, he readied himself and set off to collect Claire from her rooms lest his mother drag him to meet his doom by the ear. Loki knew all too well that Frigga would do it, whether he was grown or not.

The guard at the door let him in when he arrived, announcing him as he strode inside. The two chaperones his mother had sent flanked him, their presence only announced by the swish of their skirts as they walked. Frigga brought up the rear of their small party, eager to put the ugliness of the past few days aside so that the engaged couple could begin to finally form a bond.

“Good morning, Your Majesties, my ladies,” Claire’s handmaiden Ragna greeted them with a curtsy. “My lady will be ready shortly if Your Majesty would like to wait.”

“I’m ready now, Ragna,” Claire announced as she entered the room. She drew Loki’s attention immediately, dressed in a sleeveless high-necked pale green gown with a simple silhouette. A silver band adorned her toned bicep, glinting in the soft morning light coming from the open windows. “Good morning.” she said amiably to Loki. She noted that he was distinctly glitter-free today, and she absently wondered how many baths it had taken to remove it all.

“Good morning.”

“My lady,” one of the chaperones interrupted primly. “It is customary that you use His Majesty’s title when addressing him.”

“Oh, right. Uh-”

“It is not necessary. We are simply visiting the market,” He rose to his feet gracefully. “Shall we?” Claire smiled in relief. This whole thing made her feel awkward. She and Loki had barely spoken except to argue during their limited interactions, but with just under a month until their wedding and their tense encounters only seeming to get worse, Frigga had declared it time for them to begin courting.

Claire thought the phrasing was odd considering they were definitely getting married, but she was grateful for the chance to get to know Loki better. Having dispensed her revenge with the glitter bomb, Claire was prepared to set her misgivings aside to at least try.

“Sounds good.”

~~~~

The marketplace was crowded despite the early hour. Vendors of all types shouted, hawking their wares to anyone who walked by. Women in ankle length dresses milled about, their baskets filled with unknown goods as they completed their shopping. Claire and Loki walked side by side, trailed by Frigga, who had carved out time from her busy schedule to watch over her son, as well as two of her ladies in waiting and a member of the palace guard.

At a stall selling sweets, Claire couldn’t resist the temptation and wanted to sample some of the offerings.

“I’m afraid your money is no good here.” Loki said apologetically as Claire dug for currency in her bag.

“Oh! Right, that makes sense. Is there somewhere I can exchange for the correct currency?” Claire asked.

“You could exchange it at the mint, I suppose, although…” Loki eyed the flimsy paper she held in her hand. “You might not get much.”

“Why not? What’s the exchange rate?”

“Exchange is made by weight, and that paper looks quite light.”

“By weight? You’re kidding.” Claire chuckled. “Wait, are you fucking with me?” she asked when Loki didn’t laugh along with her. Instead he smirked, his green eyes glittering with delight as he held her gaze.

“Not until we’re married, my lady.” His lewd promise caught her off guard and made her laugh, earning disapproving stares from the women watching over them.

“Nobody told me you were funny,” Claire giggled, ignoring the women. They could get stuffed. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” Loki said after a beat. “Do not worry about the money. Anything you need can be charged to my accounts.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to spend all your money.” Loki gave her a droll look that told her she’d never accomplish that particular goal. “Oh right, you’ve got money money.” she laughed nervously.

“I am royalty, remember? Do try to keep up, Lady Claire.” Claire rolled her eyes as they moved onto the next stall.

“Well how would I know what kind of money you have? I am fresh off the boat,” Claire joked. “I’m just not used to having that kind of luxury. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays very well, but...old habits and all that.”

“I can certainly appreciate your concern, but I promise you- I will always be able to accommodate your needs, material or otherwise.” Yet another lewd promise. Claire wanted to ask about the otherwise, but one of the chaperones came over to ask if she needed anything. Claire declined, as she’d brought all of her necessities and was in no danger of running out.

“Shall we move along?” Loki asked. They began to move again, passing florists, weavers, and leather workers. Claire lingered at the stall of a glass artisan, admiring a set of colored glass wind chimes. “If there is nothing you need, perhaps you will find something you like. Consider it a welcoming gift.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Claire smiled. “Where is your favorite place to go in the market?”

“There is a bookseller not far from here,” Loki suggested, grinning when Claire perked up. She let her fingers trail over the polished glass before she stepped away.

“I like books,” she smiled. “Lead the way.” Loki returned the smile easily, charmed by her enthusiasm. He offered her his arm, waiting for her to take it before steering them through the crowded street. Frigga and her handmaidens followed behind, discreetly watching their not-date from a distance.

The bookseller was a charming two-story corner lot with a stone facade. A wooden sign hung from a metal post above the door, the chain creaking as the sign moved in the light breeze. Loki opened the heavy wooden door, holding it open for her to step inside.

Stepping inside was like entering another dimension. Rows upon rows of high sturdy shelves filled the cavernous space. Vaulted ceilings of wood beams framed the room, which seemed to go on forever. Claire spied the top of an archway leading deeper into the shop, with more shelves visible beyond. Metal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, the multiple circles of candles casting more than enough light to navigate the walkways. A railing overlooked the main room, showing another maze of book shelves to be explored.

“What sort of books do you enjoy, Lady Claire?” Loki asked from behind her. Claire hesitated to answer, still drinking in the atmosphere. Somehow she didn’t think her usual fare of paranormal romance would be found here, much less accepted.

“Have you heard of Edgar Allan Poe?” she asked over her shoulder. Loki’s face brightened as he stepped deeper into the store to allow the women behind them to enter. Frigga and the women began to browse a nearby shelf. Loki steered Claire toward the opposite shelf with a hand on her lower back.

“I have, actually. I don’t believe we will find any of his work here. His stories are a bit grim, but I enjoy them all the same.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Claire pressed as they began to browse the stacks.

“Of course,” Loki grinned. “I quite enjoyed The Cask of Amontillado. It’s perfect in my opinion. Revenge, forcing your mortal enemy to face their own mortality…” he trailed off, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Forgive me, that was probably-”

“Not at all. That’s exactly what I liked about it,” Claire laughed. Loki looked relieved, a small smile gracing his features. He was kind of adorable when he wasn’t being a jerk. “What did you think of The Tell-Tale Heart?”

“Ah! It was...well,” Loki suddenly looked smaller, almost unsure of himself. “I understand how the protagonist feels, I shall say that.”

“I get it.”

“You do?” Loki asked skeptically, looking up from the book he’d pulled from the shelf.

“Of course,” Claire said. “My line of work isn’t always sunshine and roses. I’ve had to make calls that still get to me from time to time.”

“Forgive me, I was told of your experience as a soldier but it had not occurred to me that you would have taken life.” Loki mused, his jaw clenching when one of their chaperones interrupted.

“This is hardly appropriate conversation for a lady,” the woman scoffed, her voice the perfect blend of motherly disapproval and disappointment. “Murder! And reading!”

“As if that’s worse,” Claire whispered. Loki snickered beside her, making her laugh as well. “Not the literature!”

“Probably concerned about you getting ideas.” Loki muttered as the matron continued to scold them about their improper behavior.

“How terrible; a woman having thoughts of her own!”

“Outlandish,” Loki shook his head. “Would you like to see the upstairs?”

“Is the rainbow bridge multi-colored? Let’s go!” Claire took off at a fast clip, disappearing around a bookshelf. She came back a moment later looking sheepish. “I have no idea where I’m going. Why don’t you lead?” Loki snorted, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her to face the opposite direction. “Oh. Right.” Claire laughed when she saw the staircase leading up.

“You are perhaps the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m choosing to accept that as a compliment,” Claire said confidently. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Your Majesty-” their chaperone from earlier stopped them from leaving. “You cannot-”

“Oh will you cease?” Loki hissed. “We are in public, the chance of scandal is highly unlikely.”

“It is highly improper-”

“This is nonsense,” Loki scoffed angrily. “Madam, this is difficult enough without your constant harping-”

“Loki that is rude,” Frigga chided as she appeared from the other side of a different bookshelf. “I know I taught you better.”

“Mother, please,” Loki sighed. “You have asked us to get to know each other and we are trying. We might even succeed, but for your crones constantly picking apart our every interaction!”

“The girl must learn if she is to succeed, Your Majesty.”

“The girl is right here.” Claire added sullenly. Loki glanced at her apologetically.

“Making her doubt her every action is hardly the way to teach her,” Loki scoffed, glaring at the matron. “I understand we must have chaperones, but perhaps the constant correction could be less so? And to what point and purpose would we stand on ceremony when we are alone?”

“Lady Claire does need to learn, dearest.” Frigga said.

“Is that not the point of lessons?” Loki asked curtly.

“The lady’s lessons begin tomorrow.”

“Oh for Odin’s sake,” Loki growled. “We are going upstairs to peruse the books. Mother, control your crones or I shall enchant the staircase to make them fall.”

“Loki!”

“Rest assured, mother, nothing untoward will happen!” Loki said heatedly, urging Claire toward the stairs and following swiftly behind.

“Thanks.” Claire said once they were among the upstairs shelves.

“It is of no consequence. They are annoying.” Claire didn’t respond, but Loki heard her giggle.

“So I realized that I can’t actually read any of these books. Talk about a language barrier.” she grimaced.

“Would you like to see a trick?” Loki asked.

“Of course.”

“Pick a book.” Loki instructed, jutting his chin toward the rows of books. He trailed after Claire as she brushed her finger along the spines, settling on a thick leather-bound book with a hand-painted cover. She held it out to him, holding it along as he opened it and thumbed to the middle. Loki drew his hand across the open pages, altering the text of the book. Claire gaped as the words changed to English before her eyes.

“Kick ass,” she laughed. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Loki felt an odd stirring in his gut as Claire closed the book and hugged it to her chest. “Shall I give you a tour?”

“Yes please.”

~~~~

After a thorough tour of the upstairs, Claire and Loki had a stack of books each. Claire had learned that Loki was very well-read, so much so that he was familiar with many works from Earth. To her surprise, the prince had a fondness for poetry that matched her own.

They were having a spirited discussion of the works of Keats versus Frost as they went back downstairs to rejoin the others. Loki had tried to carry her books for her but Claire had stubbornly insisted on holding onto them.

“Hey Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Lady Claire?” one of the ladies chirped from where they stood. Her annoying throat clear reminded Claire of Dolores Umbridge.

“It’s fine. I don’t care if my betrothed doesn’t use my title every time she addresses me,” Loki brushed the woman off, looking over at Claire. “I apologize. What were you going to say?”

“It’s fine.” Claire shook her head. She could get a snack back at the palace.

“No, you were about to ask me something and you were interrupted,” he glared at the woman who’d piped up to correct her. “What was it?” Claire grinned, pleased that he had stood up for her.

“I was going to ask if we could get something to eat. We missed lunch.”

“So we did,” Loki smiled. He glanced at their stacks of books almost fondly. “There is somewhere nearby we could go, but it is hardly a venue fit for a princess.” Claire snorted, not caring in the slightest.

“Dude, I grew up poor in LA. My taste in cuisine isn’t exactly high brow.”

“As my lady wishes. Excuse me.” Loki acquiesced, striding away to find Frigga among the shelves. Her found her around the corner with the second lady in waiting.

“Hello mother.” it pleased him greatly to be able to see her in person again. Speaking with her double was not the same.

“Loki!” Frigga greeted him happily, filling him with warmth. “Darling, it is past lunch. We should return before we are late for our afternoon appointments.”

“Ah,” Loki had forgotten about their second visit to the tailor. “Mother, Claire has asked that we find something to eat. Since I kept her so late, it would be rude of me to return her to her chambers hungry.” The corners of Frigga’s mouth turned up, a hint of a smile betraying her pleasure at the budding bond that Loki and Claire seemed to be forming already.

“Quite right, but my ladies and I cannot stay.”

“That’s fine.” Loki replied swiftly.

“But you know you can’t go alone.”

“Mother-”

“It isn’t proper, Loki, you know this,” Frigga said gently. “Circumstances are what they are, but appearances must be kept.”

“Appearances are exhausting,” Loki rolled his eyes. “It would be much easier to get to know her without an audience.”

“I believe I saw Fandral-”

“Oh Gods, no! Don’t do that to me, Mother, please.”

“Fandral or the crones, Loki,” Frigga said sternly. “That is how it must be,” she patted his cheek fondly. “It is less than three weeks away.” Loki groaned like a petulant child, making Frigga smile. Her youngest son had always been the more dramatic of the two, and it comforted her to know that neither age nor time apart had changed that.

“Fine,” Loki snarled. “If Fandral’s presence is absolutely necessary, I will accept it. But I will stab him-”

“You will do no such thing.” Frigga replied, completely unphased by the threat.

“Yes I will,” Loki vowed. “I stabbed him when we were young and I’ll do it again.”

“You are still young, my darling,” Frigga said fondly, cupping his cheek to bring his line of sight back to hers. “There will be no stabbing.”

“But Mother-”

“Perhaps you would prefer the crones?”

“Ugh, no,” Loki groaned. “But what if he flirts with her? May I stab him then?”

“Fandral may be amorous, but he is not so stupid as to flirt with the future princess royal.”

“Are you certain, Mother? I’ve seen him flirt with drapery.” Loki said flatly. Frigga made a noise low in her throat, chewing her lower lip in a rare show of worry.

“Perhaps the crones would be better in that case. Lady Claire is far more attractive than drapery, wouldn’t you say?” she glanced to the side, drawing Loki’s attention to Claire as she stood by a window perusing a new book she had found. The sunlight behind her bathed her in a golden halo, the vision broken by the heavy book toppling to the ground and his future bride swearing as she dropped to her knees to get it. The crones descended immediately, scolding her up one side and down the other for everything from swearing to picking up her own book. Loki saw Claire roll her eyes as she made a show of getting back up to let the guard pick up the book, and the foreign fluttering in his belly started again.

“I swear to Bor if he so much as looks at her the wrong way I will end his entire bloodline.” Frigga sighed heavily, unsurprised by the threat but weary all the same.

“I would prefer if you did not, but at least try to be subtle if you must.”

“I was subtle last time!” Loki gasped in offense. “You only heard about it because Thor cannot keep a secret to save his life.” Frigga slapped at his arm, clucking her tongue disapprovingly.

“And what will your future wife think if you stab someone simply for talking to her?”

“Based on our limited interactions, I believe she may be doing the stabbing herself.” Loki said smugly. Frigga sighed again, wondering what nonsense she would be subjected to in the future.

“Norns help me.” she muttered to herself.

“Norns help Fandral,” Loki cackled. “I’ve changed my mind, Mother. I’ll greet the fool happily. Excuse me,” He left her side to sweep Claire away from the crones. “Have you decided which books you would like?”

“They all look interesting, but I can’t decide which one to get,” Claire replied. “Which one would you suggest?”

“Who said anything about deciding?” Loki asked. “Do you want them?”

“Well...yes.”

“Then you shall have them,” Loki said easily. “Have these charged to my accounts and bring this stack to Lady Claire’s chambers.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard escorting their party gathered the books from Claire and Loki and headed toward the front of the shop.

“Thank you.” Claire smiled.

“Of course,” Loki grinned back. “Now, we should get you something to eat before you perish.”

“It’s nowhere near that dire,” Claire laughed. “But yes, food is great.”

“My mother insists we still have chaperones, but-”

“More crones?”

“No, which is possibly both a blessing and a curse. She insists my brothers friend Fandral accompanies us, as she and the crones have duties back at the palace.” Claire noted the snarl in his voice as he said the newcomers name, logging the detail away to study later. There was clearly a history there she needed to know about.

~~~~

Watching Fandral eat, all while he talked, drank, and flirted his way through the staff, Claire decided the scorn was well earned and maybe she didn’t need to know the full history between him and her future husband. Fandral was making the reason Loki disliked him rather obvious as he shared story after boastful story of his exploits rather than let the newly engaged couple get to know each other.

When her attempts to speak with Loki were interrupted a third time, Claire decided politeness was getting them nowhere.

“I helped defeat the destroyer, you know,” Fandral said pompously. “The weapon this one sent to your planet,” he added unnecessarily as he stuffed food in his mouth. “Has he told you about that yet?”

“No,” Claire replied. “But I knew. I was there.”

“You were?” Loki asked in surprise.

“Yeah, I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., dummy,” Claire laughed lightheartedly. “I was one of the first agents on the scene when Mjolnir touched down.”

“Is that so?” Fandral asked with awe. “So then you witnessed our glorious victory!”

“I witnessed your glorious retreat, you mean,” Claire corrected. Beside her, Loki choked on his ale before covering his laughter with a polite cough. “It was Thor that defeated the destroyer after you and your companions fell back to evacuate.”

“Well-I-we helped!” Fandral stammered, his face a scorching tomato red.

“You did, that’s true,” Claire nodded. “But I don’t think you can say you personally defeated the destroyer when Thor did eighty-five percent of the work.”

“Quite a strategic mind you have, Lady Claire. Clever,” Fandral replied with false cheer. He turned his gaze to her right, settling his ire on Loki. “Does it bother you to hear of your past losses, Loki?”

“Not at all,” Loki replied, his voice seductively calm. “A warrior is always open to criticism, so that he may improve for the future.” He and Fandral glared at each other across the table, the tension between them palpable.

Claire watched on as they continued to attempt to murder each other with their gazes, eyes bouncing back and forth with amusement. It was clear that Fandral wanted Loki to look bad, but Claire wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though she would be calling off the wedding to run off with Fandral. Maybe this needed further examination after all. Claire could only hope that if things came to blows, that someone brought her a drink refill first.

If it came to it, Claire would put her money on Loki. He’d been nothing but polite and kind on today’s outing, but the man clearly had buckets of rage and Fandral was an idiot. It might would be amusing to watch Loki bash his face in.

The tense spell did not end in violence, but was instead broken by a serving girl bearing a platter of some kind of raw fish. Claire perked up and leaned over to inspect it, but couldn’t quite identify it.

“It’s eel,” Loki said helpfully, bringing the dish closer to her. “It’s one of my favorites. Would you like some?”

“Awesome,” Claire said excitedly. “I haven’t had sushi in ages.”

“Your people consume raw fish?” Fandral asked with disbelief, his eyes wide as he watched Loki serve Claire then himself from the platter.

“Not all of us, but yes. It’s something of a delicacy. I’m guessing you don’t like it?”

“Why would I, it’s disgusting.” Fandral sneered, his lip curling in disgust as Claire savored the first piece.

It was so fresh. Claire was in heaven- not even the best sushi she’d had on Earth was this delicious.

“How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it?” Claire asked innocently. “Don’t tell me a strapping warrior such as yourself is afraid of a little fish?”

“Hardly,” Fandral scoffed, clearly offended by her tone. “To my knowledge only the Jotunn consumed fish raw. You know about them, I assume?”

Loki, who had been chuckling to himself throughout their exchange, stilled beside her. Another strike for Fandral.

“Is that your subtle way of asking if I know Loki’s heritage?” Claire asked tersely. She looked at the tense man beside her, putting a hand on top of his vambrace to reassure him. “It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me,” Fandral noted the contact with curiosity- touching the royal family simply wasn’t done, but the youngest prince detested being touched. Lady Claire had managed to commit two faux pas in one motion, the silly girl. And yet, to Fandral’s surprise, Loki made no move to disengage her. “What do I need to know?”

“There are several library books-”

“You’re the resident expert, are you?” Claire asked sharply. “I was asking Loki.” she looked over at him expectantly, giving him pause.

“Erm-”

“Ah, well-”

“Excuse me,” Claire spoke over Fandral, her patience at the breaking point. “You interrupted Loki,” she patted his arm as she looked back to him. “Go ahead.”

“I was simply going to say I don’t wish to talk about it, in present company or otherwise.”

“Okay,” Claire nodded, accepting his reply without question. Loki studied her as she returned to her eel. The woman confused him and Loki didn’t like it. Unknowns made him uncomfortable. Was she not going to pester him to speak? Was she not curious about the monster he truly was? This woman he was coming to know seemed incongruous with the wicked trickster who sent him pornographic glitter. “You don’t like people who are different, do you?” the venom in Claire’s voice drew Loki’s attention. Her ire was striking, and rather satisfying, as she made Fandral squirm under her steely gaze.

“And you do?” Fandral asked defensively.

“I know how alienating it can feel,” Claire replied. “Where I grew up, the Latinx and bipoc communities were the majority. I wasn’t exactly an outsider, but people who looked like me were pretty rare.” As if sensing he was outnumbered, Fandral made a quiet retreat and the rest of their meal passed without incident. Claire emerged from the restaurant certain that she shared Loki’s disdain for Fandral. As much as she wished to be rid of him, he still had to escort them back to the palace.

They traveled back through the marketplace, somehow even busier than it had been earlier. Loki looked on as Claire struggled to take it all in, wondering if her slender neck would withstand the constant back and forth as she took in all the sights around them. He slowed his pace to allow her more time, and giving them more distance between themselves and Fandral.

“Is this very different from your home?” he asked.

“I’ve been to places like this, when I would travel for work, but where I’m from markets like this weren’t very common. Most people do their shopping indoors at different places.” Loki’s nose wrinkled as he contemplated how annoying that much be. Claire thought it was cute.

“Why?” Loki asked. “I imagine it would be useful to have indoor markets in inclement weather, but...all the time? And the travel to different vendors- when one could be literally steps away!” he gestured toward the stalls to illustrate his point. “To what end?”

“Capitalism.” Claire said flatly.

“Capitalism?”

“Yeah,” Claire sighed with exasperation. “It sucks big ol’ donkey balls.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki gaped at her, laughter bubbling up in his chest despite him. He’d never heard a woman speak so crudely, and he was equally delighted and stunned. “That is...certainly an image I could do without.”

“It’s true!” Claire chirped loudly, drawing stares from passersby. “If you really want to know about it, I can explain it. Just know it’s an over-complicated, ugly system of economics that revolves around money.”

“How charming.”

“That’s one word for it.” Claire laughed, stopping short as she and Loki nearly ran into Fandral, who had stopped unexpectedly in front of them.

“I need to visit the armorer.” he announced suddenly, forcing them to change directions and head deeper in the marketplace and away from the palace. Despite wanting to be done with Fandral, Claire felt she and Loki were at least getting off to a good start and wanted to spend more time speaking with him.

The armorer was a unique vendor, as they had a building behind their outdoor stall. Inside, Claire could hear the clang of heavy hammer meeting metal and the flickering of flame. Thick black smoke poured from the chimney above, giving some relief from the unrelenting sun. Outside in the stall, the large rectangular tables were covered with knives and swords. Baskets of locks, keys, horseshoes, hinges and nails dotted the displays. On the back table beside the scattered armor and helmets, Claire spotted a spiked mace in the corner, and her fingers itched to test it out on Fandral’s face.

“This is so cool.” she remarked, turning her attention to the knives in front of her. As she was inspecting a set of throwing daggers, Fandral stepped up beside them.

“I have to go inside for a moment,” he said, as if they cared. “Don’t wander off.”

“Damn, that’s exactly what I was planning to do.” Claire replied sarcastically. The corners of Loki’s mouth turned up as his finger traced the pearl handles of a set of daggers appreciatively. He admired her wit.

“Lady Claire-”

“I was kidding! Just do what you do,” Fandral eyes her skeptically, staying in place. “We’re not five. We’ll be right here looking at knives.”

“That is what concerns me.” Fandral finally left them to run his dumb errand, leaving Claire and Loki alone for the first time since meeting. Well, except for the merchant standing nearby awkwardly.

“Hey,” Claire said quickly, getting Loki’s attention. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Whatever for?” Loki asked. “That is not the first time Fandral has been rude to me, nor will it be the last. I’m not a child. You’ve no need to apologize to me.”

“I know you’re not, I just meant- I could tell you were uncomfortable. He was a dick to bring it up.”

“’It’ being the fact that I’m a monster?”

“I didn’t say that.” Claire argued.

“But I’m sure you think it-”

“Whoa, buddy, lemme stop you right there. If I think something, you can be damn sure I’ll tell you. I understand there are things about you I don’t know, and yes I have questions, but I’m not going to be a dick about it like him,” Claire glanced toward the armorer’s shop to illustrate her point. “I’m trusting that as an adult, you will tell me when you’re ready.” Loki scoffed.

“Because you care so deeply for my feelings after a week?”

“Five thousand years is a long time,” Claire replied placidly. “No sense in starting off at each other’s throats,” she pulled her arm from his. “At least more than we already have. But message received. I won’t bring it up again,” she promised. “Now tell me about these knives.”

As the merchant stepped closer to display his wares, Loki watched on. Claire was well-acquainted with knives, he learned, watching her pepper the merchant with questions as she ran her thumb delicately along the cheek of the blade.

He wanted to see her use it.

The funny feeling in his stomach returned as he considered what he had learned about her in the short time they’d been acquainted. She was well-read (barring her erroneous appreciation for Frost), and appreciated similar cuisines. She was mischievous, as her trick with the glitter had shown.

“I regret my actions at the stables,” he found himself blurting. “I should not have been so careless.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” Claire replied bluntly. “If this is your attempt at getting an apology for the glitter, it’s not going to work. I can’t be guilted for something I don’t regret.” Loki huffed in amusement.

His future wife was bold as could be.

“I suppose I can admit it was...deserved.”

“Very well deserved,” Claire corrected him. “I see you managed to get most of it off.”

“Mostly, yes,” Loki agreed. “Although it lingers horribly.”

“That’s the point,” Claire turned her wolfish smile on him, making the funny feeling return with a vengeance. “I’m kind of sad I missed the explosion.”

“It was rather forceful,” Loki chuckled. “One of the pieces found its way into my mouth.”

She was a creature of beauty, the afternoon sun making her face glow as she threw her head back in loud, raucous laughter. Loki barely minded that she was laughing at him, the absurdity of it all beginning to make him laugh as well.

“That’s amazing. I regret nothing,” she said breathlessly as she collected herself. “Truce?” she requested as Fandral returned.

“Ready to go?”

Loki was beyond ready. He wanted to get away from this strange woman and the strange feelings she stirred in him.

20 days until the wedding

Apart from meals, Claire did not see Loki the day after their trip to the market. She was still digesting the hefty discoveries from the day, so it didn’t bother her. The man was odd, to say the least.

Odd, but thoughtful.

The books she had picked out had been waiting for her the following morning, wrapped with loving care by the bookseller. Atop the package had been a parcel of the sweets she had wanted to try, along with a note which read simply Truce.

Since she’d had nothing on her pre-wedding agenda for that morning, she had picked a book and a few pieces of candy to test out before stretching along the plush couch. The pink taffy-like candy was delicious, proving that pink candies were the best, even in space. The yellow however, had been spat out almost immediately. Claire enjoyed the tastes of banana and mayonnaise, but not together. Afraid to try the other candies, she’d set them aside for later snacking.

Lunch was uneventful except for catching up with her uncle. They exchanged excited whispers of what they had learned about life in Asgard before Claire had to meet the healer to prove she could in fact have Loki’s babies. The middle-aged looking woman who examined Claire answered her questions as though speaking to a child, all while asking her invasive questions about what she ate and the date of her last period and her last bowel movement.

Claire wasn’t sure why she needed to know about that, but answered anyway. She couldn’t exactly refuse.

She was dismissed promptly one hour after arriving, feeling as though her forehead bore a large stamp reading FERTILE AF as Ragna walked her back to her chambers. It was fucking degrading. She felt like nothing more than a glorified brood mare brought to stable to breed the next great racehorse, and as soon as she got back to her rooms she sank into a steaming bath in a sour mood.

The dress Ragna set out for her was beautiful, but Claire was still in a funk and felt more like a child playing dress up than a soon-to-be royal.

She didn’t see Loki during dinner, which was a small mercy because she was still angry at him, but the food- normally something shiny and novel- sat heavy and uneasy in her stomach.

She would kill for a burger and beer.

When she eventually went to bed later that night, she told herself it was a bad day and she was still adjusting. Things would get better.

She hoped.

19 days until the wedding

Phil’s experience in Asgard was much more peaceful than Claire’s. His rooms were elegant and classy, the staff he’d been assigned made his day even smoother than usual, and he was allowed mostly to do whatever he wished. He spent a great deal of time in the library, learning what he could about Asgard. Today however, the library had lost its appeal and Phil instead sought out answers.

“How is the wedding planning is going? I haven’t seen much of Claire the past few days.” Phil had hoped to find Frigga, but surprisingly had found Odin instead.

“Ah yes, she is rather busy with my wife Frigga and also Loki, if only intermittently. It is custom that newlyweds share a dance at the feast following the ceremony and they must meet to practice. It is-” Odin began to laugh. “If my wife is to be believed, despite their improved interactions, they still bicker like children.”

“I’m sure she and Loki are getting along wonderfully.” Phil said jokingly. He imagined they were rather unfriendly with one another, if their first meeting was any indication.

“Frigga tells me they bicker over the littlest things; quite passionately if she is to be believed. Just this morning she mentioned that Lady Claire lost her temper with Loki and struck him rather forcefully before storming off. Norns know what that boy did to get such a rise out of her,” Odin chuckled. “If I did not know better, I would say it’s almost as if they each enjoy antagonizing the other.”

“I figured as much. Claire can be very stubborn when she wants to be.”

“As can Loki. I suppose we must pray they don’t kill each other.”

“You don’t really think they would, do you?” Phil asked with concern.

“No. Loki is fully aware of the consequences that would befall him should any harm come to Claire. His freedom hinges upon their marriage succeeding. Should it fail, for whatever reason, he will return to his cell for the rest of his days.”

“That’s…comforting.” Phil said, tucking his hands in his pockets. Odin gave a bemused grin.

“I understand you are worried for Lady Claire, being her only family. We will see that all of her needs are met, and you may visit at any time should you wish.”

“Why is it that I can come and go as I please but Claire is only allowed to visit Earth once a year?”

“I only say that as a precaution. Given her soon-to-be elevated status, she could potentially be at risk from anyone wishing her harm. We wish to avoid that,” Odin explained. “That can always be changed later, depending on the response to the marriage on Midgard. I know it may seem as if we are keeping her from her home, but I assure you it is only for protection. This is why I allow you to come as you please; I do not wish you or Claire to feel isolated from one another in these challenging times. You are always welcome here, Son of Coul.”

“Thank you for that,” Phil smiled. “I’ll return to Earth after the wedding and bring Claire’s things as soon as I can.”

“As you wish.” Odin nodded.

“I assume Claire will be granted immortality after the wedding.”

“You are correct, however it must wait until later in the year.”

“Why the delay?” Phil asked accusingly.

“Peace, Son of Coul. I bear no ill will to my new daughter,” Odin soothed him. “It is merely because the crop is not ready.”

“The crop? Oh right, the apples.”

“Yes, the apples will not be ready until the autumn. Lady Claire will receive her own apple alongside everyone else,” Odin assured Phil. “Do not worry too much over her; we both know she is more than capable of fending for herself,” he chuckled. “I believe it is almost time for supper; would you care to walk with me?”

“Sure,” Phil said. “Do you think they are fighting?” he asked as they began to walk inside.

“I am sure they are,” Odin chuckled. “Perhaps they will keep us entertained with their bickering.”

Upon reaching the great hall, they were indeed greeted by the sight of Loki and Claire seated side by side, both glaring heatedly at the other. Odin and Phil parted; Odin taking his seat at the head of the table and Phil sitting on the opposite side of Claire.

“How are things?” he greeted his niece, only to receive a withering glare.

“Fabulous.” She grouched, thanking a servant as she brought them goblets of wine.

“You needn’t do that,” Loki muttered beside her. “It’s her job.”

“Well on Earth we thank the people that bring us things,” Claire answered. “Not all of us are pompous assholes.” Phil sighed beside her.

“Really Claire?” he chastised. “Can we have one night without fighting?”

“Yes, really.” Claire hissed as she began to sip her wine.

“Must you complain about everything?” Loki interjected. “I don’t believe you’ve uttered one sentence that has not been a complaint since you arrived.”

“That’s not true; calling you an asshole wasn’t a complaint. It was an observation.” Claire responded petulantly, taking another sip of her wine.

“You’re a brat.” Loki hissed.

“But a correct one. Big words, by the way, from the god they call Silvertongue. I’d have thought your vocabulary would be more expansive the way people carried on. How’s your leg?” Claire asked with false concern.

“Completely healed, thank you for asking.”

“That’s a shame! Though you know if you weren’t such an ass I wouldn’t have kicked you.”

“Perhaps if you would learn to not stomp on my feet my manners would improve.”

“That was one time!” Claire objected.

“No, it was several times!” Loki seethed. “Are you truly incapable of learning one simple dance?”

“Maybe I could if you didn’t drag me around at a million miles an hour! It’s called patience, you twat.”

“Claire, that’s enough! People are staring.” Phil reprimanded her roughly. Claire turned to glare at him, only to notice that he was right; the entire room was focused on her and Loki.

“Very mature, your niece.” Loki muttered in Phil’s direction.

“Shut up,” Claire seethed. “You’re no better.”

“At least I don’t go about kicking people in the shin.”

“You deserved it.”

“Silence, both of you,” Frigga snapped curtly. “This is no way to behave.”

“Yes Mother,” Loki replied ruefully, turning his attention to his plate with a sullen look on his face. He glared over at Claire; this was entirely her fault, the intolerable little brat. “Well done darling, you’ve managed to make dinner more interesting than it has been in years.” He complimented her sarcastically.

“Bite me mama’s boy; you started it.” Claire hissed. Beside her, Phil facepalmed as the engaged couple began bickering yet again.

“Woman!” Loki slammed his goblet down, sloshing blood red wine upon the crisp white tablecloth. He opened his mouth to hurl another insult at her, but Frigga caught him by the ear and pulled him to her.

“Loki, I have had it with your behavior. I raised you better than to speak to a woman like that. If you are unable to speak to your future wife with civility then do not speak at all,” She scolded him heatedly. “Apologize to her immediately.” Loki clenched his jaw, about to refuse when Frigga raised a brow warningly. He growled and turned to look at Claire, looking dainty and innocent as she pushed her food around her plate.

“I apologize for my rudeness.” He said sullenly. Claire looked over at him with benign interest, playing her part of the innocent victim well.

“Pardon?” she asked.

“You heard me.” Loki grouched.

“No, actually, I didn’t. Can you repeat that please?” Claire requested. Loki growled; the little nuisance was doing this intentionally. Damn her.

“Loki…” Frigga coached beside him. “Your bride-to-be did not hear you.”

“I said, I apologize!” Loki hissed loudly. “Did you hear me that time?” he asked arrogantly.

“Yes, thank you!” Claire chirped, smiling sweetly at him. Plague take her. Just when they’d started to improve their relationship, she began acting like a child again. Mercifully, they passed the rest of the meal without speaking, but there were occasional lingering glances.

Claire seemed agitated whenever he caught her staring, the tops of her cheeks turning a charming pink as she looked away.

He understood the feeling well, for he found it increasingly difficult not to stare at her.

#covenant #loki x ofc #loki fic

29 notes · View notes

eppysboys · 2 years ago

Text

Tim Bruckner, creator of the artwork on Ringo Starr’s landmark 1973 album Ringo, interview with The Beatles Bible in Febuary 2015:

Did you work closely with Ringo on the cover concept, or were you given free rein? What was your design brief?

They already had the images of Ringo leaning against the giant letters, à la Elvis. In the original pictures, Ringo’s shirt is blue. They had it retouched to make it red. There was no concept at the time. I put together 10 concept sketches and they picked the one with him on stage with a balcony full of people. There are 26 portraits in the balcony. The rest are people I invented.

I was working on the design at the R or R offices at night. When I needed inspiration, I’d take a walk through the London streets and come back to work inspired. I didn’t meet Ringo until I went to England so I don’t know what his involvement was beforehand.

Ringo’s cover sidekick, the cherub, happened after I got home. Having met the man and spent some time with him, I understood how important humor was to him and his circle of friends. The cherub just seemed like an natural extension of that part of his character, funny and a little mischievous. Was the cover an intended homage to Sgt Pepper, with the faces in the background?

I’d never intended it to be connected to Sgt Pepper at all. The only directive I got was their desire to have the musicians who played on the album represented on the cover in some way. Klaus Voormann, who did the art for Revolver, had designed and completed a piece line art for Ringo’s cover. Ringo decided against using it.

It was never used. As far as I know I have the only copy, although I assume Klaus has the original.

The motto “Duit on mon dei” (‘do it on Monday’) appears at the top of the Ringo sleeve, and was also a Harry Nilsson album title. Was it Ringo’s stipulation to have it on his record sleeve, and was it a regular in-joke at the time?

This was Harry’s invention. He wanted to make it a joke on a Latin motto. I think the only reason it got on the cover was they thought it was funny and asked that I include it. Did you know any of the Beatles prior to 1973? Did you consider yourselves friends, or was it more of a professional relationship?

I’d not met any of the Beatles prior to working on Ringo’s album cover. Over the course of a couple of years, I got to know Harry and Ringo pretty well. More so Harry. He’d commissioned a couple of pieces of art from me. He lived in an apartment on the corner of La Cienega and Sunset, and I visited him there a number of times.

During that time, I lived in El Segundo, a beach community outside of Los Angeles. There was a silent movie theater down the block from me and Harry and his current girlfriend came over. We had a few drinks and all walked down the block to see Lon Chaney in The Phantom of the Opera, with the hand colored section. It was the first time either one of us had seen it. He was an intelligent, caring, funny and talented man with a penchant for things that were not good for him.

I was friendly with Ringo but I wouldn’t say we were friends. I was lucky enough to have been invited to his house while I was in England, where I met George Harrison, and his lovely wife Pattie. I’d met John Lennon a number of times while he was producing Harry’s Pussy Cats album. He was always kind and patient with me. I have two significant memories of John.

I was supposed to come to the Malibu house to give Harry and Ringo updates on Harry and Ringo’s Night Out. I was eager and anxious and got to the house mid morning. I didn’t know at the time that morning, for the house residents started after noon. I was sitting in at the kitchen table, waiting.

One of the house staff offered me breakfast. A bowl of cereal. I poured out a bowl full of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes and was just about to pour the milk when John came in, sat down, smiled, looked at me, the bowl of cereal and said, “Ah, sitting on a cornflake.” Perfect.

One late afternoon, I think it was a Sunday, I was sitting on the couch. John came in and sat on the chair opposite me. I don’t remember what started the conversation, but he made a point to tell me that women were people too. They thought, felt, reasoned, reacted, created, explored, angered, were saddened, equal to that of any man. Often more so.

I was young and not very evolved. He must have seen something in me that prompted his observation. But that was one of those light bulb moments. I thought about what my attitude had been to the women in my life and realized it needed adjusting. His words altered my relationships profoundly for the better.

One of the things I learned during that time was how transitory your relationships are, especially with famous people. I saw it over and over, people who were near the inner circle desperately trying to hold onto their place in the mistaken belief that fame rubs off. It doesn’t, at least not in those days. The famous have their own friends, their own lives and their own sense of who they are and what they need to get done. If you can contribute to any part of it, you’re lucky and it can be hugely fun. The key is to recognize when it’s time to move on. And move on.

One of the saddest things I witnessed was a person who had been part of the celebrity society but was not as relevant as they once were and the desperation they went through just to stay where they were. When you hear a celebrity see a person coming and they say, “Oh, it’s her/him,” as if the Grim Reaper just stepped into the room, it’s kind of a heartbreak. But you can’t say anything. Partly, because they don’t believe you. They see it as a way to move them aside and move yourself in.

#Tim Bruckner #Ringo Starr #Klaus Voormann #John Lennon #Art #Klaus' art #quotes #Ringo #John #Klaus #Harry Nisson #'he made a point to tell me that women were people too' Oh I'd expect nothing less #everything is Ringo #' The cherub just seemed like an natural extension of that part of his character'#'I think the only reason it got on the cover was they thought it was funny and asked that I include it.' that's the way 😌

37 notes · View notes

nate-windsor · 1 year ago

Text

the tidbits.

NAME: Nathaniel Windsor NICKNAMES: Nate AGE: 30 BIRTHDAY: April 27, 1994 OCCUPATION: currently unemployed NEIGHBORHOOD: Echo Acres SPECIES: werewolf, beta (born) LENGTH OF TIME IN LUNAR COVE: 5ish weeks

the bio but in bullet points.

triggers: reform camp, death, parental death and alluded to emotional abuse, violence, substance use, assault

Nate was born the only child to Margarget and James Windsor, a surname with a generational history in politics and positions of authority in Southern California. As you can probably imagine, there was a lot of expectation that came with that.

Nate was not the little baby prodigy they were hoping for: too curious, too outspoken, too "soft". He struggled to reconcile the son they wanted and the one that he was, and as a teen, he was shipped off to a reform camp to be straightened out.

Surprise, it was not at all like an extended summer camp, but rather a place intended to strip him of all the things that made him him. It was here, though, that he met @skyecarrington. Skye helped him, along with others, escape the camp. But when faced with the choice of setting off on his own or returning home, he chose home. Still, Skye gave him his number and told him to call if he ever needed anything

Upon Nate's return home, he did his best to go through the motions and be the Windsor heir that everyone expected him to be. He studied poli sci, he volunteered, he made speeches and earned the public's adoration. As it turned out, he was really good at charming people. It served him well.

He was super not interested in politics, though. He wasn't really interested in the future wife his mom had picked out for him either. So it was nothing short of fate when he met @daphnebishop. For him, he would have sworn it was love at first sight. She was bold in all the ways he'd been malleable, she was living color to his black and white life.

His parents hated it, of course. They did what they could to break them up, but no dice.

Eventually, they were married. It was the best time of Nate's life. He blossomed under her love, the kind of unconditional thing he should have always had and never did.

But good times never last and when Daphne learned of her sister's death, the real divide began. He lost her day by day to her obsession for answers he didn't believe she'd find. His parents were on him hard to rein her in and he begged her to just let it go.

But instead, she let him go. He woke up one morning to divorce papers and a sudden reappearance of that black and white life. He would be ashamed to admit that he lost himself in the heartbreak. For two months, he was little more than a recluse. He drank away his feelings, he didn't leave the house except to get more alcohol. It was during one such trip that he was jumped in an attempted mugging. When it became clear it was a 'him-or-me' situation, a shard of broken glass aimed at just the right spot saved his life.

It had unknowingly triggered a werewolf curse. The morning after the next full moon, he awoke naked in the middle of a field, dried blood under his fingernails with only bits and pieces of memory from the night before. Something told him to call that number Skye had left him with all those years ago. He'd heard about his death, had even mourned him in private. But still, something told him to call. Imagine his surprise when Skye picked up.

After brief discussions, Skye convinced Nate to come to Lunar Cove. He promised he would find what he needed there. And Nate, with nothing tethering him to California, and a desperate need to understand what was happening to him, made the move.

Now, he's just trying to figure out what life even is now.

the headcanons.

Nate can play the piano and sing surprisingly well. He also taught himself a little bit on the guitar through youtube videos, but he's way less practiced with that

You'll probably never see him in a t-shirt. For as down to earth as he is (especially if you've ever met his parents), he still dresses expensive. He loves long-sleeved dress shirts and button downs with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. But often, he'll add a basic little baseball hat to his outfits which really throws off the whole thing in an awww he's trying kind of way

....I felt like I had tons more hcs to add here when I was stuck at work all day and now that I'm here, I have zero thoughts. Soooo this will be updated!

#lcintro #about #intro

7 notes · View notes

trappers-cloak · 1 year ago

Text

The Buck and the Fox: Chapter 3

"Men in Sheep's Clothing"

a/n: after months of me agonizing on how to finish this chapter, here it is! we last left off with Diana heading to bed with her husband Eugene. Now this is where things are starting to pick up.

Tags: slow burn, female!oc x Arthur Morgan, hints of pining. this is very plot heavy - while it is a work of fanfiction, it leans into creating a compelling story within the world/story of rdr2.

TW: incest, dubious consent, captivity

word count: ~ 4k

Diana Wegner

Diana hadn’t expected to see Arthur at the ranch, but it was a welcome surprise. She was also sorry not to have said hello, but it would’ve been too much of a risk with Eugene home early anyway. Still, the thought of Arthur kept her through the evening's chores.

Eugene, having arrived drunk with his new, unnecessary stallion, put Diana and Seamus to the task of stabling the horse and feeding him. The whole time, she thought of Arthur, knowing that such thoughts were folly anyway. For Christ sakes, she’d only met the man once, yet here she was giggling and blushing about him like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t place her fascination with him, besides the small fact that he was a dangerously attractive cowboy who quite literally had saved her life. It was something out of a storybook from her youth. Even Eugene’s new horse reminded her of Arthur - this new, frivolous purchase was the same color and pattern as the man’s war horse.

“Missus Diana?” a question from Seamus broke her from her thoughts.

“Oh, um…yes?” she asked Seamus, hoping he hadn’t seen her in her thoughts. His smirk told her he had.

“I just said that I’ve got the rest of this. You best get on inside. Mister Eugene said he…wants you tonight,” he mumbled. He knew better than to tease her after saying such a thing.

Diana’s heart sank. Here she was, fantasizing like she was Miriam’s age, and she had to go do her wifely duties with a man she near despised. She sighed, and handed Seamus the reins.

“Gimme some of that moonshine. The strong stuff, this time,” she said to Seamus. He handed over his own flask, a stolen engraved hip flask.

“This stuff’s got some poppy in it, if you catch my meaning. Absinthe, too,” Seamus said. Diana took a sip, and winced. She tried to give it back to Seamus, but he didn’t take it, and nodded towards her.

“Another sip. You’ve…well, you’ve earned it,” he said. He was gentler than usual. These nights brought out the kindness in him. Diana obliged, with a big sip. This moonshine, whatever special stuff Seamus kept, had a way of numbing the senses, more so than other moonshine.

The world seemed to float, and Diana's brain slowed its thinking. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, and she giggled. It took more of her effort to walk, one step in front of the other.

Eugene was waiting for her outside his bedchamber. Months ago, it had been theirs.

“C’mon, darlin,” he murmured, drunk as a skunk himself. He clapped her shoulder and not-so-gently ushered her towards the bed. His “loving” demeanor was gone, and as she turned towards him, his eyes were dark. At the sight, he shoved her towards the bed.

“Now get undressed,” he snarled.

Normally, Diana would’ve slapped him. The moonshine and the memories of Eugene’s rage stopped her. That, and she’d forgotten her knife. So instead, she did as he asked, and laid on the bed. Prepared now, physically and mentally, she laid there. Bare. Vulnerable.

She fucking hated it.

But she had never been more grateful for the poppy-laced moonshine. It dulled the sensations, kept her calm. Instead of the task being a misery, it was more of a nuisance. Something she had learned to tolerate, even if she couldn't imagine doing it sober.

She looked down halfway through the deed. Her dear lord husband’s gut was swinging, and obscured any view she might’ve had. It wasn’t stopping him. She allowed her mind to wander.

It wandered where one might think it did. Towards the figure on the hill from earlier. She supposed Arthur could be her if she’d been born a man, but that wasn’t really why she thought of him so frequently. She conjured scenes from a dime novel, and put Arthur's face to them. It made her feel almost good, especially if she closed her eyes.

As Eugene moaned, her eyes snapped open again, startled. He moaned again, and she relaxed. Until it happened again.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, Miriam!”

Diana froze. Not a single muscle moved. Her husband was finished, now, which haunted her even more. His face, inches away from hers, gave no inclination that he’d known what he’d said. She turned over as he laid down beside her, and stayed staring at the wall until morning.

When morning came and the roosters called, Diana was up and dressed in the same clothing from the previous day. Eugene still snored on his side of the bed, and she prepared herself for the early departure. Her husband was a monster of a man on a good day, and a hangover did nothing to improve the matter.

As she crept downstairs, she headed straight for the kitchen, nursing a hangover of her own. The smell of tea coaxed her like a siren song, and she wandered towards the edge of the ship until she came face to face with Miriam. The pair started in tandem, and froze. A moment passed, and Miriam rushed forward and embraced Diana in a hug so tight it took her breath away.

“Oh, Diana!” Miriam whisper-cried. “What are you doing out in the open?!”

“Your father was kind enough to take me to bed last night,” Diana replied, sighing as she said it. Nevertheless, she hugged Miriam with a similar enthusiasm.

“O-oh,” Miriam said. She wasn’t shocked, per se, but such a thing is never comfortable to hear. “Was it…” she probed. She didn’t truly want to know, Diana could tell.

“It was…normal,” Diana replied, still in a soft voice. “But-”

She was interrupted when a maid came in. It was Miriam’s governess, though she hardly needed one.

“I think that will be all, Diana,” she said, a cold woman with an equally icy delivery. “Now go on. Mister Wegner will be downstairs any minute now, and you wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”

Diana and Miriam froze once again.

“No. I wouldn't want that. But I would like to say good morning to my stepdaughter and eat a meal with little interruption,” Diana replied, trying her hardest to emulate the same frigidity.

“Mister Cripps has prepared a morning meal, has he not?”

“At this hour, likely not. And that does not preclude me from saying hello-”

“Miss Miriam does not need such tidings. There is no reason for you to confuse her further with your…habits. Habits and ideas,” the governess said. Her face was unmoving. She was winning, goddamn it. Miriam remained silent, a type of silence that Diana recognized. Fear.

“Now, Miriam,” the governess said, turning towards the petrified girl. “Our lessons begin at nine. Go get yourself ready,” she commanded.

“Yes, Missus Carmichael,” Miriam answered in a voice quieter than a church mouse. She squeezed Diana’s hand once before leaving, and was ushered up the stairs to her glorified cage. Diana was alone. She took another sip of tea, still coming down from her fear of Missus Carmichael when the true reality of her situation slammed into her chest.

Eugene, her husband of years gone by, lusted for his own goddamn daughter. Not his stepdaughter, not his goddaughter, his own daughter, by blood.

Diana rushed out of the kitchen and ran to the barn, hoping to catch Seamus before his work had started. She was lucky enough to find him alone in the barn, where the only prying ears belonged to the cows.

“What in the-” he started, before Diana slammed the door behind her.

“You’ll want more of that Poppy-shine before I start,” she said, grabbing her metal mess cup from her belt. “Now pour.”

He poured, but stopped her before she could take a sip.

“I’m out of that good stuff - I gave the last of it to you last night. This is still strong,” he said. Diana rolled her eyes, and again went to take a sip. This time, Seamus let her, and the burn of the moonshine slid down her throat like nectar. The taste was rich, like a sweet plum.

Seamus took a sip as well, and grabbed a piece of paper from his coat.

“Look, Diana, there’s no easy way to say this, but-”

“Eugene wants to fuck Miriam,” Diana said quickly. She couldn’t bear holding it in another second. Seamus paused, his mouth agape.

“What?”

“He said her name last night. At first I couldn’t believe it, but he said it again.” the gravity hit her again, and dread along with it. For once, Seamus looked surprised.

“Well…shit,” he said, taking another sip.

“That's your reaction? Seamus, we have to do something!” Diana was close to shouting. Seamus moved again to get the piece of paper. Diana couldn’t believe him.

“Goddamn it, we need to do something-” she continued, and he slapped the paper down on the table.

“Look,” he said. “Just look at it.”

Diana unfolded the paper and unveiled a bounty poster. On the poster was a picture of the man who’d saved her. In big letters at the top read:

ARTHUR MORGAN. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE $5000 REWARD BY THE STATE OF WEST ELIZABETH, AND THE COMMONWEALTH OF BLACKWATER. IF FOUND, DO NOT APPROACH. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. CONTACT THE PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY.

After a beat, she spoke.

“Where did you find this?”

“Cripps saw it at the station this morning. Poster just went up.” Seamus tried to gauge the expression on her face, to no avail. The gears behind her eyes turned and turned and turned.

Seamus spoke up again, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. Even the cows had stopped mooing. “Now, I knew there was something up with this feller when his old man came and started spouting nonsense about so-called ‘lost goods’. I’d guessed the pair were thieves, until I saw this.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Well, I thought you’d just want to know–”

“That I’d had a savior delivered onto my doorstep?”

“Wait, what?” Seamus looked confused. “I was just gonna warn you–”

“That there are bad men out there? Seamus, you do business with bad men everyday. I’m married to perhaps the worst man in New Hanover,” she replied.

Seamus sighed.

“Listen Missus Wegner, I don’t think you’re thinking this through. I also don’t even know what you’re thinking of doing!”

This gave Diana pause - he was right. She knew for a fact that she was angry, that Miriam was a caged bird, and that her husband had said his own daughter's name as he found his completion the night before. She knew that she loved Miriam like something between a sister and a daughter, and that she had never felt something like that for anyone else. She also knew that the man who’d saved her, Arthur, was a good man. All her silly fantasies laid aside, he had saved her life at his own peril, without the expectation of money, sex or goods, or any combination thereof.

She sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time.

“You’re right. I-I just need rest, time to think,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes felt like they’d been attached to lead weights. The sleeplessness of the night sunk in.

“Climb up to the hayloft and sleep there. I’ll tell you if something goes down,” Seamus said, and Diana whistled for Pluto. Diana climbed up as instructed to find a bedroll amidst the hay. Her sheepdog bound up the rafters to join her, and snuggled up against her instantly. Before Diana fell asleep, she was startled by Seamus climbing up to pass her waterskin.

“Here, Missus Wegner. Oh,” he said, reaching behind him. He pulled out the bounty poster, along with two others. “I think these fellers are all working together. If you have some harebrained plan hatched involving that Arthur fella, you’ll probably encounter these guys too.”

“Thank you,” Diana responded, sleep beginning to overtake her. Seamus nodded, and started down the stairs. She opened the other two bounty posters, revealing the faces of two other men. One, a dark-haired mustachioed man named Dutch Van der Linde, and the other, a gray-haired older man named Hosea Matthews. She pondered the posters, and turned again.

“Seamus?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to save her. I will save her - even If it’s the last thing I do.”

Arthur Morgan

The gift box proved harder to balance on Ares’ back than expected. Ares was a stocky horse, but impatient, and loath to slow to balance a parcel on his back, and Arthur had had to slow the horse to a trot the whole journey back to the Overlook. By the time he had entered the forested trail back to camp, the steed was still restless.

Suddenly, another surprise- an unexpected voice came from the trees.

“Who’s there?”

The voice asking that question usually belonged to Bill or Javier- sometimes even Charles. This time, the voice was a different one- harsher.

“Micah?”

“That’s right, cowpoke, I’m back!” Micah came into view, his gigantic blonde mustache dripping with what must have been whiskey.

“And here I thought they were gonna hang you in Strawberry,” Arthur said. He tried to hide his disappointment at his comrades' safe return.

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily! I don’t go down without a fight,” Micah retorted.

“Certainly had us fooled. You damn near gave Lenny a heart attack- the poor kid was panicking when he came back with the news!” Arthur said. The memory was a vivid one - Lenny had interrupted a meeting with himself and Dutch in a frenzy, panting and saying Micah was in jail in some ‘vacation’ town west of the Dakota River.

“Ehh, he’ll be fine. One day you’ll have to learn to loosen up a little, Morgan,” Micah said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and rode into camp, hitching his horse and grabbing the box from its back. He tried to hide his impatience to moderate success, but inside he was itching to know its contents. As he plopped on his cot, he did his best to open the box without tearing into it like some wild animal.

The cloak he pulled out was thick and the color of snow and soot. Sheep’s wool, by the feel of it. It had the recognizable smell of leatherworking material and livestock, plus a slight floral - or was it blackcurrant? - scent. He almost got so caught up in it, running his hands over the woolen decadence, that he missed the note at the bottom of the box. The green ribbon on the note gave it away, and he gently set the cloak down beside him to read.

Dearest Arthur,

Please accept this gift as a token of gratitude for saving my life just one week ago. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the kindness extended towards me. I am sorry that I had to cut our meeting short that day, and would love to speak with you - or share a drink with you - another time in the near future. Mister Cripps informed me of how delightful you were to have as company. I hope to see you again soon at Emerald Ranch. If you and your compatriots are still in need of money to get back on your feet, there is ample work to be found at the ranch, and Mister Cripps will happily buy any hides, if you continue your career as a hunter.

Warm regards,

Diana Wegner.

On the other side of the paper was a small addition.

P.S., if you should be in need of other business opportunities, feel free to visit and ask after myself or our foreman Seamus. I hope to hear from or see you soon.

Diana.

“Arthur?” Mary-Beth’s voice, like Tilly’s, carried itself on the air like birdsong. Arthur cleared his throat and looked to her, hoping she hadn’t been calling his name for the past few minutes.

“Sorry, Mary-Beth, I- well I was miles away, I’m afraid,” he said. The girl giggled, and responded.

“Aren’t we all! I understand. What’re you reading?”

“Just a letter, someone at the ranch southeast of here, offering some work. That and…well, they sent me something as a thank-you for helping ‘em out a few days ago,” he said, sheepishly. Mary-Beth noticed his expression, and visibly took note of the delicate cursive on the page he was reading, the packaging surrounding Arthur’s bed.

“A new girl, huh?”

“Nah - well, yes but…” Arthur trailed off. “Not in the way you’re thinking, so no need to get all excited,” he said.

“Okay,” Mary-Beth said, with a smirk. Like Tilly, Mary-Beth was like a kid-sister, barely eighteen years old.

Arthur folded the letter neatly, placing it in a spare satchel hanging by his bed, and picked up the cloak, spreading it out before him. It was large and surprisingly light- when slung over his shoulders, it felt almost like a blanket. Its comfort, combined with the slowly encroaching nightfall, looked to lull him to sleep. He was just getting to lay down, the cloak still on his shoulder, when a voice emerged.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch’s voice boomed over the ambient sounds of camp.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Dutch,” he said, “How are we doing? Money-wise?”

“Not so great yet. Have you managed to find a score? Have you done any collecting for Strauss?”

Arthur had to hold back a groan at the mention of Strauss. Even Dutch agreed that it seemed more dignified to be a bandit than to do work for the Austrian loan shark, yet Strauss still remained with the gang for reasons unknown.

“Not yet,” he said, “nor have I found a score. You know me, I’m better at carrying out the robbin’ than I am finding the people to do it.”

“I know, I’ve already asked others if they’ve found anything,” Dutch replied. “I’m sending some of the boys out to sniff around Valentine,” he said, turning towards the main campfire. “Bill, Lenny, you two head into town tomorrow. Take some of the ladies with you, and start scoping some stuff out. Micah, John, you two head to that ranch and see what you can rustle up…take Uncle with you, put him to work,” Dutch trailed off, looking around the camp to see who else he could delegate.

Arthur cleared his throat, which had become oddly tight at the mention of the ranch. Dutch had to mean Emerald Ranch. He spoke before he could think.

“Maybe we should just try to find jobs, Dutch. I thought we were lying low. I’ve already run into O’Driscolls, Hosea showed me some good hunting around here, and maybe we can just hide until Blackwater blows over,” he said. Dutch responded by staring at him, wordless. He remained quiet, an unreadable expression on his face, until Hosea spoke up, lifting his face from the book it was buried in.

“He’s right, you know,” he said. “And it’s only what I’ve been telling you this entire time. We have a good contact at the ranch, both for selling our goods and he’s the foreman there. Townsfolk will buy our stories more if we start looking for work too - we can’t milk the “laid-off worker” angle for long if we don’t start working around here,” he continued.

Arthur could see the gears turning in Dutch’s head. The need for fast money, a way to escape from all of this, was the first thing on the older man’s mind - but so was not getting shot to swiss cheese by the Pinkertons.

Dutch’s voice went to a higher pitch, like it always did when he was stressed. “Fine,” he said. “Everyone gather round! Guards too, get over here!” he shouted to no one in particular.

The camp denizens, sober or not, began to gather in a semicircle around the front of Dutch’s tent. His lover, the redheaded Molly O’Shea, peeked out from behind the front curtain - Dutch turned to her and took her hand before addressing the lackluster crowd.

“My boy Arthur here…” Dutch began, gesturing to Arthur with his free hand, “has, along with Hosea, convinced me that what we need now is not only money, but honest money. Good honest work. So that…” he paused again. Arthur had once found the words “pause for effect” in Dutch’s speech notes, and had to stifle a laugh to himself. Dutch continued. “That…is what we shall do. Tomorrow I want all those able to start looking for good, honest work. There’s plenty of ranchers, drivers, railway men looking for hands, and we shall supply it. Keep an eye out for scores, but do not do anything unless you bring it to Hosea and I first!”

“We failed in Blackwater because we tried to do too much too fast, and didn’t coordinate,” Hosea continued off Dutch. “We will save lives with this - ours and the lives of others.” it looked like Dutch was going to keep on strategizing to the gang, but a member towards the back, cleared his throat. Karen and Abigail turned to reveal Micah, raising his arm. Where he was trying to make the gesture seem tough, Arthur conjured an image of schoolchildren.

“While honest work seems a good plan for the rest of you…” he started, “some of us haven’t the uh.. temperament for such things, right boss?” he looked towards Dutch, trying to appeal to him. Dutch looked firmly back.

“It’s like Hosea said, Micah,” he started, but a quick look exchanged between himself and Micah prompted a change in Dutch’s expression. Arthur watched their faces, trying to channel his inner Hosea - read them, their thoughts, their intentions. He came up with nothing. Dutch continued.

“Any of you have any trouble, see me, Miss Grimshaw or Mister Pearson. We always need people at the camp and hunting if they don’t find a job,” he said. The gang gathered still, grumbled their assent, and stood there for a moment. The silence was heavy until Miss Grimshaw spoke up, with an authority befitting the de facto camp mother.

“Well don’t just stand around, y’all, get back to whatever it was you were doing!” This spurred the camp back into motion, as if they’d frozen in time beforehand. Most of the men made a beeline back to the campfire, with a convenient box of whiskey bottles beside it. Abigail took the arm of the woman from the Grizzlies they’d rescued - Adler, was it? - who was crying softly. Little Jack, the resident 5 year old of the gang, took the woman’s other hand, and the pair led the crying woman to their tent, tucked behind the chuckwagon. For about an hour, the entire camp resumed it’s normal activities; singing around the fire, chopping firewood, playing poker, and, of course, drinking.

After three beers and four of Uncle’s outrageous stories later, Arthur grabbed a bowl of venison stew and took the steaming bowl of Pearson’s cuisine back to his tent. Sitting down, he could hear Dutch’s voice faintly behind him, speaking in whispers. He took a bite, and wished that he’d had the stew Cripps had offered earlier. That had smelled like apricots and berries - in fact, it smelled like the cloak, spread out on the bed. Blackcurrant. It must grow near the ranch.

Dutch emerged from the small wooded area behind Arthur’s tent-wagon, his whispered speech ending in a “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Arthur turned, expecting to see Dutch walking with Molly. The pair often rendezvoused in the evenings away from camp, considering Dutch’s tent - and bed - were smack dab in the middle of camp. But, instead of seeing Molly with a messy red braid replacing her neat plait, Arthur saw Dutch emerge…with Micah. Micah instantly walked towards the chuckwagon, not even giving Arthur a second glance.

“Thanks, boss,” was all the cowboy said. Dutch nodded, and turned to Arthur.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Let me know how you make out tomorrow,” he said, and ducked into his tent without another word.

That night Arthur had a dream; a red fox wandered the plains, and disappeared into a forest.

Only once did the creature glimpse back at him.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #the buck and the fox #rdr2 oc #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc

8 notes · View notes

digitalmarketerazizulhoque · 2 years ago

Text

BOOK Name :Red Mountain Burning: A Novel, by Boo Walker

Book Description:Why must all good things come to an end?

In Washington State wine country, Red Mountain is a refuge for searchers and wanderers, artists and lovers, farmers and chefs--people looking for a place to belong. Despite the stunning landscape, the world-class wines, and their best efforts, the eccentric inhabitants often attract trouble.

Brooks Baker, the man with the most broken of pasts, craves stability, but he's forced into making a tough decision when the woman he loves considers a move to Florida.

Margot Pierce, the dream chaser and innkeeper who fled Vermont to escape her first marriage, faces a new challenge when her fiancé's estranged daughter comes to town.

Otis Till, the grapefather, knows it's time to hand over the reins to the new guard of Red Mountain. But he wants just one last great vintage before he goes.

Red Mountain Burning is the third and final book in the story of the many souls fighting to make their small wine-growing region thrive amidst a world of dysfunction and chaos. Are they strong enough to endure the many fires of the coming vintage or will Red Mountain go down in flames?

About the Author: Boo initially tapped his creative muse as a songwriter and banjoist in Nashville before working his way west to Washington State, where he bought a gentleman's farm on the Yakima River. It was there amongst the grapevines and wine barrels that he fell in love with telling high-impact stories that now resonate with book clubs around the world. with colorful characters and boundless soul, his novels will leave you with an open heart and a lifted spirit.

Always a wanderer, Boo currently lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine with his wife and son. He also writes thrillers under the pen name Benjamin Blackmore.

#amazonbookstore#amazonbook#amazonbookseller#amazonbooks#amazonbestauthor#kindlebook#kindlebooksale#viralbook#novelbookshop#novelbookwallets#novelbook#novelbooks#novelbookbox#redmountainburning#author#authors#boowalker#boowalkers#boowalkerbooks#boowalkerco#boowalkerredmountainburning#boowalkerauthor

#amazon books #authors #kindle books #new books

3 notes · View notes

litsnobconfessions · 4 months ago

Text

YoA Day 4: Why The Great Divide is Seriously Underrated

Date: January 4, 2025

Day: 4

Content Watched: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Book 1, Episodes 9-12

Year: 2005-2008

Rating: TV-Y7-FV

Run Time: 92 minutes

If you're just catching up to this now, I'm embarking on a journey to watch nothing but animation for the year of 2025. This is general review of my thoughts on ATLA Book 1, Episodes 9-12, but most of it focuses on why "The Great Divide" is not a terrible episode.

I'm going to say a lot of the same things I said about previous episodes of Avatar. Aang's clothes and Katara's hair are moving in the wind, as are Appa's reins. We have more shadows flicking along with the fire, as well as the individual sparks coming off it. In "The Waterbending Scroll," we see Katara backing away from the pirates as Aang and Sokka confront them, even though we don't know why she's scared yet. There are at least two scenes in "Jet" where people are talking and others go by on the zipline in the background (or the foreground). And at the end of "The Storm" as Aang is talking to Katara, the fisherman is arguing with Sokka and his wife? (I'm not sure if it's his wife—I just always assumed it was) behind them.

But these episodes are real masterpieces of animation, and for the same reason I mentioned in Nimona. We've got filters over the scene where Jet brings Katara into the treehouse, as well as over the stories about both Aang and Zuko in "The Storm." I like these because, again, it's done the way a live action show might. But the animation masterpiece of these four is, without a doubt, "The Great Divide." I know a lot of people don't like "The Great Divide." It's smack in between "Jet" and "The Storm," which are both superior episodes overall, but I actually enjoy this episode. In fact—and I'm sure to start a fight here—I like it more than "The Waterbending Scroll." Part of this is the animation.

In Nimona, we had different animation styles, and we get it again here. "The Great Divide" has four different animation styles packed into a 23 minute episode, which is damn impressive. Furthermore, each style is unique to the story its telling. The style of the Gan Jin's story is similar to the main style of ATLA, though you can tell it's a bit different, especially with the animation of Wei Jin. But overall, it's kind of rounded with detailed coloring and a sort of grand appareance like the Gan Jins themselves. The animation of the Zhang's story is much more angular and the coloration is more blocky and facial features and movements are more exaggerated and less realistic. This rougher animation style fits the rougher group. And finally, Aang's story starts with both of these and switches into a chibi style because he claims the brothers were eight when this happened. So anytime I get to thinking about how "The Great Divide" is not as good as the episodes around it, I remember how good the animation is. But to be honest this is not the only reason I like the episode.

First off, I like the title, which refers to both the Avatar-verse's equivalent of the Grand Canyon and the conflict between the Zhangs and the Gan Jins, as well as, to a lesser extent, Sokka and Katara. I love a good play on words and I have been known to watch a movie or a TV show just because it had a good title (I'm looking at you, Party Animals).

And no, there is nothing about "The Great Divide" that is actually serialized. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have known it was there. I wouldn't have questioned some plot point later down the line and wondered how that happened. Even the fight between Sokka and Katara begins and ends in this singular episode. But we have seen them fight before, and we will see them fight again. Because that's what siblings do. So it doesn't feel out of place either.

Even more appropriately, "The Great Divide" is an example of how the gaang solves problems with cleverness—both how to get out of the canyon and the conflict between the Zhangs and Gan Jins. This is running theme in the show, which we will encounter over and over again. We've already seen Sokka and Katara solve problems using cleverness in "Imprisoned," when they used an air shaft to create fake Earth bending (and used the same technique to get coal to the earthbenders on the fire navy ship) and in "The Winter Solstice Part 2" when they try to open the door to Avatar Roku's statue using bombs, (and then make the shrine guards think they opened it, even when they didn't.) So this is Aang's chance to the same. And it will not be the last for either of them. I would even argue it helps set up the series ending.

This brings me to the thing that I have heard many people complain about: Aang lies. To be honest, I think this is a weird complaint. Unless you only ever watch TV shows about characters who always tell the truth, it's a weird standard to hold him to. Also, consider how bad this episode would be if Aang just happened to suddenly remember that he personally knew Wei Jin and Jin Wei. It makes sense with Bumi in "The King of Omashu" because we already knew that Bumi was from Omashu. But why would Aang just happen to run into the fueding descendents of two people he knew in a place nowhere near the place they once lived? In fact, when I got to the end of "The Great Divide," I was ready to put down the series. Because that's a level of lazy writing that I just can't get on board with. But when Aang told Sokka and Katara that he had lied, that is when I was officially hooked.

I do have to lodge one complaint here, about the episode "Jet." Sokka insists that they travel on foot so fire nation soldiers don't spot Appa flying, but why does this necesitate them to carry their packs? Like… Appa is usually carrying their packs and them. Or can he only carry stuff when flying? Or are they all just idiots? I mean, the oldest one of them is fifteen, so yes, idiots.

My favorite episode in this set is probably "The Storm" because we get Zuko backstory, and Zuko is my favorite character. I relate to Zuko more than anybody has a right to. I relate to Zuko so much that my phono autocorrected a text (about pokemon!) to "I am Zuko." So, I guess I'm Zuko.

On the rewatch, I'm actually really impressed by this episode because I don't think I'm alone in my affection for it, but despite being a popular episode, it's almost entriely exposition. Like, the purpose of this episode is to give us Aang and Zuko's backstories. And yet it's really good for an episode that has so much exposition. I think it works for two reasons. First, it's primarily told in flashback. Second, it juxtaposes Aang and Zuko's stories against one another.

I know a lot of people talk about Aang and Zuko being foils for one another, and I think this is a good place to see that. Aang is raised in a peaceful society and flees because he is told he must prepare for war. Zuko is raised in the middle of a war and is banished for defending soldiers' lives. And they're only a year apart here—Aang is 12 in his flashback, and Zuko is 13. Also, while Aang is shirking his duties as Avatar because he doesn't feel ready for them, Zuko is actively trying to prepare for his duties as the future fire lord.

#Year of Animation #animation #ATLA #TV review

0 notes

orion-glowfall · 2 years ago

Text

Orion felt her soft lips pressed against his cheek, it took all the self-control he had to not turn his cheek and capture her lips. He desired nothing more than to kiss them as freely as he once had, even if she had slapped him a couple of times. It had been well worth it, but now she tested him. He was sure of it, and he could not fault her. Not entirely, he knew there was a price to pay when he had withheld information; he understood why she had interpreted things as she had. His eyes locking on hers, and gave her a slight smile before his attention was on the food once more. A true passion for the man who did not have the privilege of food growing up. It was also his most harmless of passions, he was sure. Intently admiring the way she brought the silverware to her lips and savored the food, he supposed there could be an erotic under tone when one ate food as divine as the one his chief as has prepared. Seeing that concept clearly now as Isolde ate her food. Her soft moans of appreciation for the flavors, and her gaze lighting up with appreciation. “Stunning.” He whispered under his breath. Dessert would surely be torture, swallowing thickly as he not truly thought it through. Now a genuine smile of appreciation on his lips as she chose the platter, “I agree with you.” He spoke as he ate his own food now. The mixture of flavors and how they meld on his tongue, once again reminding Orion that his private cook was worth every gold coin. “We coincided on the same dish. I only hope we can do the same for dessert.” He commented. Occasionally drinking from his wine of glass throughout dinner. Clearing his throat softly, “I apologize for not allowing your favorite meal, but I have had dinner at your place many times and the meals were not the reason I was there.” Holding her gaze, as he grabbed her hand and gently brushed his lips across her knuckles. If anything, Orion endured quite the torture when it came to his meals to just get a chance to admire Isolde. “It had been well worth it.” After all, she was to be his wife. “This is the one area I will not compromise. Everything else, I will grant you free rein.” He assured her. “Having said that, have you given any thought to if you would like an indoor, or outdoor wedding? Which season do you prefer?” Orion secretly wished she would not care for the season and wished to marry within the coming months. He was sure he would die if she made him wait a year. Even the idea of months without touching her as he pleased still tormented him. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, feeling warmth spread throughout his chest, feeling a powerful urge to protect her, provide, and love her. Releasing her hand, softly wondering where that strong sensation had come from? Love was a foolish word? Why had his mind used so freely? Orion had been sure it was obsession when it came to Isolde, not love. Could it be both? He pondered deeply as the maids moved to clear the dishes out of their dinner. “Perhaps we should choose colors as well, any preference for that?” Needing to distract himself from his own thoughts.

Once Lysa had left Isolde allowed the maid to take her coat from her, her attention turning to Orion as he complimented her. No man made her feel as beautiful as he did, a desirable, but she still had not entirely let go of her anger with him, “Thank you.” She said simply, softly, to him. Her tone did not hold the anger it had the last time she had seen him. Though not gone he was still to be her husband, she still held feelings for him. It was merely a slight that time would heal the wound of. She walked with him to the dining room, the feeling of his hand on her lower back an inviting one. She liked his touch and yearned for it against her bare skin once again, but no. That would wait. It had to. She would stand by her word that she would make him wait until they were married. She entered the dining room with him and allowed him to get the chair for her. She bit her tongue to refrain from making a snide remark about how he had picked out his favorite meals. She got her pick of them, but it was no input on what she may have enjoyed. She would try the food since he had put the effort in. If she really felt like none of them would work for their wedding then she would simply make it known after. She sipped her wine, her eyes moving to him as he almost excitedly told her about the food. Besides herself it was one of the ew things she had seen him show such excitement for. It was rather endearing really. She looked at all the food as he explained what it was to her and plated each different item. She may have felt her feathers ruffled by the lack of input she was allowed, but there was meaning and depth to what he presented her with still. “These look marvelous.” She complimented softly. She leaned over to him and brush her lips along his cheekbone before planting a soft kiss against it. She truly was so taken with him. Despite the lie she did trust him. She understood his reasons even if her stubbornness could not fully allow her to say so. She decided to sample the dish with the quail and grilled peaches, feeling it might be the one she leaned towards. She gathered a piece of the quail meat and peach on her fork and ate it, humming softly as she did, “That is delicious.” She gushed softly. She sipped from her wine and sampled the next dish, enjoying it nearly as much as the first, but not quite, “I quite enjoy salmon, but the quail and peaches was just divine.” She complimented, her annoyance with him not having asked her I put had dissipated with the taste of the food. It was far too delicious. It may have been some of The best food she had ever tasted. He was correct in calling the cook her parents had hired a terrible one. She tasted the last dish, also enjoying it greatly, but she felt her choice had been made by the first dish. “All three of these were incredible dishes, but I believe the quail and peaches would be best. I like that it is an homage to you and to your land.” She said and smiled gently at him. She picked up her fork and ate more of the dish. “Is there a preference that you have?” She asked him.

35 notes · View notes

nepentheansea · 3 years ago

Text

Foolish Games

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

premise: Your husband John is good at a lot of things and flirting with everyone is one of those things.

This was a request from my friend, who’s never even seen Peaky Blinders.

Pairing: John Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Vaginal sex, angst, fingering, dirty talk, swearing, slight non con elements (But not really)

A/N: Hello Lovelies 💙 John has been on my mind, and I really needed to write this so here you go. Also, I wanna say thank you to @neonn0ble and @greenorangevioletgrass for keeping me motivated throughout this.

When you accepted John’s marriage proposal, you knew what it would entail. Not only would it mean taking him on as your husband, but all of his children, and his family. Accepting meant that you would become a Shelby. There was a danger that came with the name, the family, the lifestyle, and you believed you were prepared for it. Your mind and will were strong. Considering your proven track record, there was no doubt that you could handle any mess that landed in your lap.

You were on top of it all, practically running things from John’s end. You may not have been blood, nor were you the face of anything, but you most definitely had the reins on a lot, John included. The poor boy was wrapped around your pretty little finger, or so you thought.

Watching your husband sit across the room, cigar in hand, surrounded by numerous women, you felt a fool. Oh dear, sweet John, so incapable of not flirting with every woman he sees. Sure you might also flirt with every man, but that didn't make you feel any better about the scene playing out before you.

You bring your drink up to your lips, taking a gulp. Finishing off the remnants of your third brandy of the night, glaring at the three girls fawning over him. Finn sits next to him, not absorbing any of the attention that the ladies were offering. One woman places her hand gently on John’s lapel, letting her hand graze over his chest, as she giggles at something he says. He’s not that funny, you scoff.

There was a lot you could take being a wife to a Shelby, but one thing that you weren’t going to was being made a fool in front of everyone, by none other than your husband. Unbeknownst to you, Tommy and Arthur were watching you closely, soft smirks on their faces as they catch the expressions of disapproval you were shooting John’s way.

They knew him, knew the flirt that he was, and though neither of them were going to speak out against John’s actions, for fear of being caught in the crossfire of your wrath, it didn’t stop them from both thinking that he was quite daft. Tommy wondered what fate would befall John if he kept up with his antics. Judging by the glare plastered to your face, he wagered that it wasn’t going to be anything good. You’d had enough.

Setting your glass down on the bar, your gaze finds Tommy and Arthur, who quickly look away as if they hadn’t seen anything, typical. You reach into your purse, pull out your lipstick and compact, fixing your smudged color on your lips before you slip it back into your purse and set off towards him.

You didn’t want to start anything, to ruin Arthur’s night, but John was making it very hard. That smug smirk, that you would normally melt for, had you ready to wipe it clean off his face. There was also the matter of the three women that were albeit throwing themselves at him, that you would have to refrain from dealing with. In classic Shelby fashion, your first thought would be to ‘get rid’ of them, in all senses of the word, but you weren’t going to do that, not yet at least.

You weave through the guests dancing around, drunk and completely oblivious of the warpath you were on. Some move aside for you to pass, but pay you no mind, others you had to push past.

One of the women sees you approaching, knowing damn well who you are, yet makes no move to change her position, if anything she appears to shoot you a smile. Finn, however, catches your gaze and the blood drains from his face. He leans closer to John, trying to alert him of your approach, but John isn't listening.

The panic on Finn’s face was enough to make you smile. Small tidbits of the conversation reach your ears. “Oh, I can be very convincing,” and “need you a man to take care of that,” followed by a smug smile. You can’t lie, hearing those words fall from his lips, was making you angry in more ways than one.

Stopping in front of them, your head slightly cocked, gaze boring into him, you wait for him to notice you. When he doesn't you clear your throat, trying to gain his attention. Finn’s panicked look turns to embarrassment as his eyes meet yours. He looked like he was desperately trying to apologize for John’s actions, but also like he wanted you to know that he had nothing to do with it. However, you weren’t after Finn, John was your target.

“John,” Finn croaks.

But John waves him off, continuing his conversation. At this point, you’ve reached your limit.

“Don’t let him fool you, this one will keep you wanting,” Gaining the whole table’s attention with your remark. Finn’s tune lightens slightly at the comment, reluctantly refraining from laughing. John’s eyes catch yours and widen, realization hitting him.

“I’d hate to see another disappointed woman,” you add nonchalantly, before turning on your heel and marching straight out of the Garrison into the cold damp night.

Leaning against the cold brick, you take a deep breath, the anger and hurt overcoming you. You dig through your purse for your cigarette tin, needing something to anchor your nerves. Opening it, you remove one, placing it between your red pursed lips, slipping the case back into your purse. Your hand desperately searches your bag for the lighter, coming up short.

A flame appears just in front of you, and you don’t need to look at its owner to know who owns it, the gold ring on his pinky gives him away. You lean forward slightly, letting the flame ignite the cigarette before you pull back, taking a long drag and exhaling it slowly.

Your eyes trace the length of his arm until you make it to his face, a wry expression resting on it.

Taking another drag, you exhale the smoke in his face and step around him, making your way further down the street. You have no intention of talking to him, no intention of putting up with his sour excuses as he tries to get out of being on your bad side.

“Love, wait,” he calls out, jogging after you.

“Oh fuck off John,” you retort as you continue walking, trying to make your way to anywhere that wasn’t around him.

“Don’t walk away from me, talk to me,” he pleads.

The desperation is clear in his voice, but you ignore him. You’re far too worked up to engage with him and you know that he hates it when you shut him out, so what better way to prove your point.

“No John, I bloody won’t.”

Taking a final drag, you flick the bud to the ground, not giving it a second thought. John grabs your arm and spins you around to face him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you demand, straining to pull your arm from his grasp, nearly sending yourself falling backward.

His jaw tenses as he looks at you, regarding him with your own look of frustration. John quickly looks around, noting the familiarity of his location, his eyes falling upon the office. He grabs you again and drags you to it, pulling out the keys and unlocking the door, pushing you inside first before following after.

“I said don’t fucking touch me, John.”

You ball your fist and bring it down against his chest, causing him to grunt at the contact.

“Love, just stop and listen to me,” he pleads again.

You let your fist fall to your side, keeping it clenched and ready to strike him again at any minute. He pulls off his coat and hat, setting them down on one of the tables, taking a deep breath. His calm composure that he had was now tense, a stern look on his face as he looked down at you.

“Listen, -” he starts.

You cut him off, not caring for the explanation or for the string of bullshit that was inevitably about to leave his mouth. He was unbelievable.

“No! You listen to me.” you retort. “Do you think it’s fucking funny, John!” you huff.

He’s taken aback, but his face quickly softens at your distaste. His eyes trail the entirety of you as you stand in front of him, in your aggressive stance. He can’t seem to bite back the shit-eating grin on his lips as he watches your other arm fall to sit on your waist. Seeing you jealous and upset was something that he found to be quite cute, and you knew it, but it didn’t change the way you felt.

“You think it’s funny to make me look like a bloody fool?” you lecture.

He lets out a small chuckle, and the amusement on his face makes you angrier, more enraged. He moves to approach you, his hand reaching out for you. You swipe the nearest thing to you, which happened to be a book, and send it hurling it at his head.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout.

John ducks as it clears his head, missing him just barely, coming back up with a look of challenge on his face.

“My love,” he coos.

His call for you comes out like a reverent melody, belittling your request. Arms outstretched as he cautiously makes his way closer to you, the grin on his lips growing.

Picking up another object, you hold it tightly in your grasp, gaze narrowing on him in a look of warning. The subtle chuckle that leaves him makes your blood boil. You hurl the cup at him, and much to your anticipation he dodges it.

“Tell me, am I not good enough?” You shout, picking up something else to throw. “Am I not enough for you?” Chucking it at him, but he moves aside.

“Fuckin ‘ell, listen to me,” he says sternly, moving closer. You back yourself up trying to stay out of his reach, scrambling for whatever you can find to throw at him, despite your aim.

“No. Go back to your whores,” you pause, backing up. “I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when you disappoint them.” You add, watching his smug look falter.

You always know exactly how to attack his ego, to wound him even in the slightest. You know it isn’t true, far from, but you knew it would affect him.

“You don’t mean that, do you love?” He asks, knowing the truth. He backs you up into the wall, your body coming to a halt. Taking a frustrated breath, you realize that he had you pinned, just as he wanted.

“We both know that’s not true-“

“Isn’t it?” You bite back, bringing your arms to fold. “I’m sure those women would love to find out just how disappointing you can be.” John's eyes narrow, the smug look on his face thinning, while a grin forms upon your own.

“I’m quite sure they will,” he retorts.

You don’t try to stop your hand as it swings for his cheek, not like he doesn’t deserve it. But your smile fades as John's hand catches your own, using it to push you back hard against the wall. Out of instinct, your other hand attempts another strike, but he grabs it as well, bringing them over your head.

“Let go of me,” you try to pull yourself from his grasp, but he doesn’t let up. You know that if you really wanted him to let go he would, but John knew you, and he knew that you didn’t really want him to stop any of this.

“I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t doing it for me-.”

“Oh save it, John.” You bite back.

“How can I make it up to you?” His eyes are hopeful and yet the sinful gleam is still there, staring right back at you.

Both of your hands are held above you by his one, he brings his other to tend to you. With his eyes dark and lustful, his hand takes to you, roaming your side, up and over the swells of your breast, brushing his thumb over your clothed nipple.

Your eyes were fluttering, threatening to fall shut, enjoying his subtle touches. You were trying not to give in to him so easily, but his touch had such an effect on you that it was harder than you wanted. He palms your breast, kneading it around in his hand, sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

Despite your stubborn attitude, John knew the effect he had on you and here he was, using it to his advantage. He liked seeing you all riled up, jealous, mad at him, and perhaps that’s why he did what he did, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting any.

Looking him over, your jaw tenses as you think about what he was asking. After he made you look like a fool in front of everyone. Like you couldn’t even control your own husband. You hated the way that felt.

“You can’t.” You breathe, trying to mean it, but you don’t.

“Oh, darling…”

His hand leaves your breast, slowly sliding down your stomach stopping just below the hem of your dress. He waits for you to object, but you don’t. Dipping his hand just under, he brings it slowly up your inner thigh, knuckles ghosting over your sensitive skin.

His fingers meet your wet heat, unclothed, and begging to be touched. His eyes glint with surprise when he notices, his devilish grin growing as he flicks his finger through it, collecting your juices.

Your lips pull together tightly, his thumb presses lightly against your clit, toying with it as he slips a finger inside you. You were losing your composure little by little, giving into him with every touch.

“Look at you now. What, nothin to say?” He taunts, bringing another finger to join the first, working them in and out of you slowly.

“Don't you dare fucking forget who you belong to, John,” but it comes out more breathy and sensual than you intend, and he notices.

“Oh, no doubt sweetheart, ” He grins.

You push him off you, finding it harder and harder to control yourself, and you weren’t ready to give in fully just yet.

“Fuck off,” you bite, taking another swing at him. To your surprise, he catches your wrist, holding firm.

“Tsk tsk, I thought we were fuckin past this,” he remarks, shaking his head slowly.

You shoot him a pointed look, “With the shit you pulled, did you think it was going to be that easy?”

You push past him, breaking from his grasp. He chuckles lightly, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, just so he can pull you into him.

“Perhaps not, but I’m willing to try.”

Before you can retort, John's lips come down on yours in a slow and heated kiss, claiming them as he pulls you hard against him. You might have lost, but you weren’t going to completely let him get away with it. Sadly, the way he dominated you was intoxicating and you craved it.

His hands shuck your coat, letting it fall to the ground before he pulls at the straps of your dress, tugging them down, exposing your bare chest to him. His grip is rough, as he kneads your breast, pinching down on your hardening nipple earning a soft moan from you.

He pulls you, lifting you up to sit on the table, brushing aside all of the objects on top to a clattering mess on the floor. Wrapping your legs around his torso, you lock them to keep him close. As you go to grab onto him, looking for something to ground you, he grabs both of your arms, pushing you to lie back against the table. Bringing your arms to rest level to your face, his lean torso coming to hover over your frame.

“You know, ya love me,” He grins.

You roll your eyes, but deep down he knows. He knows that you are his and he is yours, utterly and completely. You may not have said anything, may not have given any indication, but he knew the truth, that you two shared a deep loving bond. You couldn’t even hide the grin that was creeping over your lips as he looked at you.

He leans in, letting his lips find your skin, kissing over the curvature of your breast. His eyes fixated on you as he sucks on the soft skin, leaving his claim along your body.

Arousal pools between your legs as you search for any type of friction, something to satisfy the ache. Lifting your hips, pushing them against his, your head falls back as he moves up to your neck, kissing a soft tender spot, one he knows you particularly love, making you gasp.

Using his own, John pins your hips back down against the table, grinding into you in a delicious way, causing you to tighten your grip around his waist.

You hated how easily consumed you were, melting into his touch, all so he could have his wicked way. You’re too wrapped up in him to notice that his grip on one of your arms has fallen. That is until, you feel his hand sliding up the length of your thigh, his wedding band cold against your burning skin, while the pads of his fingers take in every inch of you.

A soft gasp leaves your plump lips at the feeling of his fingers traipsing through your wet folds, teasing your entrance. His eyes flutter up to your face, looking at you through lidded eyes watching your face contort as his thumb presses against your aching clit. The grin on his face was a taunt, as if he was saying ‘I know what you really need… what you really want.’ John loved to push you, push your limits, your nerves, your everything, and he knew just how to do it, every damn time.

You were unable to speak as he slipped a finger in, his thumb starting small circles. It all felt too damn good.

“John, please,” you mutter, needing more, unable to hold back from fucking yourself on his fingers as he slipped in another. Your whimpers were a gift to him, he loved to hear just how good he could make you feel.

“What? Does that feel good?” He teases, his fingertips pressing against your g-spot watching the way your body reacts, moans falling from your lips.

“Cause you look satisfied.” Your eyes clench shut, as you let your head fall back. You don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing just how good he was making you feel, but you need more, more of him.

You prop yourself up by your elbows, looking down at him.

“John, piss off and fuck me already, or get back to your whores. Your choice.”

John’s face turns stern, as he stands up straight, removing his fingers from you. The feeling leaves you with a nagging emptiness and desperation to be filled.

He gives you a mischievous smile, nothing but pure arousal pools between your thighs. John grabs your hips, sliding you down the table until your ass was barely on it.

“My… whores?”

His eyes grow dark as he looks at you, his hands on either side of your body.

“Yes, your who-”

John grabs your jaw, holding it so your eyes meet his as he leans closer to you, his breath fanning across your burning cheeks.

“My whores…? Tell me, love, what does that make you?”

His eyes trail your form, sitting there, legs spread, chest exposed. His brow raises at the sight, waiting for you to object. His hands find the hem of your dress, hiking it up enough to rest just above your hips. With glazed eyes, you watch as John pulls down his trousers just enough for his cock to spring free.

“Why would I need them? When I have this?”

He spreads your legs further, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs as he leans closer to you, eyes watching you closely.

“You’re infuriating,” you sigh, leaning back further on your hands, staring up at him with narrowed eyes.

“You didn’t answer the question, love…”

John brings his fingers back to your dripping cunt, touching you everywhere except the place that you need him most. You move your hips, seeking his touch more and more, becoming frustrated when he doesn’t give in.

“John,” you whine.

He moves his hand, lining himself up with your entrance, just barely pushing his tip into you, enough to drive you wild. Leaning closer, his eyes grow dark with a glint of devilry.

“Why the fuck would I want them,” he pauses “when your cunt.. fits me.. so well?” He says, pushing into you in one deep thrust. You gasp, your mouth falling slack. Grabbing his tie, it anchors you, as you take in every inch of him, as he stretches you out. Your mouth falls open wide, and your head back, eyes closing as you savor the pleasurable burn that courses through you. Taking advantage of your exposed neck, John leans in, nipping at the skin, before smoothing it over with his tongue.

“Besides, my love, I told you, they weren’t for me..”

Your eyes shift back into focus, keen on meeting his.

“What-”

John hooks one of your legs around his waist, pulling out of you nearly all the way before thrusting back in, hard. You moan as he hits that sweet spot within, and take in his ever-sweet grin plastered to his lips at your sudden sound.

“They…were…for….Finn,” He punctuates every word with a thrust of his hips, drawing them out. The drag of his cock was sending your mind in a haze, and your body into a frenzy. Heat pulses throughout you, making your skin tingle, your nipples harden, and your breath grow heavy.

Your eyes search him for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that he was really saying. As if he understood, he continued, “You forget my darling, I chose you... I don’t need anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you tried to make sense of it all.

“I am yours,” he adds, his eyes narrowing on you and the rise and fall of your chest.

You were sure there was more of an explanation, more to the story, but in this very moment you didn't need to hear it all, you believed everything he was saying. You are, in every way, his and he yours.

Yanking on his tie, you tug him as close to you as possible. You catch his lips in a hard kiss, instantly melting into him, as his tongue darts past your lips and into your mouth. John snakes his hand down between your bodies, pressing his thumb against you, your moan instantly swallowed up by his kiss, as he massages in slow circles.

“Fuck, John…fuck…” you pant.

You could feel it, you weren’t going to last much longer. Each thrust, each gentle movement of his thumb was sending you, and he knew it.

“Come, my love….cum for me.”

At his words, your orgasm takes you, waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body, every nerve ending on fire. Eyes shut, back arching off the table, you let your head fall as you revel in the feeling. The ache of your abuse clit, throbbing as every nerve was being tended to. The cold air rushing against your hardened nipples, even the fluttering of your walls, squeezing him tightly. Fuck, did he know how to make you feel good. Your vision blurs, letting out soft sobs as John pushes you through your orgasm.

“So beautiful, that’s my girl,” he coos.

It’s only a few moments before John joins you in your blissed-out haze, his cum coating your walls, soothing the ache. A few more sloppy thrusts and he collapses on you, his head nuzzled in the crook of your neck, as he catches his breath.

Pulling himself from you, you almost beg him to stay, to hold you tightly in his grasp a few moments longer. He places a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you open your eyes, staring up at him. Fastening his trousers back up, John watches as you pull up the sleeves of your dress, righting yourself.

John places his hands on the table on either side of you, a soft grin taking over.

“See love, told ya I’d make it up to ya.”

He leans in to kiss you, but you press your finger against his lips, pushing him back slightly.

“Oh darling, you have a lot more making up to do,” You say, with a glint of mischief. Intrigue spreads across his features, as he takes your hand in his, holding it gently.

“Well, I reckon I better get started.”

You remove your finger from his lips, leaning forward just a little, smirking.

“Oh, you definitely should.”

2K notes · View notes

lauraneedstochill · 2 years ago

Text

Love always wakes the dragon / Chapter 1

summary: Aemond thinks she’s a worthy opponent — a relentless fighter, a dragon rider, her temper and stubbornness only matching his. But there’s a catch: she is Daemon’s daughter who wants nothing from her father and has her own reasons for coming to King’s Landing. And one of them is meant to save the other. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OFC words: 4K warnings: enemies to lovers, slowburn, violence, angst, a few sprinkles of Rhaenicent, Daemon does his best to be a decent father (more like I did my best to make him one), I toy with canon A LOT. ➡ Part 2

1. The Wind of Change

Rhaenyra’s face looks void of emotions as she is staring at the letter in her hands. Her eyes are following the strings of words written on the piece of parchment. Daemon is watching his wife closely, waiting for her reaction, trying to take a hint but there isn’t any. She is an image of imperviousness as if her facial features were cast with marble, striking yet still. But when she looks at him, her gaze is burning.

It is a dead giveaway that she’s livid.

“How in the seven hells did that happen?” Rhaenyra finally speaks, with her voice low and strained. And strangling in its fury. He learned a while ago that patience is not the virtue she possesses.

“It only just now came to my knowledge,” Daemon tries to explain, to apologize in advance, tries to make himself smaller. With his broad shoulders and his temper that usually can barely be reined in, it’s hardly possible, and it angers her even more.

“And I’m asking you how did that happen? How could you not know that she was with a child?”

“I’ve already told you, we did not...” — they didn’t see each other after that one night, didn’t make any promises, didn’t make any plans — only it’s not they, it’s just him. “We did not keep in touch.”

“So you are saying you shared a bed with her and then left into the sunset? Because no way that would bear any consequences?” the consequences she speaks of are very well-known to Rhaenyra — she has three of those, with raven-colored hair and curls they did not get from her. “And shall I mention the egg?” she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why would you even think of giving her a dragon?”

The truth is, Daemon didn’t think much back then. He only remembers the sickening feeling of helplessness, his own whistled breathing, voice hoarse with desperation. But there was also a cabin in the mountains, a glowing warmth of fire, a pair of hands that brought him relief, a miracle of coming back to life. He keeps those memories to himself.

“Rationality must’ve left me in the face of death,” his voice is mirthless. “I had no hope of surviving the night, thought the Stranger would take me by the morning. And she saved my life. And I... I decided it would be a worthy reward.”

“Great, that was great thinking,” Rhaenyra is clearly sarcastic. “And now we have an untamed dragon flying somewhere in the mountains doing gods know what — and a girl who spent twenty years of her life not knowing who her father was. Or am I mistaken?”

“No, it sounds about right,” his reply is quiet.

Daemon keeps imagining his daughter as a little girl, all alone in the obscurity of forest trees, reaching her arms to him. He never got a chance to know that version of her, he wasn’t there for her — and that feeling is poisoning his heart with regret. He’s never been the one without a plan yet at the moment he can’t come up with any.

“What are we to do now?”

“That is what I’m trying to think of,” Rhaenyra says with annoyance.

She doesn’t look at him anymore. Daemon stands up from the table, getting around it and towards her, wanting to lean closer as he always does. He likes lowering his head on her shoulder, steadying himself, finding comfort there, breathing in the warmth of her body that’s filled with the same blood that he has in his. But right now he hesitates.

“I can only hope that this righteous anger of yours will not graze her, and you can spare the girl.”

His words are meant to be a plea but come off as an exaggeration. Rhaenyra’s gaze is immediately on him, a look of disbelief on her face. “How could you assume such a thing? The girl has done nothing wrong, I’m not angry at her. Why should a woman pay the price for a man’s stupidity?”

What she means is that it’s all his fault — and Daemon welcomes the concealed allegation. He lets the weight of his remorse push him to the ground as he falls to his knees, the move startling and confusing her.

“I am at your mercy, then,” Daemon bows his head, a strand of white hair falling loose. He stays like this for a few seconds before cautiously glancing up at her.

“Are you seriously implying that I should behead you?” she scoffs but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “If I were to chop off your limb every time you did something stupid, I would be left without a husband.”

Her jesting is a silver lining, a respite from this torturous conversation.

“Thank gods I have such a loving wife,” in a crawl-like manner Daemon comes to her feet, nuzzling up his face against the thick material of her dress, intaking a long-awaited gulp of air filled with her scent. She lets him, briefly carding her fingers through his hair.

Her humor is biting, exactly the way he loves it: “Keep pushing your luck and I may change my mind. And I will start with your cock.”

“I thought that’s your favorite part,” Daemon smirks yet watches her with keen attention, hoping that maybe he can get on her good side, tone down her ire. He almost succeeds — but when their eyes lock, whatever she sees in his makes her smile waver.

“Your wit is very much appreciated but not right now,” Rhaenyra’s tone is dismissal, her gaze aloof. “I need to think things over and I prefer to do so without distractions.”

Right now, she isn’t his wife but more so his Queen, and she makes a point to remind him of it. Daemon can’t help but obey as he always does — voluntarily, time after time he chooses to surrender his pride just to satisfy hers. He loves her like this, when she evinces her flaming stubbornness, her passionate spirit. Except, witnessing it is not the same thing as being the one it’s aimed against.

She allows him a kiss on the crown of her head. On his way out, Daemon looks over his shoulder. Sometimes he wishes he could open up her skull, the reason behind it isn’t hateful but curiosity-driven — in moments like this, he’s dying to know what she’s thinking about. But the Queen has a mind of her own.

Rhaenyra drops the act the second he closes the door. She lets her head sink into her hands, a muffled growl leaving her lips. She is frustrated with him, with that turn of events — but mostly with the uncertainty. Daemon’s expectations are romanticized yet she has a different opinion on what’s about to happen. She knows her husband is a proud man, and the idea of having another child, blood-related and flesh of his flesh, clearly flatters him. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, is wary of letting a stranger into their life — because it isn’t just a girl, with her judgment unclouded and her attitude demure, but a full-grown adult. And a woman of her age can pose a downright threat.

But when Rhaenyra tries to picture her, she thinks of an unexpected outsider, and it reminds her of her own youth, of the way she felt growing up in a castle filled with people who believed that she didn’t fit in. Behind her back, they called her names — a menace, an unruly child who undermined decades-old traditions and wasn’t meant to rule. Her experience of coming out of age was bitter and harsh, soiled with betrayal, but it could’ve been different, had she lived away from King’s Landing.

She sighs and realizes that it would be quite hypocritical to label someone the way she’s been labeled her whole life. The stranger in question couldn’t even be called that: Daemon’s blood gave her connection — however unwanted or accidental — to their family, and the Targaryens are famed for valuing their blood bond. Deep down, Rhaenyra also knows that she would’ve wanted to meet her child too.

So she thinks there is only one decision she can make as she fetches a blank piece of parchment. Three weeks pass by, and early at dawn, Aemond approaches Vhagar, his boots sinking into the sand, his face weary and glum, contoured by the pale sunlight. Recently, each ride has been both a blessing and a torture: he longs for freedom but also fights the urge to fly away and don’t come back. Never had he felt as out of place as he is right now.

Ever since Rhaenyra took the throne, his life became a dull routine of the same boring days blending into each other. Her reign was to be expected, given that she’s been the chosen heir, yet Aemond’s expectations of his future were clearly too high. His mother was the one to get a place at the small council, which came as a surprise to no one, although the nature of her relationship with the Queen was still a mystery to some, and Aemond preferred not to read into it too much. Aegon never cared about the affairs of the Kingdom and gave up his duties with no regrets, his days turning into one big celebration after that. But Aemond was stuck in between as no one could figure out where to place him.

After weeks of languishing, he received an offer that sounded like it was invented out of thin air — the position of the Lord Commander’s trusted right-hand man. When he heard of it, he couldn’t hold back a huff. Alicent was the one to deliver the news so the prince didn’t bother hiding his true feelings.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do? Make sure his cloak stays white? Her generosity is uncanny,” Aemond bristled.

“Ser Harrold is a well-trained knight and a man of principles. There is still so much you can learn from him,” Alicent’s attempts to reason with him were weak and the words seemed to crumble in the air, which only added to his anger.

“You think I am in need of learning?!”

“Aemond, the decision will not be forced on you,” she said but what he heard was — “No one wants you on that job anyway” — and it spread the venom of disobedience in him. “I will let you make your own choice,” Alicent tried taking his hands in hers, the gesture almost desperate — an offering of comfort, a pleading for compromise — and he wasn’t having any of it.

“You let her make a mockery out of me,” the prince stormed off the room then, adamant in his fury.

Aemond did consider taking the position simply out of spite, the idea rather entertaining if only it wasn’t for the knight in question. Ser Harrold was a good man, indeed: despite him being the faithful servant of the Queen ever since she’s been of age, he treated Aemond with respect, which gave the prince no reason for derision and left no room for revenge. Which soon made him feel like there was no room left for him.

He tried to escape the feeling the best he could, his training sessions granting him a chance to pour out the built-up anger, his rides with Vhagar giving him some temporary relief. Yet he’s been living his days in a drowsy-like state — half-defeated, half-asleep, half the man that he wanted to be. Whenever he allowed that realization to sink in, he would always feel jealous of Daeron and get the abrupt urge to be somewhere far away. But no distance seemed far enough for him to run away from his own feelings — or rather the lack of them, while he was eking out his existence.

Caught in a reverie, wrapped in the morning dimness, Aemond is brought back to reality when he notices Vhagar acting strange. Her whole body tenses up, head bending forward as she peers through the clouds. Aemond tries following her gaze, yet there is nothing other than the foggy veil surrounding them. The dragon doesn’t let it go, spreading her wings and sliding down the air currents in her mysterious pursuit, and Aemond growls as his hope for a quiet ride dissolves in the air. But the old creature who’s never been attentive, much less curious, now strives to focus — it’s only fair Aemond does the same. It takes about a minute for him to spot a weird cloud — rough at the edges and glittering; he’s momentarily perplexed. Surely, his vision must’ve failed him because clouds never move with such speed nor do they... roar.

That’s when it hits him: it’s a dragon.

A white dragon is flying right beneath them — it startles Aemond and draws his attention in an instant, and he commands Vhagar to take pursue. With how hard it can usually be to maneuver someone of her size, this time she is unexpectedly obedient. In a few moments they catch up with the unknown dragon, and Aemond sees that it’s not untamed — there is a rider in the saddle, their cloak hooded and black, in stark contrast with the alabaster white skin of the beast. Aemond’s eye is fixed on them when both dragons come out of the clouds, the clear sky around them bright blue, the sun is blazing — and the prince is greeted with a mesmerizing sight.

Under the direct rays of light, the dragon shines so vividly, it almost hurts the eye — whiter than snow, his scales dazzle while he’s gliding through the air with ease, tight muscles rolling under his shimmering skin. The beast is younger than Vhagar but brims with youthful energy that makes his every move rich with power, with eagerness to speed forward. Aemond is so fascinated by the resplendent creature, he misses the moment when the other rider notices him, too.

The prince feels a gaze on him and snaps out of the trance, only then getting a closer look at the other person. Their hood is down, probably blown off by the wind, and Aemond realizes it’s a woman. He’s able to make out her long hair — the color of autumn leaves, tied into a braid, her face expression hard to read from the distance. For a brief second, Aemond finds himself facing her stare but she is quick to turn away. She puts the hood back on and slightly leans forward, the dragon mirroring her move as his body immediately ducks down. When they turn to the right, Aemond sees a patch of bronze green spread on the dragon’s belly, the rare color mix making it look like a splodge of paint. Belatedly, it dawns on him that the white beast is headed to the city.

The prince turns after them, alarmed but not threatened enough to start a chase. He thinks maybe her visit is expected and he wasn’t notified — yet again, another sign of his irrelevance. Vhagar is hanging in the air as Aemond cautiously watches the other dragon fly away, waiting for the bells to ring or for any other sound to signal that these guests aren’t welcome. Yet he is surrounded by silence, briefly interrupted by the distant murmuring of waves chased by the wind.

He should continue his ride but is apprehensive to do so, uneasy feeling swelling in his chest, mixed with anxiety that’s akin to excitement. For the first time in a while, Aemond feels awake. Earlier on the day of her arrival, Daemon takes a stand at the small council meeting. It’s set at first light, with no explanations given in advance as he wishes to keep his secret. His speech is brief — no names given, no dragon mentioned, his face draped with indifference. He thinks if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it then no one will. Rhaenyra is just his wife today, leaning back on her chair, determined to look forgiving and unconcerned. Daemon asks himself if her acceptance has its limits — and there is one person who’s allowed to test them.

When Daemon hears a displeased hum, he immediately knows what will follow.

“How kind of you to inform us all of the visitor who’s been already welcomed on our behalf,” Alicent’s tone is unapologetic when she talks to him. She never misses a chance to let him know how undeserving he is of her kindness — always was and always will be.

“Are you suggesting I should’ve turned down my own daughter?” Daemon looks her in the eyes, and she doesn’t avoid his gaze. When Otto was on the council, Daemon made sport of provoking him, their mutual hatred evident and unabated. Otto’s wish to keep a tight rein on him only instigated the prince’s temper, and Daemon made sure to have the last word. But when Alicent took her father’s place, it turned out that she had a way with words.

“Seems to me that asking for suggestions is of little use when the matter in question has been handled,” she says wryly.

“My apologies, I should clarify — I am not asking but merely informing,” Daemon can’t help but bite back.

“The members of this council are flattered by this lever of trust.”

“Do you speak on behalf of the council now?”

“I will not be the first one here to make decisions for everyone,” Alicent says with a flat tone, but her implication doesn’t escape him.

“The only one to have that power would be the Queen. You mean to undermine her authority?”

“Surely, it wasn’t the Queen who found herself lost in the mountains twenty years ago, was it,” Alicent snorts.

When he shoots a glance at his wife, he doesn’t miss a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

They are on either side of Rhaenyra — Daemon is on the right as he is Prince Consort, and Alicent doesn’t need any titles. He sometimes wonders if it’s a coincidence that she is seated on the side where Rhaenyra’s heart is, closer to her than anyone else. If maybe Alicent is the one who knows the Queen the best.

“Does it mean the girl is an eligible heir of yours?” Lord Caswell interrupts their bickering. He is the Hand of the Queen and yet he’s second to the left, although he never questions the seating arrangement. Probably because the old man is too busy making sure they don’t tear each other’s throats.

“It wasn’t brought up to discussions yet,” Daemon admits. He doesn’t tell them that Rhaenyra was the one writing the letters, and she purposefully ignored that question.

“But isn’t that the main reason she’s coming? Forgive me my straightforwardness,” Corlys Velaryon asks from the far side of the table.

“Frankly, it seemed to me that she showed no interest in... whatever you are interested in,” Daemon chuckles half-heartedly — and he isn’t lying. The first letter they got was cautious, testing the waters, almost bashful with its narrative, but the length and the details suggested the genuine wish to make a connection. Yet all the others had a different tone — terse and fast-paced, and Daemon suddenly felt like her coming to visit him would be more of an inconvenience than a chance for reconciliation.

“She may show interest once she gets a taste of what she can have,” Tyland Lannister remarks, a wary smile creeping on his face. He’s always on alert, ready to show all his diplomacy or his natural cunning or whatever it is needed of him to be a good servant of the realm. He’s too complaisant for Daemon’s liking.

“You have a habit of judging others by yourself,” he glowers at the lord, and Tyland’s wish to engage in the conversation disappears before the eyes.

“What of her mother?” Lyman Beesbury speaks up. He’s the one who actually tries to find common ground even though their relationship with Daemon is hardly amicable.

“She has fallen ill. I have not received many details of her condition.”

When Daemon speaks of her, he gets a blurred vision of her kind eyes and her soft fingers that’s almost painful to remember. But he has a wife now — and the other two are dead because of him. He doesn’t want her to die too but his reasoning is far from selfless: he only hopes he won’t need to carry the blame for another death as he carries plenty already.

“We shall pray for her recovery then,” maester Mellos mumbles. He looks bored out of his mind, and Daemon holds back a chuckle.

“I am relieved to know that maesters now rely on prayers —”

“You and her mother weren’t bound by marriage, were you?” Alicent asks, ever so nonchalantly, her fingers fiddling with a cup of wine. When she looks at Daemon, her doe eyes are unemotional but he is no fool. He knows that she already has her guess, she just needs him to say it out loud.

His answer is nothing but forced: “No.”

Just for a second he manages to catch a twinkle of satisfaction in her eyes, a rippling on the surface of her imperturbability. Alicent doesn’t ask anything else and lets the issue hang in the air. It’s left in plain sight, for everyone to know: he brought another bastard into the family.

“Now that we have someone to pray for, can we be finished?” she gets up from the table without waiting for an answer. “I promised to come see my daughter first thing in the morning, and I want to be on time.”

“That’s very dutiful of you,” Daemon snorts — and this time, she gives him an obvious look of disdain.

“Some of us have children we actually took time to raise.”

Alicent throws a glance at Rhaenyra before leaving, and the room feels oddly quiet.

“That will be all for today,” the Queen commands with a tight-lipped smile.

The maester is the first one at the door and everyone else is quick to follow. Rhaenyra watches them with a distant face while Daemon keeps his gaze on her. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes.

“That went better than expected, I think,” she eventually utters.

“You had some very low expectations then,” his lips turn into a crooked grin.

“Says the man who as of yesterday decided to leave it all up to fate.”

“When it comes to my daughter that is,” he remarks — and it still feels weird to say that out loud. It is a stranger he has never seen, a girl who may look nothing like him — or exactly like him, and he isn’t sure which one of these options he prefers. One thing he does know is that he really wants to meet her.

Rhaenyra looks at him, aware of the meaning behind his frozen face expression — he is always like that when he’s deep in his thoughts. And she’s been thinking a lot lately too. Rhaenyra squirms in her chair which catches his attention, and she opens her mouth to say something — but she doesn’t get a chance to as the door slams open to reveal one of the guards.

He’s panting, his face skewed. “Your Grace, the tower watches send an urgent message — t-they say there’s a dragon. An unknown dragon is approaching.”

Their reactions are starkly different: Rhaenyra jumps up, eyes wide, mouth forming a surprised “o”. But Daemon stops her with a gesture of his hand: “No need to panic, we are expecting a guest. I’ve already warned the dragonkeepers, they should be prepared.”

His wife glances at him dumbfounded, not making the connection just yet. “A guest? I was not made aware you made friends with a dragon.”

“The beast has a rider, my dear,” he grins at her, almost apologetic for the fact that he has to explain it. “And she seems to like dramatic entrances.”

Daemon then gives his wife a brief kiss on the temple and hurries to the door. On his way there he turns to add:

“I guess she takes that from her father.”

➡ Part 2

• the title is a quote from Richard Siken’s poem; • meet Olwen, the goodest boy ✨

• I had the idea for this fic back in November, wrote a few scenes but it felt too intense so I put it on pause. recently the story emerged back into my mind, so I nervously decided to finally share it.

💌 tagging the usual: @greenowlfactif & @kyuupidwrites (I hope that’s fine?) 🐲 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #lauraneedstochillinsteadshewrites #daemon targaryen #< listen I will tag him ONCE #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x ofc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond x original character #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfics

160 notes · View notes