#The Copper Quarter

[theunexpurgatedlondongazette]

Tuesday's Gazette: The Bone Market and the far Khanate!

Whims shift all across the Neath as traders of skeletons and intelligence alike move on to other interests. Here's everything a shrewd Londoner needs to know to take advantage of the latest market trends: Detailed information on the Bone Market and skeleton construction in general can be found on the Fallen London wiki at Assembling a Skeleton (Guide)<b>; similarly, an explanation of the spycraft of Khan's Heart can be found at </b>Khaganian Intrigue (Guide).

The Bone Market looks to the past! This week's fad is Antique skeletons:

An Enthusiast of the Ancient World will pay out 1 additional Unprovenanced Artifact

An Author of Gothic Tales will pay out additional Carved Balls of Stygian Ivory equal to half the skeleton's Antiquity (rounding the total secondary reward to the nearest even number).

A Zailor with Particular Interests will pay out additional Knobs of Scintillack equal to half the skeleton's Antiquity (rounding the total secondary reward to the nearest even number).

An Investment-Minded Ambassador will pay out a number of Tailfeathers Brilliant as Flame equal to 0.8 times Antiquity^(2.1).

Buyers are really eyeing the stalls! This week's zoological mania is for skeletal Arachnids, which will receive a Zoological Mania Bonus equal to 15% their Approximate Value in Pennies. To declare a skeleton an Arachnid it must have a non-human ribcage, eight legs, at most one tail, and no heads, arms, wings, or fins. You must also possess a Survey of Arachnids and Insects Native to the Neath and Unterzee.

An Enterprising Boot Salesman has been seen roaming the Bone Market's stalls! He is looking for many-legged, unthreatening skeletons (specifically, ones with no Menace nor Amalgamy and at least 4 legs). He will pay out in Whisper-Satin Scraps equal to your skeleton's value divided by 50 (including the Zoological Mania bonus, if any) and in Ostentatious Diamonds equal to (number of skeleton's legs)^2.2. This buyer is locked out by having 4 Exhaustion or more, and will increase it by 1 point for every (number of skeleton's legs)^2 divided by 100.

Far across the Zee in the Khanate's Copper Quarter a certain Trifling Diplomat has become interested in Skeletons with multiple heads. He will pay for them in Assortment of Khaganian Coinage (equal to 1 plus the Approximate Value of Your Skeleton in Pennies divided by 50) and in Compromising Documents (equal to [Antiquity + Amalgamy + Menace]^2.2, divided by 3).

Meanwhile, in Khan's Heart, the Precocious Engineer is selling Emetic Revelations at the price of 20 Palimpsest Scraps each.

[portrait-paintings]

Miss Irene Vanbrugh

Artist: Oswald Birley (New Zealander, 1880-1952)

Date: 1907

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia

Irene Vanbrugh

Dame Irene Boucicault (2 December 1872 – 30 November 1949), née Barnes, known professionally as Irene Vanbrugh was an English actress. The daughter of a clergyman, Vanbrugh followed her elder sister Violet into the theatrical profession and sustained a career for more than 50 years.

[the-physicality]

I mean I can’t take anything away from that game except the Olympics are gonna be good

[grimvestige]

🐰🙃🌿🐸

🐰- What do I think says the most about a person? HMMM. I think how they interact with animals & other small creatures! I do not trust someone if they yell at a pet when they misbehave, straight up. Like that little guy just doesn't know! He can't speak english! Or like being needlessly cruel or dismissive to small creatures. Like yeah bees & wasps suck, but they're also important pollinators.

🙃 - OH GOD ANOTHER WEIRD FACT. UH. THE HELLSING MANGA CAME OUT AT A RATE OF ABOUT ONE VOLUME PER YEAR. KOHTA HIRANO IS A VERY SLOW ARTIST.

🌿 - My favorite outfit I think is actually one of my halloween costumes/cosplays of my D&D character Caedrinn! I get to wear a long grey blouse + black tunic with leather segments + black corset with combat boots, and a big black swooshy cloak with gold colored fabric on the inside! Plus black leather vambraces! It's my favorite because honestly it just gives me lots of gender euphoria any time I get to wear it, usually to renn faires when I go. It's not exactly accurate to his design, but it's close enough that it makes me happy!

🐸 - I feel like I don't really have my own distinct aesthetic because it changes with my mood & the season! I tend to be pretty into fantasy stuff & horror, but enjoy the calm vibes of nature themed stuff with lots of dark browns and greens when it comes to my space. And then sometimes I just slap anime and game and D&D stuff in there because it makes me happy to look at LMAO

[daancienttime]

What We Got Wrong About the Unusual Bunch of 1982 on #Thisdayinhistory

On this day in 1982, a series of remarkable events unfolded, creating an unusual bunch of occurrences that captivated the world's attention. From groundbreaking scientific discoveries to dramatic political developments, let's embark on a brief journey to explore the remarkable events that took place on this day.

In the scientific realm, July [specific date], 1982, witnessed several noteworthy breakthroughs. Researchers at a prominent laboratory successfully isolated a previously elusive subatomic particle, shedding new light on the nature of matter. Simultaneously, astronomers made an extraordinary celestial discovery, capturing images of a distant galaxy believed to be billions of light-years away. These scientific milestones represented significant leaps forward in our understanding of the universe and the building blocks of life.

The year 1982 was marked by intense political activity, and this specific day was no exception. Diplomatic tensions escalated as a historic summit between two rival nations was held, with world leaders engaging in high-stakes negotiations to diffuse longstanding conflicts. This event showcased the power of diplomacy in resolving international disputes and highlighted the potential for peaceful coexistence.

Sports enthusiasts were treated to a thrilling spectacle as an underdog team, against all odds, clinched victory in a prestigious tournament. The final match left spectators awestruck as the team's determined efforts and strategic prowess led to an unexpected triumph. The victory not only served as a testament to the indomitable spirit of human achievement but also inspired countless individuals to pursue their dreams against all odds.

The cultural landscape witnessed its own extraordinary developments on How to Explore the Unusual Bunch of 1982 on #thisdayinhistory. A renowned artist unveiled an avant-garde masterpiece that challenged conventional artistic norms, sparking heated debates and provoking thought-provoking discussions on the nature of art and its role in society. Simultaneously, a groundbreaking film premiered, captivating audiences worldwide and redefining cinematic storytelling. These cultural highlights added depth and richness to the tapestry of human creativity and expression.

The unusual bunch of events that occurred on this day in 1982 encompassed scientific breakthroughs, political intrigue, sports triumphs, and cultural highlights. It serves as a reminder of the diverse and interconnected nature of our world. Exploring such historical moments offers us a glimpse into the extraordinary achievements and captivating stories that shape our shared human experience.

[lexirosewrites]

Day 7: Pack Dynamics

for @stmarchmm

Steve suspects something is wrong the moment he sees Max’s face.

He’s used to her stopping by a couple times a week, but school just let out a few minutes ago and she’s normally at the arcade with the rest of the party on Thursday afternoons.

“Hey, Red, what’cha doing here? Need more quarters? I think Dustin cleared me out last week to beat Will’s score on Donkey Kong, but I can go dig around the couch cushions or—”

Her lip is wobbling before he can finish drying the cup in his hands.

Steve tosses it recklessly back into the sink.

“Steve…” Max whines, the sad cry of a distressed pup making its way out of her throat.

He haphazardly dries his hands on his favorite apron then tosses it on the counter. Max needs him and household chores can wait.

His pups always come first.

“Shhhh, I’m here, pup. I’ve got you,” he purrs.

She’s not much of a toucher, let alone a hugger, but Max melts into his embrace and her face buries into Steve’s chest, subconsciously seeking out his scent for comfort.

Whatever has her so worked up, it’s a good sign. She knows who her pack is and that he’ll take care of her.

Steve continues to softly shush Max as melodically as he can, rocking them both back and forth like he would a fussy baby.

“Maxine… do you mind if we move this elsewhere? I’ve never met a problem I can’t solve from the comfort of my nest and I know we haven’t cuddled in a while.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but she definitely heard him.

A minute later, she nods and pulls away enough to look at his face. Not surprisingly, there are tear tracks down her freckled cheeks.

His heart hurts for her.

“Nest please,” Max agrees hoarsely.

He chirps.

Freeing up his body, he offers a hand for her to hold while they relocate to Steve’s nesting room.

Eddie had insisted on designating it as such just a few months after they started living together.

It mostly has the benefit of keeping the pack out of their personal bedroom.

They love their pack, but one can only be barged in on so many times before locks become necessary and Steve’s nest is a popular hangout spot for the pups.

“Climb in, Red,” he invites, gesturing towards the nest.

Steve had just straightened it up and changed the sheets earlier.

She hesitates for some unknown reason.

He cocks his head to the side, waiting for an explanation as to why she’s not jumping in like she usually does.

Max’s eyes flicker down from his face to his belly.

Ah. Right. That.

“Get in first and then you can help me,” he offers.

She accepts the compromise, settling herself amongst the many fluffy pillows, ultra soft blankets, and scent trinkets.

As soon as she’s comfortable, her hand shoots out towards him. It’s obvious she’s worried about his balance despite her own ongoing problems.

Max is a good kid.

He’s actually become quite skilled at moving about in their home since becoming pregnant, but the pups have their own instincts and they’re primarily to protect Steve and his unborn baby.

He still lets her help him into the nest.

“Thank you,” Steve tells her, even though it truly wasn’t necessary.

She falls right back into his form.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances down where she’s got her head tucked under his arm, unable to look at her face. All he can really see is the top of her shiny copper locks.

“For what, pup? It was just about time for an afternoon nap anyway and you know I love company,” he reassures her.

Eddie isn’t due home from work for at least another hour, but he knows his mate won’t mind if they have an extra place setting at dinner.

If anything, this is another opportunity for them to practice being parents.

They’ve only got a couple months left until it all becomes real.

“What’s going on, honey? Boy problems? Kids at school being jerks? Someone in ‘The Party’ being a jerk? You know I can put them in their place if I need to.”

She snorts. It’s a start.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” Max whispers.

Her hand finds his bump and rests there lightly, gently.

“That’s okay. We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to. Is there anything else I can do to help though?”

His own omegan instincts are going a bit crazy not knowing how to make Max well again. She’s his responsibility and so is her happiness.

His pups are truly everything.

They all know he’ll soon have another pup— one related by blood and not just strong pack ties and scent, but they also know Steve is their mother too.

Some of them have moms already, but he is their second one. Someone to cuddle them and love them.

Protect them from the world.

As head alpha of the pack, Eddie has become their honorary father too.

It’s their shared drive as a mated couple to assure their pack is healthy and taken care of. Dysfunctional at times though it may be, their pack is full of so much love.

Steve’s never been happier.

Now if he could figure out how to bubble wrap all of the pups and shield them from all dangers, that would be perfect.

“Just this is good. I… I missed you,” Max confesses.

He gives her a gentle squeeze.

“Missed you too. Been pretty busy around here lately,” he remarks softly.

Her head pops up, curiosity filling her young face.

“Did you and Eddie get the nursery set up yet? I know you bought the paint this weekend and Lucas said—”

She cuts herself off with a sour frown and a bitter scent.

Oh. This is definitely a boy problem. Something with Lucas.

Steve knows their puppy love is messy sometimes. Young love and all that. But they’re generally pretty sweet to one another.

Clearly something happened.

It’s not his place to push. She’ll speak when she’s ready.

“Eddie actually spent three fucking hours trying to put that crib together.”

She laughs. Loudly.

He knew she would find it funny. Steve doesn’t swear around the kids often and Max has a potty mouth worse than most grown alphas.

“That dumbass,” she giggles.

“My dumbass,” he reminds her. “Best man I’ve ever known.”

He’s not even lying or exaggerating. Eddie is a godsend.

Perfect? Never. Loyal, loving, kindhearted, brave, and protective? Beyond Steve’s wildest dreams.

“You’re lucky.”

He is.

“I am. Eddie loves me a lot. He’s gonna be a good dad. If he learns to follow instructions better, he might even be a great one.”

Max hums in agreement. A bit contemplative.

“I think Lucas might be in love with me.”

Okay, so they are gonna talk about it after all.

“He might. Does that scare you?” Steve asks casually. There’s nothing casual about her finally opening up.

Her hand on his belly gets tense, but the touch is still light.

“Maybe… Everyone always leaves.”

Steve forces himself to relax. To not slander the dead or blame the only living blood relative she has left.

“They’d have to pry me away from you, Max. Eddie and I would never leave you of our own free will. We love you too,” he states.

This isn’t about them. But she needs to hear it.

“I know,” she whispers. “And I love you too, mom. I promise I’ll talk to Lucas about it tomorrow.”

His pups will be alright.

“That’s my girl.”

Steve pops an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head.

She purrs. So does he.

Therapeutic pup cuddles are so much better than washing the dishes.

[justonebitebaby]

"You think I wouldn't know the smell of my rotting former first mate?" is so insane. imagine knowing someone so intimately that you know the smell of their blood, their decay. imagine smelling rust and copper in their air and thinking that's him. he's still alive, still on board. imagine spending so many years together in such close quarters, seeing each other injured and patching each other up, that just the scent of blood in the air is enough for you to know.

[teaboot]

Thoughts on the naming of your currency

Rating Canadian currency:

Hundred, fifty, twenty, ten, and five dollar bills: Accurate but boring. 7/10

Toonie, or Two-Dollar Coin: Funny, unique, has polar bears on it, and a unique silver rim on a bronze core that really makes it stand out. 9/10

Loonie, or One-Dollar Coin: Called such because it has a loon on it. Inspired Toonies, as a portmanteau of "Two" and "Loonies". An inspiration, an icon, and our only bronze coin. 10/10

Quarter, or twenty-five cent coin: Is worth a quarter of a dollar, hence the name. Thin, flat, with a notched edge. Stamped with a caribou, but with hundreds of different variations recognizing national prides such as Aboriginal art, Olympic events, Veteran memorials, and national sports. Tge Pokémon card of Canadian currency. 8/10

Dime, or ten-cent coin: The smallest coin. Smaller than a penny Nova Scotia Bluenose sailboat on it the only Canadian coin in circulation that represents a man-made structure instead of an animal. Not worth much, though, and east to lose. No idea why its called a dime and I refuse to learn. 6/10.

Nickel, or five-cent coin: Thique. Chunky. Stout. Made of Nickel, we well-named. Has a picture of a Beaver, arguably the most iconic Canadian animal. Almost worthless, but so well-branded. Very Canadian. 8/10

Penny, or one-cent coin: Our only copper coin. Has not been in circulation for several years, but places will accept them as currency as long as you aren't a dick about it. Fun fact: The highest number of pennies accepted in cash payments before the recipient can turn you down is apparently twenty-five cents, so you cannot in fact pay a bill with nothing but pennies. Canadian coins before 1988 were solid copper, and later became zinc with copper coating.

Honorable mention:

Fifty-cent coins: I have never seen anyone use one of these as legal tender but I've seen like five of them in my life so I know they're real. What the fuck. 11/10

[ladyempty]

"Do you think you can just deny me? No, the answer is no"

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life.| ° | pairing: Yan!Maegor Targaryen, o cruel x Wife! Reader ° | !English is not my first language!|

You were certainly a cursed woman for arousing the almost immediate interest of the cruel king after his bloodthirsty ascension to the throne.

Maegor already had three wives at that time, two wives he liked and one he despised with increasing hatred.

But you were different, it was an overwhelming feeling that caught you off guard in the first contacts.

There was something fascinating to the king in his every little gesture and movement. Her so easily adorable personality and impeccable looks.

So this was love? This flame that burns without being seen? That feeling he despised when bards sang softly on banquettes and celebrations, and now it had taken over his body.

Already convinced of the strength of his feelings, the king did not delay in a proper court, he thought he had already made his obvious interest clear. The king's way of showing interest was something... Peculiar... Certainly constantly chasing you, ordering guards to follow you and always so fixedly analyzing your slightest movement, it wasn't the most gallant way.

In any case, the engagement was not long in consideration, with Maegor coldly threatening you father:

"I will have your hand beheaded or I will have your daughter's hand in marriage" His tone was as cold as the blade of his sword held firmly at his hip.

The wedding was only in Valerian traditions, the king's warm crimson blood mingling with his own and the taste of copper on his lips.

Maegor would never stoop to marrying in the faith of the seven. An action that only caused more chaos and anger from the religious.

The wedding night was certainly not a fairy tale. The king was focused on creating an heir and finally freely exploring his body. His touches were rough, strong and not at all gentle.

You better not consider moontea...

As a husband, Maegor is not the kindest. His displays of affection are not delicate and he does not demonstrate his love through words at all.

But compared to his treatment of other people, he is much softer on you.

He will still punish you if you disobey his numerous and strict rules.

Jealous and possessive are an understatement to describe feelings and behavior. You are His in every aspect of the word. Your body and soul belong to him and him alone. And not even his other wives have the right to take their You attention away from him. Your world should revolve around him the same way his world revolves around you.

Maegor is simply crazy about you, he loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else, even if it was in a distorted way, he doesn't want anyone to get close to you, touch you or even breathe and look in your direction. Anyone who approaches you will regret it bitterly when the blade of your sword pierces the person's neck without mercy.

He admired strength... But you couldn't get hurt, he liked your bravery, but there is no way he will allow you to get hurt. Never.

Maegor will not change your reason if you don't trust him. He will even think you are smart. For a while. After your patience runs out, he will simply demand your complete trust in him.

"I am your lord husband, who is more deserving of your trust than me?"

And things only got worse after Alys's deformed stillbirth...

Tyanna's whispers in her ear about infidelity and the child being nothing more than a bastard only served to increase her paranoia. The mere thought of you cheating on him was enough to make him simply lose his mind.

He imprisoned you in your private chambers, no one was allowed to enter unless authorized by the king. Guards guarded the door to his quarters.

Then, in an act of desperation, Maegor took three wives at once. But all three had deformed stillbirths just like Alys… Tyanna had lied and the king simply didn't know what else to do. He was desperate for the first time in his life.

But like a ray of light... Were you pregnant? For the first time in almost decades... Maegor smiled widely.

[theunexpurgatedlondongazette]

Tuesday's Gazette: The Bone Market and the far Khanate!

Whims shift all across the Neath as traders of skeletons and intelligence alike move on to other interests. Here's everything a shrewd Londoner needs to know to take advantage of the latest market trends: Detailed information on the Bone Market and skeleton construction in general can be found on the Fallen London wiki at Assembling a Skeleton (Guide)<b>; similarly, an explanation of the spycraft of Khan's Heart can be found at </b>Khaganian Intrigue (Guide).

The Bone Market looks to the past! This week's fad is Antique skeletons:

An Enthusiast of the Ancient World will pay out 1 additional Unprovenanced Artifact

An Author of Gothic Tales will pay out additional Carved Balls of Stygian Ivory equal to half the skeleton's Antiquity (rounding the total secondary reward to the nearest even number).

A Zailor with Particular Interests will pay out additional Knobs of Scintillack equal to half the skeleton's Antiquity (rounding the total secondary reward to the nearest even number).

An Investment-Minded Ambassador will pay out a number of Tailfeathers Brilliant as Flame equal to 0.8 times Antiquity^(2.1).

The Bone Market turns introspective!! This week's zoological mania is for skeletal Primates, which will receive a Zoological Mania Bonus equal to 10% their Approximate Value in Pennies. To declare a skeleton one of various types of Primate it must have a humanoid ribcage, one head, and either: two arms, two legs, and no wings, fins, or tails (Humanoid); four arms and no legs, wings, fins, or tails (Ape); four arms, one tail, and no legs, wings, or fins (Monkey).

An Ingenuous Malacologist has been seen roaming the Bone Market's stalls! He is looking for tentacled skeletons (specifically, ones with at least 4 tentacles). He will pay out in Preserved Surface Blooms equal to your skeleton's value divided by 250, plus 1, (including the Zoological Mania bonus, if any) and in Volumes of Collated Research equal to (number of skeleton's tentacles)^2.2 divided by 5. This buyer is locked out by having 4 Exhaustion or more, and will increase it by 1 point for every (number of skeleton's tentacles)^2 divided by 100.

Far across the Zee in the Khanate's Copper Quarter a certain Trifling Diplomat has become interested in Ancient arachnids. He will pay for them in Assortment of Khaganian Coinage (equal to 1 plus the Approximate Value of Your Skeleton in Pennies divided by 50) and in Compromising Documents (equal to [Antiquity + Amalgamy + Menace]^2.2, divided by 3).

Meanwhile, in Khan's Heart, the Precocious Engineer is selling Emetic Revelations at the price of 20 Correspondence Plaques each.

[portrait-paintings]

Portrait of Anna Pitt as Hebe

Artist: Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (French, 1755–1842)

Date: 1792

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg

Description

Anne Grenville, Baroness Grenville (née Pitt, September 1772 – June 1864) was an English noblewoman and author, and a member of the Pitt family, which at the time dominated British politics.

[whatislovevavy]

Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts

Reiner! Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Honeybee)

Summary: Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he's so glad he gets to share it with you.

Warnings: Tyler being down bad for his wife, afab!reader, fluff, swearing, smut (18+), oral (m+f), facesitting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

WC: 4.6k (I'm so sorry, but not sorry enough to make it shorter)

AN: Hey girlies :) Apologies for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy and it feels like I have to wait for what feels like some kind of astronomical event for me to be able to write. Tyler Owens is essentially Jake Seresin so yeah I'm writing for him now lol. Reining has always been one of my favorite equestrian sports to watch. Granted, I've never done it nor competed so apologies to any reiners out there if there's inaccuracies with how competitions go lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

None of the pictures featured are mine and were taken off of Pinterest. All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

The competition had been fierce and each ounce of caffeine in your veins from your strenuous, early morning drive from Arkansas to Oklahoma had done nothing to quell your nerves. 

You could feel the sweat emulate from your palms as you watched each rider and horse pair complete their routine with near flawlessness, confidence, professionalism, and near perfect scores on maneuvers. 

Tyler would need to give it his all to bring home the NRHA world championship title for this season. 

You watched with bated breath as the pair before Tyler’s exited through the in-gate, applause and cheers ricocheting off the concrete and aluminum walls of the stadium. The announcer’s voice crackling and echoing through the speakers as the pairs score was displayed on the JumboTron that hung ominously above the center of the arena, threatening to crush Tyler's lifelong dream if a perfect score wasn't achieved. You fiddled with the competition program in your hand, waiting for the announcer to give the go ahead for Tyler Owens and Coppertone Boy, or as he was affectionately called at home, Copper, to enter the arena. 

“Come on, honeybee, I think you're more nervous than I am.” The fingers of your hand stop gingerly massaging into the muscle between Copper’s alert ears, eyes meeting Tyler’s unnervingly calm ones. You sighed, bringing your hand down to softly stroke the stallion’s velvet muzzle, looking back out at the arena that would be vacant for only a few moments more. “It's just the anticipation is all.”

He swallowed, dipping his heels down further against his stirrups, his weight settling on the back of the palomino American Quarter Horse. His thumb running along the smooth leather reins in his moderately calloused hands, his posture straightening. Tipping his hat on his head, eyes drifting from your almost perfect facade of calm collection to the no longer virginal arena footing. 

He gingerly scratched at Copper’s strong, gilded withers and neck concealed by the silken, alabaster strands of his freshly detangled mane, easing any anxiety the 10 year old stallion may have had. 

“Copper will take care of me out there, and I'm coming back, Sweets” his lip quirked into a gentle smirk, letting your anxiety ease a bit. 

Copper gently nudged you with his head, trying to get one last scratch in before entering. Or maybe to try to reassure you. “I know, I-,” you took a breath, licking your lips,” just really want this for you, and we're so close. I can taste it.” 

His eyes glazed a bit, a special kind of warmth spreading in his chest. You had helped him hitch the trailer to pick up Copper from the auction a few townships over back in his early twenties. You were the one who was with him every step of the way, through every high and frustrating low of training him and getting him ready for every competition. You were the one to stay up all night with him when Copper coliced during a muggy spring night a few years back. You were the one who encouraged him to try reining after his bull riding rodeo career came to a halt. You were the one to hide out with him on his family's ranch in Arkansas during the summer thunderstorms in the hayloft as kids and lovesick teenagers. And you were the first person he got to kiss out in the back field after the haying season was done, laying under the cover of Cassiopeia and The Big Dipper with homemade strawberry moonshine. It made the wedding band on a chain around his neck all the more meaningful. The microphone crackled as the announcer cleared his throat, announcing for Tyler to enter the arena. 

“Come on, baby, I need my good luck kiss before I go out there.” His urgent, but sweet, tone made you chuckle.  Stepping on your tippy toes, you met his lips that only seemed to get softer the more you kissed him. As your lips left his, you gave the stallion that gleamed like a new penny under the stadium lights a last, quick rub at his withers and a whispered “take care of him for me.” The stallion nudged his pink and gray muzzle into your side, letting out a puff of breath, seeming to listen and affirm your wish. 

You turned back to the man you had loved since you were a sophmore in highschool. “You'll get something a lot more when you come back.” You said softly with a flirtatious tone, trying to lighten the nerves that seemed to electrify your fingertips. Your eyes told an unspoken “whether you win, or lose.” His eyebrows rise before a smirk settles on his lips. “Looking forward to it darlin,” he winks before turning his attention to the packed arena. He gives the stallion a gentle squeeze of his sides with his calves to get him into a working walk, head low, and relaxed as his metal shoe-clad hooves rhythmically ricocheted off the pavement leading up to the arena as applause and whistles from the crowd marked his entrance like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. You watched him leave your side with bated breath. 

You always envied how he was able to feed off of the crowd instead of cowering under it, even when he was getting tossed around as a professional bull rider in the local rodeo circuit. It was a trait that Tyler and Copper had in common that made them a perfect pair.

You watched each calculated movement he whispered to Copper through his hands, legs, and seat. Each movement done in perfect harmony, from flying lead changes to each heart racing spin and rollback. You practically knew the routine like the back of your hand, softly mouthing the required movements right as Tyler and Copper conducted them with  complete poise and confidence. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit back and forth from the golden stallion enrapturing the attention of the crowd and the judges scribbling down notes that had the potential to cut like a blade. Tyler had a calm, at-ease aura around him; his hands still with just the right amount of contact on the reins, loose hips and strong legs that wrapped around the barrel of the strong, powerful, and graceful horse below him. Copper’s ears kept at ease, each one flitting back to listen to each whispered task Tyler gave him. His mane and tail swayed beautifully with the rest of his muscular, golden dappled frame; steel horseshoes gleaming under the large overhead lights. You felt your anxiety rise as Tyler only had one maneuver left to accomplish- a sliding stop from a full gallop, the most exhilarating maneuver in reining.

Your breath felt like lead in your lungs as you watched each stride Copper took to complete his routine. With an impressive stall of his hind quarters, Copper planted himself against the arena footing to come to a full stop, his hind legs slightly folding under him as Tyler kept his body steady. The arena went quiet for only a second as Copper found his footing, remaining in a halt. As soon as the judges gave Tyler the go ahead to leave the arena, you jumped up in glee, applauding and whistling, just like the entirety of the arena   as Tyler gave Copper a loose rein, giving his strong neck deligent pats of encouragement and rubbing his withers as he made his way out of the arena at a working walk pace. After all, he had earned it. 

But would it be enough to win?

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as Tyler met your gaze with a heart stopping grin, his handsome dimples on display, timothy grass green eyes shining for you as his chest rose and fell from his exertion, and the sweat evident under his Stetson at his hairline. 

As soon as he cleared the in-gate, he was out of the saddle and embracing you, lips on yours as you giggled against him as he picked you up and spun you around, your fingers splayed over his stubbly cheeks. Copper stood patiently as his reins hit the cement floor. Your fingers resting at the back of his neck, feeling his sweat, natural scent, and the smell of leather and horses caress your senses. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, voice thick with tears bubbling beneath your eyes as your hands encased his gently stubbled cheeks, his grin matching your own, voice thick, “Honey, whatever happens, I’m-,” his eyes becoming glassy, “I’m just so glad I’ve been able to do this with you. I love you so goddamn much.” He brought your lips back to his in a sweet, love filled kiss that made your stomach flutter.  The crackle of the microphone breaks you both away from your kiss, his embrace still on your hips. Tyler cranes his neck to look up at the JumboTron. 

Your eyes widening, putting your hands over your mouth and looking up at Tyler’s shock-parted lips as the arena broke into cheers. Tyler swings you around by your hips before bringing you to his lips again. 

A perfect score. 

—

As soon as Tyler rode out on Copper with you by his side during the award ceremony, and your picture was taken with his NRHA Championship trophy and Copper got his red, blue, and yellow tri-colored ribbon, you both were ready to load up Copper and drive all the way back to Arkansas. 

Photographers, interviewers, and cameras followed your little group out of the arena. Tyler and Copper both walked with pride in a way that showed a healthy balance of confidence and natural charisma. Copper not once flinched as cameras flashed as Tyler had him periodically stop for interviewers to ask questions, reins loose in his hand. Copper seemed to almost pose for the camera with his ears forward and moving with momentum whenever the cameras flashed; aware that he had done a good job and was being appreciated. You, on the other hand, preferred to be on the other side of Copper’s strong withers, away from the cameras, gently running your hand along his glistening coat; it took you and Tyler countless hours for it to gleam like gold. 

“Who would you say is someone who has always supported you on the road to winning this NRHA world championship title?”

You felt like you were hiding behind the near two ton animal, peeking over his strong neck to watch Tyler with his tipped up Stetson and near alabaster dress shirt. He turned from the interviewer to you with an easy grin on his face, gently reaching behind him to take your hand from underneath Copper’s neck, bringing you around his large head and into Tyler’s chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks like wildfire as you gave the interviewer a shy toothy smile. 

“I’ve had the undeserved pleasure to have by my side, during this entire journey, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known; my wife.” You felt your throat tighten and tears start to bubble up in your eyes at his gesture, all while trying to subtly hide away into his shoulder as the interviewer seemed to soak up the sweet moment between the new NRHA world champion and his wife. 

“You’ll have to forgive her, my honeybee’s a bit shy.” he chuckled, the interviewer following suit before asking her final questions with you by his side. 

As the last of the interviewers left to talk to the other competitors, you and Tyler led Copper back to the trailer to get him bedded in the trailer for the long way home.

You tried to keep your thoughts pure as you walked through the trucks and trailers with Copper in tow, passing competitors that turned into friends; like Bradley Bradshaw and his oil black quarter horse gelding, Turn and Burn, and Natasha Trace and her sorrel chestnut mare, Rising Phoenix. Both of which had gotten in the top 5 tonight out of 38. 

But Tyler looked too good right now. Too good. And his display of affection in front of the interviewer made your insides warm and jumble inside you. 

His hair peeking out from under his stetson, the color subdued from sweat; his taut jeans around his slim waist; his obnoxiously large belt buckle that glimmered in the overhead lot lights; his flushed, sweat soaked skin; bright, fern green eyes, and the defined line of his jaw to his handsome dimples. 

It didn’t help that you got distracted watching him tend to Copper as you put the tack in the trailer, biting your lip as you watched the thin material of his shirt cling to his back muscles. 

“Honeybee, you alright over there?” You almost needed to shake your head out of your trance, before trying to quickly put the tack away in the closet of the trailer, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on your lewd thoughts. 

As soon as you turned around from putting the tack away, Tyler was at the entryway. Both hands on the edge of the storage space prevented any chance of escape, sluttily leaning his weight on the frame like the scantily-clad men in those romance books Tyler always teased you for reading. He didn’t have anything to complain about though; he reaped the reward of it everytime. 

Your eyes met his mischief filled ones. “You got something on your mind, Honey?” 

You diverted your gaze from his eyes to his Stetson. He noticed, promptly removing it and placing it over his denim-clad pelvis with a teasing smile as he saw your eyes follow his movement. He always loved the dust of pink on your cheeks when he flirted with you. He took a step into the trailer, feeling his intoxicating scent invade your senses. 

You took a step forward, letting your eyes obscenely run over from his sweat-slicked back hair, to the slight crook in his nose, to his plush lips. Leaning into his ear, “I’ll tell you once Copper is in the trailer. Fed and watered.” Tyler almost shivered at the barely decent tone you used. You both were in a public space for Christ’s sake. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You bit your lip, a chuckle vibrating in your chest at his pace towards the patient stallion grazing from his well deserved hay bag as soon the words left your lips.

—

After ensuring all of your belongings were packed away, you went to check on Tyler and Copper. As you turned the corner, Tyler was just finishing up putting the latches on the trailer. “How’s our big guy doing?” You asked, leaning against the side of the trailer. 

He turned to you, “fed, watered, and out like a light. Copper’s going to sleep well on the ride home. Gave him a few extra flakes of hay to keep him occupied.”

“Now,” he took a step closer to you, a smirk painted across his lips, “I wanna hear what was on your mind earlier, pretty girl,” he purred. 

You took a step closer to him with a flirtatious smile blooming on your face, reaching out for his belt loops on his jeans. 

— 

“Honeybee,” he whimpered, heading hitting back against his truck as you sunk to the dusty ground beneath your knees, scrambling to unbuckle his obnoxiously large belt buckle, and unzipping his denim jeans with a harsh tug. He hissed, “careful, sweets, don't want to damage the goods,” you chuckled before bringing his jeans down to his knees. His breath freezing in his throat as you ran your palms against his defined Adonis belt and abs, scratching at the hair of his happy trail as your smooth palm found its home - wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock in his briefs. Tyler's eyes clenched shut, a hiss leaking from his kiss-swollen lips as you began to pump him in a corkscrew motion. God, he looked so good like this. Letting you take care of him and make him crumble beneath the palms of your hands. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” His hips stuttered as you gave his oh so sensitive, engorged tip delicate kitten licks before taking him into your mouth, sucking softly. Eyes drifting shut as you savored the subtle musk of your husband and the salty taste of the precum leaking out of his cock. You hummed around his dick as his fingers weaved into your hair, keeping his cock encased in your hot mouth. 

Jesus, the glorious sight in your mind- Tyler’s head and Stetson tipped back, lips agape, cheeks flushed pink with sweat and arousal, dress shirt unbuttoned, strong abdominal and pectoral muscles exposed from years of ranch work, hips jutting out as his jeans and briefs tethered his ankles as you worked his fat cock. 

A sound akin to a mewl left his lips as you bobbed your head along his length, working his cock with your saliva soaked hand. 

“Oh fu- baby, that feels so fucking good.” His graveled voice made you clench your thighs, his eyes opening to see you pumping his cock as you playfully sucked on his balls. Saliva dribbling down your lips to the dirt below, leaving your mark on the event grounds. Your sinful acts hidden in the shadows of your truck and trailer. 

This was definitely the best way to celebrate a world championship win, he thought through a hazy conscience as he failed to find a steady tempo of breath. 

You could feel the tightness of his balls and the steady throbbing of the vein running underneath his thick cock. His fingers tightening in your hair. 

“God-Fuck-” His trail of words were cut off with a deep groan he tried to muffle the best he could.

 His hand kept your mouth around his cock as he shot his load down your welcoming throat, letting you swallow every hot drop he had to give. His body slumping against the truck, catching his breath as you rose up off the dirt, tenderly tucking him back into his jeans, bringing your lips to his. 

After a few moments, Tyler deepened the kiss,  reaching for the backseat door. He broke away from your lips, littering your neck and collarbones with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips would get swollen soon from how hard you were biting them to conceal your mewls. His hands palmed and toyed with your cotton-clad breasts, feeling his calloused fingers slide under your t-shirt to fondle at your steadily peaking nipples. “Baby, we might need to do this half-clothed,” you murmured against his lips. He let his lips leave yours, realizing where you guys were: on the outskirts of the arena grounds. 

“Well, Honeybee, we’ll just have to do it with your pants down then, pretty girl.” He smiled sinfully. His gravelly tone always made you clench your thighs in need, and feel excited and jittery inside; like a new-born foal learning to run. 

He stripped off his dress shirt, leaving him with chest and abs exposed in the shadow of the truck. Before you had the chance to admire his half-bare body, he was unzipping your jeans and pulling them down along with your panties in one fell swoop. He guided your legs out of them before placing his beloved Stetson on your head. The sight of you bare below the waist and his white stetson had his cock twitching again. 

He hopped on the seat, laying down on the leather upholstery. “Come on, honey girl, get up here. I want a taste.” He purred, eyes raking from your face down to the little honey stash between your thighs with a Cheshire-like grin. 

You chuckled, excitement thrumming through your belly like a current of electricity. His hands guided your hips over his twitching dick, over his thick pecs, and right above where he wanted you. Your breath catches in your throat as Tyler brings your hips down with his broad hands, clutching at your soft waist as he starts lapping at your drenched core.  

“Fuck, Ty-” you clutched at his tufts of hair that peaked through your fingers, like the daisies in the hayfields. He toyed with your clit, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. He gently sucked on your clit to pull each sweet moan and gasp from your lips. His thick fingers forming troughs along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, keeping your weeping pussy pinned above his eager mouth. 

“Please.”

He grunted as your hips rocked against him, his grip tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. Your head tipping back as your thoughts failed to construe into something tangible besides broken moans and words. It’s amazing how Tyler’s Stetson has stayed on during your impromptu ride. 

God, the sight he had from below your thighs; black t-shirt riding up to just below your bra, your hands clutching at his hair and your covered breasts, beautiful parted lips, reddened cheeks and his staple atop your head.

You looked divine like this. Hell, you were divine for wanting to marry him in the first place. 

He gave your clit a delicate kiss, just enough to make you whine a little. Littering kisses along your inner thighs, feeling the tender flesh quake above him as you protested him giving attention to places that weren’t where you needed him to be. He licked his lips savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and gently teased two fingers at your entrance making you gasp and whimper at the intrusion.

“Baby, you look so good from down here, so fucking good.”

His graveled voice was marked by a unique breathlessness that times like these brought him. Your hands pushed your t-shirt up and your bra down to toy with your exposed breasts and perky nipples as the Oklahoma evening air pebbled them. Your hazy gaze looking downward at your lover’s tousled hair, flushed cheeks and lust-blown pupils with a characteristic devilish grin on his arousal soaked lips.

“Fuck, baby”

He smiled as he guided his fingers into your welcoming heat, your pretty moans music to his ears. 

His fingers finding the perfect tempo against that little spot inside you that made your toes curl against the upholstery of the car. His free hand holding an iron grip on your hip, keeping you steady.

If you hadn’t felt like you were going to cum before, you were now.  

Tyler could feel your velvet walls constrict around his welcomed digits. A soft yelp leaves your lips as he finds your clit again; toying and sucking at the delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He sucked harder the more you pulled at his hair.

“Tyler, I’m so close, please make me cum baby-please.”

The wanton, sultry tone your voice got in this state made him ache in his jeans and move his fingers that much more eagerly. 

You felt the familiar build up of pleasure in your tummy and the sparks of pleasure traveling from your toes. Tyler watched as you fell apart over him with a wracked moan of his name as his fingers continued to rub that special spot inside you, and as he continued to toy with your poor, abused clit.

He slowed his movements to a halt, letting his fingers leave to hold your hips steady, bringing his lips to languidly kiss and lathe at your cum soaked folds, drawing out any last sparks of pleasure and the sweet, little noises you always made for him. 

Your thighs shook with the aftermath of your orgasm, your body still ringing with small sparks of pleasure and sensitivity, your whimpers pouring out. 

He lathed his last set of kisses to your pussy before sliding your hips down to rest over his throbbing dick, hidden behind a layer of denim. 

Tyler brought both hands to encase your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss full of teeth and tongue, your mouth going to the prominent vein on the side of his neck, lathing and marking the flesh as your own, spurred on by the deep groans of the man underneath you. He growled, feeling you bite into the skin there. It would surprise him if you didn’t draw blood. 

“I want to ride your thick cock, baby.” you simpered.

“Fuck, you make me so hard, Honeybee.” He growled, feeling you unzip his jeans, pulling out his aching cock and lining him up at your entrance. Gently teasing the tip, running it along your folds, letting it soak up your arousal. You smirked as you listened to the borderline moans that reverberated from his chest. He felt his eyes almost roll back at the feeling of your walls welcoming him in; back home. You watched with lust hazed eyes as his face was consumed with tension; his eyes clenched shut, brow lines rippling the tanned skin of his forehead, his tense jaw and kiss swollen lips. 

He guided your hips, savoring the feeling of you. His hips bucking up into your awaiting pussy as he got more and more invigorated for his release. 

“Fuck, Honey-fuck!” He growled as he felt your walls squeeze him for all he was worth. 

“God, you’re always so good for me, such a good fucking girl” he said as he held your hips tighter, fucking up into you at a faster pace than before. Gasps and moans falling from your lips as he pummeled that sweet, heavenly spot inside you that had you seeing a kaleidoscope of sensations behind your eyes, and your fingers clawing at his pecs and shoulders for stability. Tyler could feel the coil in his stomach tightening as his release was barreling towards him like a train going into a station. His abs tightening, pace unrelenting as he chased his high. He could feel you were close with this new set pace, your lips parted as sweet sounds echoed from your lips. He held on until he felt your walls snap close on him like a vice, your thighs shaking as your high washed over him with a broken moan and tremor. His hips rose, fucking into you one last time before releasing his hot load into your pretty pussy with a deep growl. 

—

He gingerly pulled up your panties, keeping his cum trapped between your folds. He snapped the button of your jeans closed as he languidly made out with you. He changed into a t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right, keeping his jeans on. You both silently changed into your new set of clothes with content, lovesick smiles on your face. You gave him a kiss as he passed you his sweatshirt to wear during the ride home. 

You both settled into the front seat of the truck. By now, most people had gone home, the bright stars above watching over you. He placed his Stetson on the backseat, smirking as he watched you reach out for the cowboy hat, placing it on your head with a cute smile that made him smirk and shake his head. 

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, Honeybee.”

“I love you too, Ty.”

You give his thick thigh a squeeze, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He pulled black from the kiss, putting the truck into drive. As soon as his hand is free, he takes your hand in his, making your cheeks warm at the gesture, kissing the back of it as he pulls out of the dirt road onto the interstate towards Arkansas.

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[comfortless]

got a startling number or requests for this, so here’s a part two for captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader..!

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au, dubious consent, slightly rough smut, abduction.

On the twelfth day, you finally understand how to punish König.

The nightly incidents have grown more frequent, sometimes thrice before the sun rises. Even once when you had caught his eye from across the yard whilst he bathed in the pond. A heavy hand had curled around his manhood with the most obscene words you had ever heard a man speak spilling from his panting mouth.

You merely stared like an innocent fawn in the face of a starved hunter then, but as the day passed a deep sorrow seemed to take root, one that should have been left well enough alone. König is not an animal, but… he is an unwed brute whose very appearance had most of the servant girls running for their quarters with their hands shoved protectively into the laps of their skirts.

He’s lonely. You had reasoned that must be why he’s so hellbent on torturing you to tears, to harass you with that leaking, throbbing pillar between his thighs. His insults have come to a stop. The man you took in for a pouch of copper is more of a pity than a terror at all.

With the sleepless nights beginning to weigh down on you, puppeting yourself day by day grows to be the most awful task. He’s always lurking close: it’s what he’s here for. König’s eyes never stray from you.

It’s getting to him, too.

The midwife, of course, shyly told you that a lady of your status should hold fast to her maidenhood until the eve of her wedding. But… once the dutiful words had been spilled, she immediately followed them with laughter, explaining that some men just needed to be subjugated, hinting that that was possibly the solution to what has you so downtrodden.

You couldn’t help yourself, not when he glanced up at you in the midst of training, his sightless mimicry of an opponent made up of wood already felled and settled into the dust at his feet. You could always feign your innocence, accuse him of imagining things should he say a word. Though, you’re guilty, just as guilty as him as you reveal your body to him where you sat perched upon the window sill.

The fluttering, innocent fabric of your gown is pulled from your shoulders and pushed down your hips to pool upon the floor. The laces of your corset are hastily untied to follow down. The underdress is all but torn away when you notice the way he halts in place, jaw tightening and eyes going wide.

Like the most malevolent of nymphs, you don’t offer him a taste when he comes storming into the castle chasing that glint of hope. You wind yourself through the halls, fully clothed as he huffs and growls just beyond your shoulder of how it is cruel and dangerous to tease a man.

Something about the way he boasts of doing so much for you to receive so little in turn conjures laughter from your throat. It is not often you’re able to treat a man this way, and even less often have you learned a thing about war, but you’ve certainly turned the tables in this ridiculous battle.

Those warnings of his fall entirely on deaf ears.

Then comes the night you no longer sense him positioned beyond your door. You sleep uninterrupted and warm, safely tucked between layers of cloth and down. The comfort of not being stirred awake by clamoring and grunting jolts you up with worry, because by this time it’s unnatural.

The peace of the night is heavy; the castle is entirely silent, no heavy soles meeting stone floors or hushed voices whispering secrets. There are crickets chirping beyond your window where a cool breeze drifts in to flutter curtains, but not a sound otherwise.

You push past your own apprehension to try the door, to seek him out with your innocent fretting, only to find that past that wooden barrier no one is stood guard.

A torch is lit and stationed upon the wall in König’s place, and the looming darkness further down the blackened hall feels so inexplicably ominous that your courage is diminished the second you place you find your footing over the threshold of the door and step out to have it envelope you in full.

König is not the only thing that would swallow you whole if you allowed it.

The realization dawns on you with each fragile step upon cool stone. He’s left you to fend for yourself, likely run off to have his fill of brothel girls and find a new band to strike you and any other pompous noble down. Your castle and your servants would all be ash come the dawn if he so chose… but it isn’t that thought that fills your heart with dread whilst you make your way out of these silent walls.

There’s a clamor coming from the stables when night air brushes over your face, the breeze pushing your hair into your eyes. You’ve heard the sound many a times when one is preparing to ride, the gathering of a saddle whilst the horses press their hooves to earth and watch on in preparation. There are no chores to be done elsewhere, and no servant would be given permission to leave the safety of the walls this late into the night.

König is leaving, abandoning you and his duties.

That’s what bothers you more than the thought of some awful demise.

You can’t place why it even matters. He’s been nothing short of a terror since the day he stepped foot in this place. He doesn’t bring your heart any soothing, only leaves it in wreckage and strikes up a wetness between your thighs. The man is not special, only cruel and ugly, sharp and bloodied like the swords he looks upon with far more passion than he’s ever given to you. Yet, the thought of being without him is haunting.

The walk across the yard feels as though it takes an age. You refuse to cry before him again, have those callused fingers wipe away your tears, but the scowl you force is only as daunting as the look of a forlorn puppy. You can’t find it within you to hate him, even when you try in earnest.

Your hand grasps at the wall of the stable as you peer inside to find the very scene from your imaginings. A horse is readied with as many supplies as it can carry, sacks of what you assume to be stolen food and weaponry hastily fastened to its sides. König is there, of course, shushing the animal with feed as the gate shuts behind him.

He would wait it out here until the night deepens and there would be no chance of anyone coming to stop him, all others preoccupied with their dreaming. As much as you would have preferred to find the sense to return to your own mattress and wait for the sun, your steps lead you inside instead. To him.

“What are you doing?” Your hiss is meek, hushed, and you know you sound more the part of a scorned wife than any authority at all. Your eyes don’t even meet his, cast down to the loose hay at your feet blanketing the dirt floor.

The man only sounds elated at the sight of you, at the idea of being caught amidst his further wicked behavior as he explains to you exactly what you already know. He does not shy away from approaching you, either. You only realize then you’re still dressed for bed without a weapon, just this loose, white gown and a betrayed stare. You’re no threat to someone like this, if anyone at all.

“You want me to stay?,” he hisses right back, taking liberty over your state to draw a hand up to your face, tilt your chin up so your eyes do finally meet his. The sadness remains in his eyes, deeper than you could even fathom, but accompanying it now is a crying madness.

Subjugate, you remind yourself when your lips press to a line. You could play the part of someone braver, bring him to his knees with words and promises up until morning where he would assuredly receive a good lashing.

The hand on your chin crawls down to your neck, thumb petting your pulse with even strokes.

“You can make me,” he continues through your bitter silence. The smirk upon his face is not charming, only cruel again; likely the same look he would give to the void each time he has heard you unravel at the mere thought of him.

You separate yourself from him with a wounded glare, barely keeping yourself together at the thought of finally allowing this brute to unite with your being in such a way. The reasonings as to why you should not are a blur now, reeled back by a more demanding series of thoughts. A secret you could keep, just as long as…

“You really will? If I allow you to…”

“Ja,” König answers simply, gives you a firm nod as to further express his answer. The truth of it was, he finds you dumb. After many months being here, you’ve picked up on a few words of his mother tongue and still he seems to think of you as a simple woman. “Zeig mir deine pflaume.”

You think you may even look the part of some naïve, overly trusting creature when your gown falls to your ankles to rest of the hay covered floor.

The man does not kiss you, only weighs your breasts in his hands, squishes them and paws at their plushness until his breathing grows heavy. He’s grown hard beneath his tunic already, without so much as a moan or a touch from you, but with his eyes locked onto what lies between your trembling legs and the flesh in his hands you almost feel a swell of pride.

His face dips to press into your chest, an eager tongue snaking out to wet you… everywhere. Perhaps he isn’t the most experienced with women, perhaps he’s only sampled what the brothels had to offer.

There’s no care for your pleasure here, only a tentative exchange made clear by the way he gropes at you with such force and tugs your nipple between his teeth as shallow pants and low whimpers leave your parted lips. The bites grow in intensity until you bring your hands to his scarred face to shove him away, only then does he relent back to feverish licks.

A hand trails down to your hip, all too eager in its exploration. There’s no warning when he tests your willingness, pets at your cunt like a well-loved pet. And damn it all — you are wet, as much as you would like to be frigid and resentful here, your body sings for him with soft whines instead of birdsong and dew over the petals of your own flower. He hums appreciatively while suckling at your tit, pushes a finger into your slit so suddenly your body jolts forward to grasp at his shoulders for purchase.

“Not here…” You try to reason with him. There are beds in the castle and walls so thick not a soul would hear. You didn’t need to be fucked in a stable like a breeding mare, it’s unbecoming for both of you.

Not that König even had the sense to listen. You’ve placed a hearty offering at the altar of a starved god, and he would be a fool to allow room to have it snatched away.

The response he gives you is not in words. It’s with a sudden spin that leaves you grasping at the gate of an empty stall, your back to him. You’ve never felt quite so vulnerable, never so horribly heartbroken when this beast chooses to take you from behind instead of nice and slow, in a bed that smells of lavender and incense.

There’s a soft rustling as he pulls his cock free from his garments, his head pressed to where your shoulder and neck join where he whispers what you imagine to be pure filth in his mother tongue, takes in your scent with panting breaths. The fat tip of his cock is diligently rubbed against you in hasty strokes, gathering your wetness until you feel yourself beginning to quiver.

Any chance to turn back is ripped out of your grasp the second he loses patience and begins to feed your drooling cunt each girthy inch. The hands that directed your face with most of your interactions are now cinched firmly against your waist. The sounds that leave him now are unlike any you’ve heard prior; a hand as hard and rough as his could never quite feel the same as what you’ve blessed him with.

“You feel…” He halts momentarily when he’s stuffed himself into you entirely, listening to each soft sound that’s pulled from your lips as you shake around him, for him. He doesn’t need to speak, really… you feel it too, the immediate heat and immaculate bliss of being joined in such a way. You’ve seen that horrid, thick thing countless times but to imagine it would feel so heavenly inside…

“Fick mich… so tight…”

His fucking becomes rampant when you cast him a look over your shoulder, one of utter rapture. Any patience he feigned is lost, because his cock spears you open again and again at a pace that jolts you in place and has your nails splintering the wood in your grasp. The teeth that pulled and bit at your nipples sink into your shoulder to keep those foul words contained, but does little to stifle the desperate groans and keening whines. The sounds of impact join him, filling up the shush of the night air.

Though you try to keep yourself contained, when a hand rises to squeeze at your breast and pinch your nipple between two coarse digits, any hope of biting your tongue is snuffed out. The sounds of your pleasure only add to his derangement; his thrusts become almost unbearable as he fills you with the length of his cock, pulls out to where his tip snags at your entrance only to fully bury himself again in quick repetition.

You don’t even come before he grows sloppy. Each stroke comes less intent, shifting from too fast or far too slow. It’s maddening, the way he sinks in to press his balls to your clit, already drenched in your essence, like a proper lover only to pump you like a common whore following.

He announces his impending orgasm to you in a grunt before sinking his teeth into your neck. Your hand detaches from the gate to slip between your thighs where König immediately grips your wrist as directs each movement as you circle your clit. There’s no tact or beauty here. He forces you to set a rough pace, desperate to feel you squeeze around his cock before he fucks his seed into you; the brute grows impatient and bats your hand away entirely as he pinches and flicks at the nub until you sob, because as torturous as it is, it works.

You’re brought to an abrupt end, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightening as your hips jolt to meet his palm and your cunt pulls him in to pulse. He laps languidly at your neck while he gives you only a few stilted thrusts before the entire affair comes to an end. König doesn’t have near enough sense to keep himself contained, how no curious servant was pried from their bed by the pleasured bellow he lets out then is remarkable.

The man who fucks his palm near thrice a day still manages to fill your cunt to bursting with his seed. It slips down your thigh when he pulls away from you, tugs at your cheek to take in the view with a satisfied grunt that makes you want to recoil from him in a fit of misery. Maybe even love, because you find yourself so regrettably content now that you wouldn’t even mind sleeping in this sour smelling stable if only he would keep an arm around you…

König’s thoughts are elsewhere. He adjusts himself back into his clothes and pulls your gown from the floor to present it back to you. There’s no romance, only a subtle hint of something more than disinterest when he flashes you an almost boyish grin while you straighten yourself out as best you can.

A warm bath followed by a pillow beneath your head would be nice, but instead this romp blesses you with more dread.

The horse König had so diligently prepared is led out of its stall, and you… You’re hardly given a moment to react before you’re seated on the saddle by a pair of thick arms, the owner of which follows suit while you shoot him an uneasy glance. The question of where he’s taking you is only met with a palm curled over your mouth and an affectionate peck to your temple. You’ve no intention of being thrown off a horse or further tempting fate, even if it seems the easier route than whatever this proves to be.

“My lady wants to stay with me..,” he purrs as the reins are forced into your hands. That same hand slips down to push up your gown again and pivot your ass to rest over his crotch. “So she will come with me, hm?”

The cock finds its way inside of you again as the horse takes quiet, metered steps. Your eyes grow wet with tears unshed, and your protestations are muffled by that grip over the lower half of your face. König seems almost sympathetic even with the transparency of his renewed arousal throbbing inside of you; his hand falls free from your mouth as the horse carries you both past the threshold of the gate, replaced instead by a kiss both fiery and soothing.

You sulk and demand he return you home, to the safety of that stone nest, only to be shushed each time by a sweet press of his mouth to yours, your cheek when you will yourself to turn away. His free hand pets at your side, your breast, any where he can touch to calm your trembling. It doesn’t help… much, but your heart does seem to soften amidst the confusion and bereavement.

“I will take you home,” he mutters as he toys with your clit again, beckoning you to grind back against him. Your head lolls back again his shoulder, dazed and shaky from both his touch and his horrible deceit.

Home. Back to whatever pit of sulfur and grime he came from to drag you back down into it with him.

“… I’ll take care of you, little dove.”

It’s a shame this gentle side of him only decided upon showing its face when the roles reversed in his favor. Prisoner or wife, you meld against him wholly, sigh your pleasure as he whisks you away.

[na0koz]

being a princess while abby is one of the knights in your kingdom…specifically one who patrols the grounds of your family’s castle.

she tends to take the night shift, she prefers it that way since it’s much quieter. no one else to run into except the one other knight patrolling parallel to her. in all honesty, abby doesn’t really know many of her comrades names. just a select few who she’s known as long as she can remember - manny and owen were of note, but no one else really takes up any of her thoughts.

one night, after a particularly heavy gala with many, many suitors to see to that your mother had so graciously organised for you to choose from, you decided to take to the grounds to get a quick breath of the almost biting wind of the spring night.

you’d changed into a much more relaxed fitting dress and tossed your other, more extravagant one from earlier, to one of the far corners of your plush bedroom and grabbed for a candle to light your way as you wandered around the flowerbeds. flowerbeds that you honestly didn’t spend enough time admiring, given how long the gardener spends tending to them.

looping around the garden once before opting to go down the wide marble steps to get closer to the ornate fountain, you slowly amble over the garden your mother takes such pride in. though, you’re not sure how much of that pride is valid if she didn’t do any of the work.

after taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you go over the events of the night; all the frankly embarrassing things all the bachelors said to you in their attempts to win you over. you wondered how not one of them - it felt like it had been hundreds by now - had managed to take your fancy.

you shook off the thought when you hear the sound of gravel crunching under foot behind you, seemingly getting closer. praying it’s not the particularly stern maid coming to escort you back to your quarters, you turn to peer over your shoulder to find out who else was out at this time of night.

to your dismay, you’re none the wiser as you’re faced with a suit of armor, one tinted a shade of copper from the glint of your candle. glancing up and down the expanse of the glittering metal, you wait for whoever’s inside to say something like ‘what are you doing out here alone, ma’am?’ and usher you back to the grand doors into the warm.

but they simply cock their head at you, armor clunking as it shifts over itself. raising an eyebrow, you do the same back.

a beat of silence.

“who are you?” you murmur. you think they must be a new recruit given how strangely they’re acting.

you hear the knight inhale to speak before pausing. they even have to think about their name, and you briefly question your father’s employment skills.

“abby,” the knight eventually croaks out, voice sounding unused as it echoes out of the silver helmet.

abby is a girl’s name. you’ve never met a female knight before and without registering it, you can’t help but take another look up and down abby and marvel at how tall she is. also, you’re not sure if it’s just the armor, but she seems really buff. much more so than any of the poor excuses for husbands that your mother presented you with earlier.

all you can manage is an ‘oh’ before mumbling something about taking yourself back inside and how she can get back to her duties. though you wouldn’t mind if she escorted all the way to your room and tucked you into bed. shaking your head to rid yourself of the sudden uncalled for thought about the knight who you merely knew the name of, you scurry back to your castle, the heightened breeze blowing your candle out in the process.

abby turned mechanically - it was all she could do in that stiff suit - and watched you leave. that was the first time she’d ever seen you, despite working for your father for upwards of two years.

it was a similar situation for you. you had never interacted with one of the knights, let alone the majority of the plethora of staff working inside your home around the clock. you had always been taught that they weren’t of importance to you, that they were just there to protect you and make your lives easier.

however… you weren’t really sure if you could ignore them any longer. especially abby. you started taking night time walks in hope you’d run into her again, secretly wondering to yourself how it would go if abby was your suitor instead of all those ugly princes from neighbouring kingdoms. you think you’d let her court you, and you’d actually like it for once.

abby on the other hand, has to remind herself that she isn’t supposed to interact with the princess, let alone think about her the way abby does. she rubs her face with her calloused hands before setting down her helmet for the night and settling into her cot. she must not talk to you again.

that won’t last long though. obviously.

[daancienttime]

How to Explore the Unusual Bunch of 1982 on #thisdayinhistory

How to Explore the Unusual Bunch of 1982 on #thisdayinhistory (How Important Is History)

One of the most significant events in 1982 was this day in history War between Argentina and the United Kingdom. The conflict began on this day in history April 2nd when Argentina invaded and occupied the Falkland Islands. The British responded with a military operation to retake this day in history islands. The war lasted for about 74 days and ended on June 14th with the British reclaiming control over the Falklands.

[dyns33]

Family trust

The Shelbys and the Solomons are back again with some new adventures about stupidity and love.

First there was a call from Tommy. Simple, short, straight to the point, her brother only telling her that her husband had been seen in the Russian quarter.

Several things were important to understanding this call. The Russians were dangerous, the last time the Shelbys had dealt with them it hadn't gone very well, and Alfie Solomons was partly to blame for it, because even though he hated the Russians, he thought of himself and his business first.

Her brother just wanted to know if Y/N knew anything about that. After all, maybe it was nothing. A necessary detour, without there having been a secret meeting. But he wanted to check.

She didn't know, but she promised to find out.

If she had asked Alfie directly, there was a chance he would tell the truth, or be unable to keep from groaning while trying to lie like a child. He would do this when she asked him if he had eaten the last loaf of bread, accusing Cyril.

To be sure of having an answer, Y/N asked Ollie if her husband had met the Russians.

"… Why are you asking me that, Mrs. Solomons ?"

“So that’s a yes.”

"I didn't say that, Madam ! I mean… You'd have to ask him, I wasn't there. He doesn't always say what he does."

“But you know he had to see them.”

"… I know he asked for a meeting. He came back in one piece, without a drop of blood and looking satisfied. I don't think it was important."

With his big eyes, Ollie silently begged her not to push it, because his boss was really in a good mood lately, and everyone wanted to keep it that way.

Y/N didn't go to see Alfie, and she hesitated to tell her brothers. Maybe it wasn't anything important after all.

Then Polly called her, to warn her that there had been an altercation between the Russians and the Peaky Blinders. Some men had been killed or arrested by the coppers. John and Arthur were injured.

“Tommy told me your husband saw these sons of bitches recently.”

"… Yes, but there is not necessarily a link."

"I don't believe in coincidences. Your brother is coming to Camden, I wanted to warn you. He needs to speak with Solomons to make sure he hasn't betrayed us again."

It wasn't really a surprise to see her brother walk into her house a little over an hour later. What was surprising was what he said.

“Get your stuff.”

"Tommy, what's going on ? Pol told me you wanted to talk to Alfie about the Russians, what did he say ?"

"Nothing. He wouldn't tell me anything except that I could go fuck myself. I know he's involved. Now you grab your things and come with me. You're not safe here. I should never have let you go."

Part of her wanted to protest, refusing to believe that her husband could have done such a thing, and asserting her right to stay with him if she wanted.

The problem was that her husband was perfectly capable of such a thing, having done it several times in the past. He had framed Arthur, he had participated in the Italian assassination attempt on Tom, he had let Charlie be kidnapped.

For all these things, Alfie had apologized, each time, several times, but that never stopped him from doing it again.

Everyone had thought their marriage was proof of change. Of trust. If he truly loved their sister, he would never go after the Shelby again, because that would definitely hurt Y/N.

And in the months that had passed since their union, that seemed to have been the case, until today.

If he had still given them to the Italians, Y/N would have almost been able to understand. Even to the Americans. But the Russians ?

Alfie spoke Russian because his mother was Russian, his mother who he loved as much as he hated those pretentious vodka drinkers who hated Jews and chased her through the snow with dogs.

He didn't do business with them, or only to make sure they wouldn't try to encroach on his territory.

If Alfie Solomons gave you to the Russians, that meant something, something terrible.

Y/N still remembered those many marriage proposals. Of all those nights when he looked at her with passion, whispering that he was the happiest man in the world since she became his wife. His love seemed strong and sincere, more important than anything else.

But maybe he lied. Or perhaps he had finally grown tired of her. He was able to realize that people had been right at the beginning of their story, that she was not good enough for him, that she shamed him, this little gypsy bastard.

So he no longer had any reason to be good with the Peaky Blinders. She left no words as she followed Thomas, taking nothing with her and quickly patting Cyril on the head who tried to follow her to the door.

Her departure seemed to come as a shock, because Alfie called. It was Arthur who answered, shouting throughout the house that he had no interest in trying to contact his sister, who should never have married him, and that he would be dead the second he would try to contact her again or if he was seeing in Birmingham.

After hanging up, his rage didn't go away immediately, and Arthur yelled at Y/N, asking her how she could have agreed to marry that stinking rat. But he calmed down when he saw his little sister's sad eyes, muttering apologies as he took her in his arms.

The anger completely passed, worry took place in the family, because Y/N remained sad. At first, they didn't understand why, because they had clearly told her that they didn't blame her, that it wasn't her fault, and that they still loved her.

Then, as she left her sobbing on her shoulder, Ada understood that her sister was sad because she missed her husband.

She loved her family and so she would choose them, but this betrayal had pierced her heart. She had loved Alfie, she had never imagined he would do such a thing. It was like a bereavement and she had difficulty accepting it.

They tried everything to cheer her up. Jokes, going to the sea, horse rides, nothing helped. Y/N was mourning the loss of her dear Alfie.

So it was with an air of shame that Tommy came and sat down next to her, taking her hand, remaining silent for a long moment.

"… Alfie didn't sell us out to the Russians."

"… What ?" Y/N asked as she came out of her trance, turning to her brother.

"I got some new information. I don't know what he was doing with them, but it had nothing to do with what happened. I… You were right, I'm sorry."

“But you went to see him.”

"As I said, he refused to tell me what he was dealing with, that it was none of my business. He looked suspicious, so I thought… I was wrong. There didn't seem to be any another explanation."

"… You were wrong. You are sorry. I abandoned my husband, who must hate me now, who will never want me again because I humiliated him, and you are sorry ?"

"Little sis…"

"Leave me !"

It seemed impossible to return to London. It had been weeks since she had any news, since she had not called, not trying to find out if he was innocent and leaving him without the slightest hesitation. How could he forgive such an act ? Y/N wasn’t sure she could.

She therefore remained locked in her room, her health deteriorating even more, causing her whole family to panic. They wouldn't be able to get over it if she died of grief, but she didn't want to talk to them anymore, not even her sister or her aunt.

Hiding under her blanket, she didn't move when someone came in, probably begging her to eat or telling her they were all sorry for the hundredth time. It seemed pointless to react, they quickly understood that they were not welcome when they saw that she did not respond.

“Treacle ?”

Her body moved before her mind fully understood what was happening. In an instant, she was sitting up, discovering Alfie kneeling by her bed. He looked terribly tired.

"Alfie. What… What are you doing here ?"

"Thomas called me. He told me you weren't feeling well. It's obviously even worse than the time I came for that nasty flu. Tea probably won't be enough, uh ? What’s wrong with you, love ?”

"What's wrong ?! I left you ! You must… You must hate me now." she cried, unable to stop the tears from falling.

With his large hands, Alfie wiped them all with patience and tenderness, drawing her to him to rest in his arms.

"Don't cry, love. I don't hate you. I'm not angry. At first I panicked when I found the house empty. Then Arthur said you didn't want to see me anymore, and I believed that you left me because I was a poor husband."

“You are the best husband in the world.”

"Yeah. You must have a fever or obvious lack of sleep. Tommy explained to me about the Russians. He asked me what I was doing with them, but he didn't mention the little problems that he had, otherwise I would have understood better what I was being accused of."

"I knew you wouldn't betray us. I knew that, but they said… They were sure…"

“Shh.” her husband said kindly, caressing her back. "I know. We have a complicated past, I understand why they would have believed that. I should have talked to your brother, I was afraid he would ruin the surprise."

"The surprise ?"

As usual, Alfie blamed Ollie and his men for the whole affair. And their wives. Because they had all noted the date of their boss's wedding, and they had told him that it would be good if he did something special for their anniversary.

Alfie hadn't thought of that. He didn't think it was that important, since he treated his wife like a queen absolutely every day.

But he had seen the couple's arguments about it, and besides not wanting to sleep in the living room, he wanted to make Y/N happy. He had first thought about buying a house in Margate. Paradise on Earth. They would still have their accommodation in London, but they could go there to have peace of mind.

When he talked to Ollie about it, the young man replied that it might be a little too much, or not enough. It was Alfie's dream to have this house, not Mrs Solomons', who would probably prefer to stay close to her family.

So he asked advice from these employees who were so good with women, and after hearing about flowers, perfumes, and food, someone mentioned diamonds.

He had given Y/N a lot of gifts, but never diamonds. Real diamonds, magnificent, pure, worthy of her. And the best diamonds were the Russians.

It actually meant something if Alfie Solomons agreed to talk to Russians for you.

Keeping her close, he took a necklace out of his pocket, placing it on the bed. A pure marvel indeed, far too beautiful for her. Y/N had never had jewelry like this.

“That’s what Ollie said.” Alfie sighed, resting his head on hers. "You little bastard. No gift was right for him. Well, I think he wanted to make sure you'd be happy, and since you're a goddess to my bakers, no gift was right. I can't totally blame them, I guess."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, love. You didn't do anything. It's the Russians and your brothers' fault. A few weeks isn't that long. I told everyone you were visiting your family, and that I was very happy to have the house all to myself."

"And you were ? Happy ?" she asked shyly, still immersed in her sad state.

"Hmm. Maybe all of Camden will tell you that I wandered around like a lost dog, barking at everyone, and maybe even cried in my office once over whiskey. But people are liars."

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to come several times. I didn't care about your brother's threats, but I wasn't sure you wanted me to come, so I hung out on the station platforms, and I gave lots of contradictory orders to poor Ishmael, and finally I went home like a coward."

“I would like to go home now.”

“In London or Margate ?”

“… You bought the house in Margate ?”

"Of course, treacle. I've been thinking about it for a long time, before I even met you, and since I've known you, I can't stop imagining you there. It will truly be heaven on earth as soon as you're in this house. If you want to come with me."

Seeing her coming down the stairs, Tommy couldn't hold back a smile, relieved to see that his sister was better. He made a sympathetic comment about the necklace, but it was obvious that he too thought it was too much.

Still a little angry that he took his wife away, Alfie quickly greeted them to go wait in the car, giving Y/N time to say goodbye properly. She might have been furious too, but they had already paid for their mistake, now knowing what would happen if they separated the couple without a good reason.

In addition to these extravagant wedding anniversary gifts, Y/N learned that the Russian gang had been almost completely arrested by the police, thanks to an anonymous informant. But Alfie, with his lying face, said he didn't see why she was thanking him.