#i stand by my flat queen in her loose clothing

[ilikepinkkk]

Anytime someone draws Lady Maria with fat tits and tight fitting clothes an angel dies and I get one step closer to deflating to my death like a sad balloon

[starfall-spirit]

My Light, My Strength

Most Romance Week prompts will be attached to a romantic song.

Day 2: Faith Hill's There You'll Be

SJMRW Prompt: Love Languages

Ship: Rowaelin

Summary: Coming home from an exhausting day of delegations and and paperwork, the last thing Aelin wants to do is follow her mate into the main town for his surprise. The gift in store, simple as it may be, turns out to be a memory she'll cherish for her next thousand years with Rowan.

Finally. Silence finally greeted me as my last attendant left the office with my signature in hand. Finally, I could go home to my mate. I could go home to a quiet dinner and a hot bath and a warm bed. Though our efforts to rebuild the kingdom left us with little time and energy for certain types of intimacy, I knew I could at least count on Rowan to hold me night after night.

But doubt reared it's head as I froze at my bedroom threshold, surprised to find my mate dressed in nice, yet casual clothes. He was clearly ready to head out, rather than dine in the privacy of our room. "Where are you off to?"

"We are off to your surprise."

I sighed, trying to politely decline leaving the castle without making him think I was ungrateful to his effort in whatever he had planned for the night. "Rowan, can it wait until tomorrow? Or another day I don't have a thousand things to do."

"You're a young queen rebuilding a conquered country, Aelin. You'll always have a thousand things to do. That's why we have to make time." He kissed my forehead. "Come on. I promise you'll love it." Still, I hesitated. He was clearly dying to show me whatever his plotting had amounted to. "Two hours,” he pressed. When had things gotten so dismal my mate was bargaining time to take me on a date? “We'll be home before the stars greet us, I promise."

I nodded. "Two hours, Whitethorn."

He grinned. "You're dressed to impress, Fireheart. Go change into what I laid out. We're going casual tonight.”

~~~~~

Twenty minutes later I was dressed in flats and a summer dress, my pinned hair let loose to flow down my back, rustled by the summer evening's breeze. Passing through the town square, Rowan guided me a bit further, finally stopping before a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant I hadn't seen in over a decade.

My exhaustion faded to awe. "Rowan, how did you—" My chest tightened. "The last time I was here I was with my mother. She'd take Aedion and I into town in the mornings. We always ended with lunch here."

"Your cousin's shared a story or two from your childhood. I know how stressed you've been lately. I thought getting away from the politics and back to your people may help.”

Because Terrasen was a country that thrives beyond the castle walls. I was queen to more than snobbish lords looking for a vulnerability in my early reign.

Guilt settled in and I turned my back to the restaurant. “Three months. I’ve been so busy proving I could navigate official matters, I’ve barely considered… Thought dead for a decade, and after winning the war, their consort greeted them before their queen.”

“We understand.” I whipped back around, a familiar woman standing in the shop entrance. The human restaurant owner was in her mid-forties now, but she’d hardly changed from the woman I remembered. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

“Amelie.”

“Hello, Aelin.”

I swallowed, hugging her tightly. She had adored Aedion and I those years ago, and I would never forget her kindness. Maybe it was an extra spoonful of dessert for Aedion and I. Other times we earned the treat of watching the kitchen at work. All were moments I treasuered and never imagined I'd find again.

“Sometimes order must be found before all else. What matters is that you’re here now.” She pulled back, pride in her eyes. “You’ve grown up.”

I chuckled. “You could say that.”

“Come on then. Your mate’s reserved a table for you.”

Even in the evenings the town was buzzing. Few people had stopped to gawk or request my attention as Rowan and I walked here, but here in the little family business… Some seemed wary, others welcoming, and some were just downright stunned. I offered a warm smile, my attention dragged away at the light scrape of my chair on the tile floor.

"Relax, Fireheart."

The endearment instantly soothed my nerves, the tension in my shoulders easing as my mate seated me before moving around the table. Eyes slipped away and I let the quaint charm of the place—the warm paint choice, the smell of freshly cooked meat and vegetables, the chatter and music from the next street—wash over me.

This was my childhood beyond the castle. And however much or little of its history my mate had gathered, sitting here for the first time in over a decade with him was… healing.

An appetizer tray and house wine was brought to the table before we were left to choose our meal. “What are you thinking, Aelin?”

There was something tender in his tone telling me he wasn’t asking about what I had in mind for my order. “I’m thinking it’s a miracle.”

“That we made it?”

I smirked. “It’s a miracle, Rowan, that we went from being at each others throats to you surprising me with a chance to forget things for a few moments. We’ve come a long way since Wendlyn. And not just geographically.”

He smiled. “Save business for tomorrow, Fireheart.”

“No.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, I won’t even think of politics and parties.” I watched worry morph to pride and felt my smile grow to match his. “Tomorrow, Rowan, I greet my people.”

~~~~~

Shoot me a message/ask/comment if you want to be added to my tag list

@sjmromanceweek // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime

[plutoscosmoss]

Fire Inside ➸ c.9

Warnings: This series includes themes of violence, death, smut, childbirth and childbirth complications (if I forgot to mention any please let me know)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x OC

{Series Masterlist}

Previous Chapter

Chapter 9: A Visit From an Acquaintance 

Renvas eyes widened once she heard the lone wolf. She knew it was about her, who else could it refer to? Aemond looked from his sister to the Stark girl. Once making eye contact Renva sprung into action, “She passed out due to stress probably. Hold her up for a moment,” Renva spoke to Aemond. Their first speaking since that day in the training grounds. Once Aemond held her up, Renva loosed her corset, allowing blood flow and air to easily move. “Now lay her flat on her back on the floor.” Aemond did as instructed. Once on the floor Renva put her ear to the Princesses nose, feeling air flow and hearing her low breathing she knew she would be okay. 

Turning towards the handmaidens who stood idle in the room not knowing what to do since the Princess never passed out before. “I need a cool cloth, the coldest water you can get.” The maids rushed out of the room at Lady Renva’s request. 

“How do you know how to do all of this?” Aemond asked, turning towards her and looking her over with his one eye. “Growing up, my personal handmaiden Ms. Kaila, would faint from time to time. Maesters said that it was due to the stress of watching over my brothers and I when my father couldn’t. However I don’t think that was the actual reason.” Revna spoke while brushing the hair out of Helena’s face.

“What do you think the real reason is?” Aemond asked, remembering his mothers orders to befriend the girl for a potential marriage to bind House Stark to the Hightowers specifically. “She was a fighter, always going against the males in Winterfell, the only man she ever respected was my father. She was the one who introduced me to fighting secretly.” Renva spoke of the women with a smile upon her face. “She wasn’t one to stress out easily. Kaila did however confide in me one evening, she said she was sick, it wasn’t contagious or else she would have left Winterfell in a heartbeat. But it was something that would take her from this world earlier than she had thought.” Renva finished her tale and glanced at Aemond, he was about to speak when the doors slammed open again. The maids came back with Queen Alicent at their tails. 

“What happened to my daughter?” Alicent asked no one specifically. “She fainted, your grace, she spoke a dream and then just collapsed.” Renva said, taking the cold cloth’s from one of the maids and placing one on her forehead and one on the back of her neck. Helena stirred and started mumbling the dream again. “Renva helped me make her comfortable until she woke up.” Aemond said standing to his mother to console her and distract her from his sister's mumblings. A side of him that Renva never saw before, she knew Alicent was closest to her middle children rather than the oldest and youngest. Although she never saw Aemond reciprocate any feelings of love or concern until today. “I graciously thank you Renva.” Alicent spoke with a tear in her eye as she went over to her daughter who slowly opened her eyes. 

“I will leave you all then, if you need me I will be in my chambers after I return a book to the library.” Renva excused herself and let what of the family was there be in solitude. 

—---

Renva was not interrupted for the rest of the night. She wondered where Jace was, she hadn’t seen him all day. She wondered if everything was okay with the Velaryon boys. Glancing out of the window in her room she stared at the Weirwood tree. A tree that they also had in Winterfell, she would sit there for hours and read until it grew too dark to see anything without candle light. 

Looking under the tree she spotted Signe. She was fast asleep, close enough so if Renva needed help she could be there but far enough to still feel the freedom she had in the North. Renva wondered if it was a good idea to keep her in the Red Keep with her or if she would have been happier going back to Winterfell with Nika. Hearing a soft knock upon her door, she responded with “Come in.” Turning to see who would enter the room she was shocked to see Princess Rhaenys. “Your grace, to what do I owe the honor?” Renva spoke and bowed to the older Princess. 

“Please rise child. I have come to speak to you about some accusations that have been made about my grandchildren.” Renva was confused. Why would Rhaenys speak to her about such things? “I mean no offense you grace, but why are you talking to me about this?” Renva said, speaking of her confusion. “Because when my good brother comes tomorrow there shall be a petition on the succession of Driftmark. To secure my houses protection, I will be offering Princess Rhaenyra a proposal. Two actually.” Rhaenys said. Renva knew where this was going. Any logical woman would, and she didn’t blame Princess Rhaenys for it at all. 

“I’m guessing it is with Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest children and Laenas children? And for that to work you would like me to step back from Prince Jacaerys.” Renva said, connecting the dots and looking at Rhaenys. “You are a smart girl. You will survive here-” Rhaenys said and was about to leave when Renva cut her off. “I didn’t say that I would, If the time comes, I won’t fight for Jace. But I won’t hurt him either.” Renva said and gestured for Princess Rhaenys to leave her chambers. 

“You remind me of my daughter. You will do great things.” With that Princess Rhaenys left and Renva was alone with her thoughts again. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

next chapter

[enhyqenn]

❝ enhypen during your period ❞ — ot7

pairing. ot7 x fem!reader

wc. 1.8k | genre. fluff

note. y'all i've had this in my drafts since february oml and i decided to finally edit it so here you go loves

희승 | heeseung.

• alright, his knowledge comes with his age

• because he’s the fake maknae oldest, if the other boys have questions about what to do they probably come to him !

• i believe he’d be the type to give you everything you want, no hesitation

• i see him running you a warm bath and just sitting outside the tub possibly even feeding and talking to you as a distraction from any discomfort

• after the bath he’d wrap you in a towel and let you dry off while he goes and grabs clothes

• and by that i mean he stands there looking at his closet for like 5 minutes trying to decide what to give you

• decides on a plain t-shirt and a pair of his CLEAN underwear i swear, if you’ve ever shared underwear with someone ur bonded for life i don’t make the rules

• ends up PUTTING THE CLOTHES ON FOR YOU 💀💀

• you’re all like “now what the hell- 🤨”

• man doesn’t have time for ur questioning

• “arms up, we don’t have all day”

• visibly uwu’s at the sight of his clothes on you…even tho he’s seen you in them a bajillion times before this

• “i could’ve done this on my own you know”

• “no you couldn’t have.”

• on a final note, it would be illegal to not add that he makes you as much ramyeon as you want 😩

rest of the members under the cut !

종성 | jay.

• his specialty is cooking and massages

• no one can change my mind on this

• although he says he has no experience with relationships, i think he’d still be awesome at dealing with you and your period

• mans is very knowledgeable wbk

• though i think that out of the seven he’d be the first one to be irritated by your mood swings

• that’s alright though bc you already snap at him all the time for his constant yelling so everything’s mutual ☺️

• BUT with that said, he has sm patience

• idk how he does, i’m literally the most impatient person there is so i really admire that abt him

• n e ways, he WILL treat you like a queen

• if you have any cravings, he’d go get it before you could even finish your sentence

• AND when you have cramps-

• he’d be the type of bf to massage your lower tummy :((

• UGH WE ALL NEED A PARK JONGSEONG IN OUR LIVES

• he also spoils the living hell out of you i swear

• you’d send him to the store for pads/tampons and he’d come back with the whole snack aisle, plus some sort of stuffed animal, a warm meal, AND a random item he remembered you had said you wanted awhile back

재윤 | jake.

• ahhh jakey 🥰

• i love him

• another ramyeon lover so expect tons of that

• knows how much you adore him and his accent so he’d 100% talk you to sleep if you want or need him to

• would be the sweetest bf i just know it :[

• fall asleep on his chest, BABE I PROMISE YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT I SWEAR

• will play with ur hair while you guys are cuddling and watching bolt ☹️

• “keep doing that it feels good”

• “ok”

• says it so nonchalantly but is grinning like an idiot while softly scratching your scalp absjsnsjjsns

• tries his best to never EVER irritate you

• he doesn’t like to see you mad, and he knows you’ll cry right after all your feelings hit and you actually realize ur mad

• he’d probably be everyone’s dream bf although he already is

• ahhh i’m sorry this is kinda short >_< i just don’t have anything else to say than he is the IT bf you wanna have by ur side when all hell breaks loose

석훈 | sunghoon.

• now this mf-

• please i just know he’d be teasing you while you’re having bad mood swings

• he’d get one sentence out and you’re already sobbing

• man is standing there like 😟🧍‍♀️

• “fuck. i didn’t mean to actually make her cry”

• but then in ten seconds flat you’re angry at him for having the audacity to say something brash to you

• would awkwardly hug you as an apology and offer to cuddle which i feel like he doesn’t initiate often so be thankful

• since he has a younger sister i think he’d be knowledgeable but also kinda clueless at the same time ??

• for example, he’d know to have snacks prepared and will even give you space, but ask him to go get you pads or tampons ??

• babe ur gonna have to walk him through it. baby steps ppl

• if you asked him to go buy more pads/tampons, the man would straight up go “absolutely not”

• but you beg him nonstop for the next 10 minutes and he finally gives in when you threaten to bleed on HIS sheets 😩

• he practically SPRINTS to the nearest convenience store

• keep in mind tho that he definitely had to call you at least twice to make sure he was getting the correct things LMAO

• “yeah, that’s what i thought. not gonna buy ur gf her menstrual cycle stuff? better think again buddy 🙄”

• literally shoves all the stuff at you when he gets home

• “i swear to god-”

• “oh calm down you big baby. i had plenty of stuff, these are just for next month :)”

• takes him a few seconds to realize what you said before he turns on his heel and walks off

• after you put your pads/tampons away you track him down--which wasn’t hard to do, he was just lying on his bed stomach down--and fell on top of him, resting your chin on his shoulder

• “why do you act all cold all the time? you know you love me”

• cue him turning his head to glare at you

• but ofc it doesn’t stay long bc you look cute clinging to him with a smile on your face

선우 | sunoo.

• ok for some reason i feel like he knows EXACTLY what to do, no questions asked

• cuddles? done. food? done. need more pads or tampons? DONE. just need to cry in someone’s arms because you saw a cute cat on your tik tok fyp? that’s fine! he’ll cry with you

• this boy 100% understands the assignment and aces it

• like, one time you two were just in bed on your phones cuddling and you were suddenly like “it’s hot get off of me”

• poor baby was a little hurt but scooted away from you nonetheless

• and legit not even two minutes later you’re like “wait come back i miss you and need to show you this fox, it looks JUST like you”

• he’ll be all :D “okay !”

• extremely happy when you’re super clingy cause he can just chill while you latch onto him like a koala

• ok now one day you were super emotional

• you were changing out of your day clothes into something much comfier when all of a sudden cramps just hit you

• definition of 😳😟😐🥺😭 halfway through pulling up your sweatpants lmao

• PLEASE SUNOO JUST WALKS IN ON YOU CRYING AFTER RUNNING TO THE STORE AND KINDA JUST WHIPS OUT A CHOCOLATE BAR HE BOUGHT OUT OF PANIC

• “would you like some chocolate ??”

• you immediately stop crying 💀

• i mean who wouldn’t it’s frickin chocolate

• you two spend the rest of the day watching movies, eating snacks, and cuddling 😽

정원 | jungwon.

• an absolute king. enough said.

• nah i’m just playing

• but fr i think he’s the type to want to learn more about menstrual cycles so he can help you

• absolutely 100% tracks your period

• probably knows you better than you know yourself tbh

• “oh no don’t eat that i read salt is bad for cramps. have this dark chocolate bar instead.”

• “but i want chips ??”

• “fine, but don’t come crying to me later when you feel like shit”

• you eat the entire party size bag of chips bc who does this boy think he is 🙄

• spoiler alert: he’s ur boyfriend and he was very right

• so, with your uterus currently trying to kill itself, you begged jungwon to get you a heating pad

• boy has the MF A U D A C I T Y to look at you and go “told ya so”

• you almost threw your phone at him 😍

• the only thing that stopped you was that he complied before you even got to chance to do so

• you looked at him like 😑 “mfer that’s what i thought”

• still a little irritated, both from your lovely bf and the invisible fist punching your abdomen, you aggressively forced jungwon to hold you :]

• “if you don’t cuddle me ur sleeping on the couch”

니키 | niki.

• oh boy

• would definitely call konon (his older sister) to help him out

• “are you sure that’s supposed to help her?” type shit

• he’d also avoid you cause he heard that ‘girls want space’

• and while that is true (in some cases), on this particular day all you wanted was to be held by your too-tall boyfriend

• so of course you’re like “why won’t he come near me? did i say something mean earlier? ☹️”

• babe, you didn’t, the boy just wanted to give you what he thought you wanted

• SO

• when you confront him he’s all like 😟

• “dammit why’d i do that” in his head tho

• and ur all like “if i did say something, i’m sorry-”

• you don’t get to finish ur sentence bc boy just grabs your wrist and drags you to the nearest comfortable surface (which happens to be your bed) and pulls you down on top of him 💀

• now it’s your turn to be all 😟 bc u didn’t expect that AT ALL

• but you relax and just let yourself be held by mr nishimura riki aka enhypen’s known cuddler :((

• “you didn’t do anything wrong dw”

• “then why’d you avoid me for a given amount of time ??”

• kinda dodges looking at you before answering

• “konon normally wants nothing to do with me when she’s on her period so i thought you’d be the same way”

• ugh this boy

• “well, i want everything to do with you :)”

• bye i feel like you can tell he and hoon are my biases🚶‍♀️

• N E WAYS

• y’all nap together for the rest of the day bc he doesn’t want you to feel alone anymore ☹️

[lokislastlove]

Come One, Come All! (Dark!Loki x reader) p.2

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, Knife play, Oral (m&f), Smut, Bondage, Kidnapping

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: Here is part 2, for those who have taken a chance on my trash, thank you so much!! I hope I don’t disappoint. ❤️

Chapter 2:

You feel your chest seize and you start to shake as your heart rate skyrockets, your body and mind dissolving into a full blown panic attack as you feel around the black box imprisoning you. You are only locked in for a minute before you hear rustling outside and you are thrown into the wall as the whole box shifts and turns.

“What the fuck. Oh my god, someone help! Please let me out!” Your voice cracks as your pleading grows more desperate with each passing minute.

You try to hold out hope that it’s a prank or part of the experience but after what you were sure had to be at least ten minutes of begging to possibly no one, you sag in defeat. Your eyes burn with hot tears, the temperature inside the box rising the longer you sit there. Stewing in silence and sweat, you listen to anything that might tell you where you have been moved to but the joyful bustle of the carnival fades early on.

You fall asleep hunched at the bottom of the box, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. You don’t know for how long but you are awoken roughly as the box tips over sending you face first into the solid surface. You grunt and stretch out, turning to lay on your back.

“Open it” you hear faintly.

The wall above you is ripped off instantly by a singular muscular arm. Startled, you gasp but manage to hold in the pathetic squeak when you look up into piercing blue eyes shrouded in unruly golden hair. Your own eyes widening as you take in the sheer mass of this man.

The muscles under his sun-kissed skin ripple as he huffs and stands straight. He scratches his bearded jaw, looking over to the darker figure you could barely see standing across from him.

“Yes I can see why you liked this one. Inquisitive eyes. A bit of fire in there, yes?” The hulking blond man raises a brow and smirks at you.

Had you not been in your current situation he would have been the type of man you could drool over for days. But considering the fact that you appear to be kidnapped, his physique only enhances your trepidation.

“Where the fuck am I?” You demand, fighting your soft-spoken nature.

“Yeah, there’s that fire” the large man chuckles deeply. “Want me to put her on the wall?” He asks looking back to his silent counterpart.

“The wall?” You mutter, panic rising again at the prospect of being ‘put’ anywhere.

“Yes, then you may go. Thank you , Thor” The darker mans voice drones, sounding bored.

The larger man, Thor, leans down and goes to grab you, making you scream and try to slap away his arms which is clearly ineffective, considering his bicep is the size of your head. He grabs your wrists easily and pulls you to your feet, you try going limp but he hardly seems to notice as he drags you out of the box. You start kicking and flailing wildly as he tosses you against a hard flat wooden surface attached to the wall. You sob as he takes one of your arms and stretches it straight out and snaps a mounted metal cuff around your wrist. You reach over with your free hand and try to unclasp the lock but he catches you and stretches the other arm out to the other side, rendering you completely helpless.

Arms spread wide, you feel exposed and vulnerable, especially when he traces his hand over your breasts before stepping away. That’s when you finally look at the thing you are mounted to. A circular wooden board painted red and white like a giant target, with you at the center.

“What the hell is this?” You tremble.

“Ankles too, for now” the dark suited man directs from across the room.

“Oh, well aren’t you a lucky girl” Thor chuckles under his breath before kneeling down and spreading your legs, attaching each to a similar iron restraint.

“Please. Please let me go” you plead softly to the bulky blond as he stands straight and smiles at you.

Thor brushes his thumb under your eye, catching a stray tear before sucking it into his mouth and humming.

“So sweet.” He praises before winking at you and leaving the room.

Your eyes settle on the lithe figure facing away from you. He’s tall and although he’s not as thick as Thor, you can tell he doesn’t lack strength either. He sheds his jacket and lays it neatly across the desk in front of him.

“If this is s-some sort of joke, it’s not funny” you stutter.

You watch in horror as he slowly turns to look at you, leaning back on his desk and crossing his ankles.

“You’re a clever girl, does this feel like a prank to you, darling?” His voice is as smooth as silk.

“Why are you doing this? Where are my friends?” You question, dreading the answer.

“Oh they will make fine prizes for the highest bidder. But you, darling… you caught my attention.” He explains blithely, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lucky me” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him as a wave of anger washes over you at the mention of your friends.

“Indeed.” He smiles cruelly.

“I swear to god if you hurt my friends –“ you fume before getting cut off suddenly.

You barely see the silver glint as something small whizzes through the air toward your head. A sharp silver blade sinks into the board next to your head, the shock causing you to choke on a gasp. It was mere inches away from your eye.

“Care to threaten me again?” He smirks, holding another knife in his right hand, the sharp point of it delicately pressing into the middle finger of his left hand.

You gulp as your body shakes uncontrollably, your life seemed to flash before your eyes in that moment. How did he throw that so fast, you say to yourself, the target behind you making more sense now. You shake your head in response to his question, voice lost amongst the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Very well” he nods once, with a small smile.

Your eyes are glued to the dagger in his hand, as he flourishes it about casually. Your muscles tense every time he tosses it gently in the air before catching it.

“Now, I want to know how you solved those riddles so quickly today” he asks lightly before throwing another dagger, this one splintering the wood inches away on the other side of your head. “And no lies.”

You squeak and close your eyes, body trembling so badly you aren’t sure how to form words anymore.

“I – I don’t know. I just did.” You manage to stammer out. “Please stop.”

Another dagger flies through the air, landing with a thud between your thighs.

“Oh my god, please! Please” you cry.

“You know some people could figure out one, maybe two, within the time limit. Most just get the answers from those who went before them. Others just come back repeatedly, mindlessly searching for the keys. But you… such a clever girl” he purred, pushing himself away from the desk still clutching another knife.

“You can hardly blame me for being curious” he continues, taking slow steps toward you.

He stops before you, admiring your terrified expression before dropping his eyes down your body. You pull on the restraints and shift in discomfort at his close proximity. He smiles as his eyes connect once more with your own, his pupils blown wide.

“I’m sorry, okay. I wasn’t trying to – I won’t ever do it again. Just please let me and my friends go,” you beg.

You watch him smirk and sniff at your pathetic pleas, both fully aware you have nothing to offer. He turns and calmly walks back to his desk.

“Ugh let me go you fucking creep! What do you want from me?” Anger and panic causing you to lash out desperately.

He turns and flings another dagger at you, but this time you feel a sharp pain under your arm. You look over to see the dagger pinning your shirt to the board, slowly staining with blood.

“Oh my god!” You scream shifting your arm away from the dagger. “You cut me!”

“Barely more than a scratch. You’ll survive.” He assured you coolly with a roll of his eyes.

You feel the slow flow of warmth trickle down the underside of your arm and you whimper as you watch him near you again. He stops in front of you and pulls the dagger from the board, releasing your shirt. He admires the blade for a moment and then reaches out to you, making you flinch away. His eyes flare at your reaction and he tuts disapprovingly.

“This shirt, however…” he mocks, sliding the sharp end of the blade under the hem of the fabric along your stomach, “I’m afraid it will not.”

You gasp as he brings the knife up cutting through the flimsy material with barely any resistance. You cry as the cool air breezes over your exposed stomach. The useless cloth hanging loosely off your arms.

“Better” he coos his appraisal, as he glides the tip of the knife from your neck to your navel.

Your chest heaves as the reality set in like a boulder dropping in your stomach. You can’t believe this is how your ‘fun night out’ is going. Cursing your luck as you wonder why the hell your intelligence only seemed to lead you to trouble and scummy men.

“All of this because I solved your stupid riddles” you gripe, shaking your head in bitter disbelief.

“Stupid?” He repeats, his face twisting in disgust at the insult.

“Yeah, what is it? You have a problem with women smarter than you? No, that can’t be it, you’d have to be used to that by now.” You sneer.

You don’t know where this boldness is coming from, but something about this man makes you angry, and you figure, what do I have to lose?

His face twists in anger and he slams the dagger into the wall above your head. Your head is now caged in by three sharp knives and yet you suppress a flinch.

“That, wasn’t so smart, darling.” His lip curls in amusement as he backs off slightly and grips the rounded edge of the board spinning it until you are hanging upside down.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

[clemanime]

My Goddess

Hey, can I get a Legolas smut. I always wondered what it would be like if the reader was very much a dom (in this particular situation) and legolas became a very submissive good boy. And it's kinda like they switch roles, cause usually Legolas is dom and has the reader under him while he pounds into her mercilessly, but now it's the same thing with the roles switched.

A/N: AH I’M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG!!! I ended up getting swamped with assignments and then 2 midterms in the same day. Just so much work. I’m sorry if this isn’t up to par.

WARNING: Smut, slight worship, slight footplay, femdom!reader, oral, 

    “Please give your humblest salutations to the Queen!” The knight spoke as he stood at attention at the bottom of the long staircase.

She gracefully walked down, looking down out of habit so that she wouldn’t miss a step of fall. She was still getting used to being “royal”. When she reached the bottom he was standing there, waiting for her with his hands behind his back.

The beautiful elven man stood tall; his blonde hair pulled out of his face in isn’t usual position. Not a hair out of place. His blue eyes locking with yours as his smile brightened. “My Lady.” He nodded, bowing slightly.

    “My Lord.” She nodded back, curtseying. “I apologize for my lateness. I could not decide what to wear.” She lied, everyone around her seeming to laugh.

Legolas simply nodded and motioned for her to walk with him towards their table. “You know you can be yourself. You are my Queen now.”

    “A Queen must be proper and docile My Lord.” She couldn’t say it with a straight face but hid the small fit of laughter. “I am only fulfilling my role as your wife.”

They both sat in their seats, looking over the people that ate, danced, and drank around them. A familiar Dwarf walking in, a goblet in his hand as he moved towards his seat at the table. “Seems you are not the only one that was late My Queen.” One of the men at the other end of the table spoke. “The dwarf could not find this very hall because everything is so big to him.”

She picked up her goblet of wine, placing it to her lips when she spoke softly. “And yet he can hold his sword better than you in a battle.” She drank and placed it back down, looking at Legolas as he smirked at her. He placed his hand on hers.

    “Do not hold it against her.” He said to the drunken man. “My Goddess has had a long day of planning.”

    “With all due respect my King. But what could a woman be planning? Other than baring children or picking flowers?” He laughed along with others.

She could feel the fire building within her husband and grabbed his hand, calming him as she spoke. “Well… if a low knight such as yourself must know.” She started, gathering the attention of others. “As many may know our King and his Knight Commander will be going to visit the Kingdom of an old friend. I, as Queen, will be here dealing with previous engagements that have been started.” She straightened her posture. “That includes all battles and interacting with the people of our Kingdom. While occasionally picking a flower or two. It would be in your best interest to remember that a woman is just as strong as a man if not stronger.” She sat back, taking a drink from her wine cup and keeping her eyes on the man that now seemed uncomfortable.

    “A strong woman indeed.” Legolas whispered.

The evening trailed slowly, leaving her bored as she watched people happily dancing around. She finished her wine and stood. “I will be turning in early for the night My King.” She kissed him on the cheek as Legolas grabbed her hand to stop her.

    “Are you ill?” He asked concerned.

    “No. Not at all. I’ve just…” She looked around for a moment. “Grown tired is all.”

    “Then I will come with you.” Legolas moved to stand up, but she stopped him.

    “I know you wish to be by my side. But I am more concerned for our friend Gimli.” She motioned to the dwarf that seemed to be passed out drunk. “I will wait for you.” She gave him another kiss and moved towards the stairs, nodding to those that acknowledged her.

 In her chambers she had stripped herself of the uncomfortable dress and corset, putting on a loose gown as she sat by the fire and read. She was engrossed in reading the book about the adventures of hobbits and their adventures. The door to the chamber opened, breaking her from the trance the book seemed to hold. “I thought you would be asleep.” Legolas walked over to her, sitting across from her and stoking the fire. “You said you were tired.”

    “I needed an excuse to get away from the gathering.” She confessed.

    “I see.” He nodded, blue eyes flickering from the fire to her.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the elf poking at the fire and his Queen reading again. He looked at her, staring intently. And she could feel his gaze on her, making her blush slightly and lose the sentence she was reading. He didn’t stop staring, watching as she smiled and looked up at him. “My Lord?”

    “The most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on.” Legolas mumbled.

She closed her book, placing it down away from the fire. “You and I both know that the most beautiful woman you have laid your eyes on was an elven woman.” She stated calmly. “You’re staring makes me wonder what it is that you want.” She stood up, hands on her hips and she looked down at him. He moved to stand up as well, but she put her foot on his thigh, stopping him. “You have sharp eyes when you’re hunting your prey My King.” She moved her foot, smirking when she found what she knew was there. “But I’ve noticed this all night.” She pressed on his hardening member, watching as his cheeks turned a bright red, his blue eyes darkening as he stared up at her.

    “And what of you my Queen?” He touched her ankle, slowly moving his hand up her calf to the inner part of her thigh. She bit her bottom lip when his finger brushed against her heat. “I can smell your arousal from down here.”

She pressed harder, pulling a groan from his parted lips. “Then it seems you will have to take care of your Queen.” She moved her foot to his chest, pushing him down on his back as she moved to stand over him. “Will you be good and take care of me Legolas?” She questioned, watching as his blush deepened. He nodded quickly. “Speak it.”

    “I will take care of My Queen.” He blurted.

    “Good.” She kneeled before coming to a seated position. “Devour me like the good elf I know you are.” His hands moved to her lower back, holding her in place as his tongue darted out. He slowly ran the flat of his tongue over her, groaning at the taste. His mouth covered her, tongue flicking over her clit, eyes closed as he focused on pleasing her. When her soft moans reached his ears, he looked up at her, taking in the pleased expression on her face as she held the skirt of her dress out of his face. Legolas pushed the tip of his tongue against her slit, teasing it to her annoyance. “You are not in the position to tease me.” She removed herself from him, smirking at his surprised expression. “I told you to devour me and you will do just that.” She pulled the ponytail from his hair, running her hands through it for a moment before getting back into position. “You said you would please your Queen, correct?”

    “Yes, My Goddess.” He spoke softly, watching as she paused for a moment.

    “That’s more like it.” She sat back down, staring into his eyes as his tongue entered her. She moaned, pushing her hands into his hair. “Just like that.” She slowly rocked her hips, eyes closing as she felt her climax building. Their grips tightened on each other, her hand pulling his hair as the hands on her hips pulled her closer to his mouth. She whimpered, pulling away just as she was about to finish, looking down at him. “I do not recall giving you permission to make me release.” She stood up, taking a moment to gather herself. “Those hands of yours may be a problem.” She looked down at him, trying her hardest to contain the surge of power that was beginning to course through her.

As he laid on the floor, hair disheveled, his face slick with her juices, and cheeks flushed as he panted, she found herself a new interest. “What would you like me to do next Goddess?” He questioned, licking his lips.

    “What do you think comes next?” She questioned, not sure herself.

    “May I please you more?” He sat up on his elbows.

She pulled her the sleeves of her dress down, letting the rest fall in a pool around her. “Your Goddess would enjoy that.” She moved out her his was as he stood, taking her hand and leading her towards the bed. Legolas rid himself of his clothes, staring at her with lustful eyes. She pushed him down, climbing on top of him and leaning in for a kiss. She stopped, smirking to herself when she noticed his slightly parted lips and closed eyes. “You’re making it difficult not to tease.” She whispered against his lips before kissing him. “But I know there’s only so much you can take.”

Legolas placed his hands on her hips, his eyes still closed as she hovered over his cock. She grabbed them, holding them as she sank down, letting out a pleased moan at the feeling of being stretched by him. It took everything in his power not to begin rough thrusts. His grip tightened; eyes screwed shut as his face twisted in tortured pleasure. “My Goddess.”

    “So early?” She questioned, her too feeling as if she were at the end of her rope. “Let’s test your restraint, shall we?” She started bouncing, riding him as she grabbed his hand and pulled it to her mouth. She took one of his fingers into her mouth, sucking and moaning around it as she circled her hips.

    “My Goddess.” He groaned, his other hand gripping the fabric that still covered her skin.

    “Tell me Legolas.” She encouraged as she leaned forward. “Tell me your deepest desires.”

Legolas sat up, wrapping his arms around her as he buried his face into her neck. “I wish for you to use me until your hearts content.” He kissed her neck. “Until the fire in your stomach is sated.”

She hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she stilled her movement. “Then be a good King and please me.” Legolas smirked and pressed his lips to hers.

    “Anything for My Goddess.” He whispered.

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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

Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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

3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 VII

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, noncon, binding, nothing too extreme beyond my usual)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You dread Loki’s return.

Note: Managed to get this out as I prepare for retail hell on Friday but y’all are wonderful! Thanks for reading and thanks for your patience.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The chamber was eerie and silent as you awaited the king’s return. You didn’t long for it, only knew it was inevitable. 

You regretted your venture outside; reproached yourself for your curiosity and your lapse into impulse. You’d been pent up for days, weeks, truly. Even the road to Thunder Lodge had allowed you little adventure. You were continuously crushed under the thumb of the willful king.

You recalled the night before, how quickly Loki had grown irritated and how he’d smothered you in his wrath. Your throat tightened at the memory. You couldn’t imagine he’d been any less agitated after that day. Why did his brother always have to goad him so?

You stared up at the portrait of Odin, the former king. Thor bore more of a resemblance to his father but even in oil, there was a darkness that hung around the predecessor. Loki had inherited it. It followed him around like a cloud. Perhaps it had been fostered in him through the blatant preference for the elder prince. For all the indifference and resent held over him. Loki had just as much to dole out in kind. His reign would be his ultimate vengeance.

Or perhaps, he was just a spoiled little boy who grew to be a selfish asshole. Both, even.

You were drawn from your reverie by the low hum of voices in the corridor and the metallic chink of armor. Magnus’ deep tones seeped through the stone walls and under the broad door. You took a breath and stopped as you turned to face the carved wood. 

The king entered, still in his armor, his dark hair curled from sweat and dust. His green eyes were sharp above his long nose as he carried his helm beneath his arm. You flinched as he slammed the metal onto the table and the door snapped shut behind him. He rested his gauntleted hand on the wood and tapped his fingers, his back to you as he huffed.

He pushed his head back and slipped his mailed gloves from his hands. He unclothed himself of his armor a piece at a time and laid them each atop the table. He didn’t look at you or acknowledge your hovering presence as you watched him. You knew he hadn’t forgot you though. He never did.

He stretched his arms and curled his fingers with an exaggerated sigh. His hands went to his hips as he turned slowly. His tunic hung open down his chest, loose as his belt coiled on the tablet with the heap. His eyes traced the mortar between the stones of the floor then crawled deliberately up your body. You were tempted to shield yourself behind the sofa.

His mouth curved at one corner and his eyes shone with malice. He sniffed and puffed his chest as he considered you.

“Did you think you were unseen?” He asked.

Your brow wrinkled as your lips parted slightly. You shook your head, speechless. You glanced at the door and he snapped his fingers.

“Do not fret about my guard. I will deal with his negligence in turn.” He snarled. “I saw you…and I know you saw me, mouse.” He came closer and you resisted the urge to cower, “So, if I did spot you from my deficit, how many others do you suppose spied you among the rows?”

“I don’t-- They--”

“I do not ask you to speak!” He raised his voice as his eyes gleamed dangerously. “Still that tongue before I should wish to strangle the breath from you entirely and never hear your lies again.”

You reeled as the fear pumped in your heart. Your skin tingled with adrenaline as you watched the king boil over. Like a snake, he readied for a final strike and you could not guess where it would land.

“Unclothe yourself. You show yourself ungrateful to all the privilege I’ve allowed you.” He hissed. “Do it or I shall tear it from your body myself.”

You blanched and your lips twitched. There was nothing you could say but he took it as resistance. He was on you in a moment. Around the sofa, both hands at your throat as he wrenched you nearly off your feet.

“Do not think I cannot find another. There are many whores prettier and more tolerable,” his longer fingers tightened on your neck. “I will not wait on your insolence.”

He released you so that you staggered. You caught yourself on the arm of the sofa and bent your arm back to tug at the laces of your gown. He reached over them and snapped them, jolting your body as he did. The fabric slackened and he paced impatiently across the room.

You shimmied free of the gown and bent to slip your feet from the silk slippers. He offered little more than a sheath and you stood naked and scared. He went to the door and opened it an inch. He whispered an order to his guard and was met with acquiescence. He pushed the door shut and turned on you again.

“Get on your knees and stay thus until I say,” he bid and continued his restless steps around the room. 

He stopped by the table and drew the dagger from his disposed belt. He turned the blade and admired it in the light. A tap came at the door and he called for the guard to enter. You lowered your head before Magnus saw you though you did not miss the length of rope in his hands.

“Bind her,” Loki rasped, “Neck to hands. Like the animal she is.”

You winced as the heavy boots approached you. Magnus was gruff as he pushed your head up and he smiled tauntingly at you as he wounded the thick rope around your neck, from chin to collarbone. Your head was held up by the tight rope and he moved around you to trail the rope along your back. He bent your arms behind you and secured them tightly and painfully behind you. 

You struggled to keep your balance as he stepped away. The king nodded. “Take her to the bed chamber,” Loki sneered, “On the bed.”

He did not move as Magnus lifted you to your feet. He turned you and marched you across the room and into the next. He shoved you meanly so that you hit the bed and landed on your front. He snickered and bent over you. “I did warn you.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” you retorted.

“With pleasure,” he stood and marched from the room.

You heard the doors again and you were left to lay helplessly on the mattress. You listened to the still air as you waited, for what, you were too afraid to ask. The king took his time; you heard the clink of glass and his suppressed anger in his sighs. His shadow loomed over you as he appeared in the doorway. He neared like a spectre as you strained to look at him without leaning too heavily on your arm. You were stuck on your stomach as you wriggled helplessly.

“Be still,” he pressed the metal tip of the dagger to your thigh and his other hand spread across your ass. 

“Your majesty, please--”

“Another word and I’ll cut your tongue out. I tire of it.” He pushed the blade flat and dragged it along the curve of your flesh. “You peasants, you have your wives’ tales but we have more. We have history written in ink. We have the truth.” He said evenly as he teased your skin with the silver, “I once read, that in the early years of our kingdom, when drought and famine was common, even among the rich, that the kings kept more than one woman.”

He poked you but did not break the skin. “He had his wife; a queen, to stand by him, but if she could not provide him and heir, he had his consorts. There was one king, my own father’s namesake, who had a dozen such women and twice as many children…

“More intriguing, it was said the king would mark his women so that other men would know not to touch. So that the women would know that blood should be drawn if they stray.” He turned you over suddenly and you rested agonizingly on your bent arms, your chest thrust up. He climbed between your legs and held up the knife. He placed it above your left breast. “Perhaps you need another lesson in blood.”

He pierced your skin and you muffled a yelp. You jerked and his other hand spread over the rope at your neck. He held you down and tutted.

“Do not move or I might mangle you,” he pressed more firmly as he began to carve your flesh. You bared your teeth and whined. Your entire body tense as he sliced. Tears pricked as the hot blood rose.

He drew away at last and smiled at his work. You could not see as your head was kept up by the layers of rope. He backed off the bed and set the dagger aside. He kept his back to you as he lifted his tunic over your head, you could only see the blur of his silhouette as you remained prone on the bed. The rustle of clothing filled your ears as your body thrummed.

You tried to roll over and he caught you. He pushed you onto your arms again and you squeaked. He lifted your hips as your arms were strained further and bent his legs around you as he pulled yours atop them. He propped up your pelvis as you were splayed against him and he roughly pushed his thumb along your folds. He poked painfully inside and growled.

“I’ve been patient but I see that my grace does not but inspire your petulance.” His other hand stroked his member as it bobbed before him, “So let us be done with it.”

You squirmed as he angled his cock down and kept his other hand on your cunt. He curled his thumb inside you as he guided his head to your entranced. He pushed against his knuckle as you wriggled helplessly, only adding to the painful pressure as he continued to prod at you.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he slid his thumb out and pushed harder. You strained around him as he sought entrance. “You tight little bitch.”

Your struggle only added to your discomfort. His hand stretched over your lower stomach as he held you in place and he forced his tip inside you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream at the pain as it shot up your spine.

“Stop!” You gasped. “Stop! Ow…”

Your voice fizzled as he gripped your hip and urged himself deeper. Another inch felt like much more and you bit down to keep from shrieking. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the pain. He grabbed your chin and bent over you as he slid further in.

“Look at me,” he growled as he squeezed your jaw, “Look at your king.” He bit his lip and snapped his hips down and impaled you completely. You cried out as waves of pain radiated through you. “You’re mine. My pet.”

He slid his hand around your neck and pulled you up suddenly. He sat back on his heels with you in his lap. He sank even further into you and you hung weak in his grasp. Every inch of you screamed as your vision swam.

He kept a hand behind your neck as the other rocked your hips. He moved you slowly but steadily. As you slickened, your motion grew easier but not less agonizing. Your walls throbbed around him as you panted against the coil at your neck.

You saw a smear of red against his chest, it spread as he moved you. You realised it was your blood, still trickling from his assault. 

“Look at me, mouse,” he snarled as he squeezed your neck. “Look at me.”

His green eyes bore into yours as he bounced you atop. He lifted you and slammed you back down so sharply that you moaned. Your legs bent around him as you tried to ease the pressure as that warmth gathered in your loins at the friction of him against your bud. Your thighs clenched as you felt the magical rise and you nearly forgot all but that immeasurable pleasure in your core.

He stopped you suddenly. He breathed deeply and jostled you a top him. He shifted so that he sat with his legs straight and he dropped onto his back. Both his hands grasped your hips and he rocked you again. You straddled him precariously as he guided your body over his.

The muscles of his arms bulged as he gazed up at you in a lusty haze, driven by it as he moved your hips faster and faster, pulling you down harder each time. There was a dark bruise along his shoulder but you quickly forgot it. You tried to swallow the sudden ecstasy that washed over you, as your nerves flurried and bounced in a storm of delight.

Your eyes rolled back and he dug his nails into your flesh. “Look at me…” he rasped and you obeyed without thought. 

His cheek twitched and his body went rigid then began to quiver beneath you. He held your hips in place and thrust into you from below. He grunted and groaned and a flow of heat spilled into you. He spasmed and slowed until he was still. He let out a long breath and his hands slipped to your thighs.

You sat stunned, as every muscle in your body suddenly ached. He tickled you as he lifted his hands and groped your chest. He played with your tits lazily and watched his hands. He circled your nipples with his thumbs and hummed. You felt a twitch inside of you. He carefully moved his hips.

“You will know your sentence tonight, little mouse,” he purred, “And you will serve it for so long as I wish.”

🐍

You slept, uncomfortably. Little spurts of unconsciousness where the stiffness never truly left your neck and the tenderness lingered in your cunt. Loki snored beside you, content. Your elbows ached, still bent and often trapped beneath your weight.

You woke for the last time as the sun began to rise. Shortly after, a tap came at the bedchamber door. Loki did not stir at first and did so with a groggy call for the disturber to enter. You bent your legs up to try to hid yourself as Hal appeared in the soft morning light.

“Your majesty, your breakfast,” the boy said as Loki sat up and rubbed his eyes. His hair was knotted and wild.

“In a moment,” Loki grumbled, “Take this,” he reached over to the dagger, “Did you also put away my armor?”

“I did, your majesty,” Hal took the knife and you closed your eyes in shame. Loki had the cover of the blankets but you had nothing.

“Very well, return in an hour for my bath,” he bid. The boy left without more than his assent.

Loki snickered and you felt his hand on your arm. He laid back and turned onto his side. He draped his arm around you and tugged at the knot by your wrists. He loosened the rope and pulled it away until you were free. The skin beneath was raw and warm.

He drew back and touched the mark he’d left on your chest. You winced and looked down as you fell onto your back and straightened your arms. His symbol, two snakes intertwined, skillfully cut into your flesh. You closed your eyes in shame.

“You will never forget me, mouse,” he murmured, “And none will ever forget that you are mine.”

You said nothing. You felt like crying; like screaming. He moved closer and you felt his hard member against your leg. He slipped from beneath the covers and lifted himself over you. He forced a knee between your legs. 

You opened your eyes as he held himself over you and pushed against your entrance. You gulped as he slid inside. It still hurt very much.

You braced his shoulders as he impaled you. You breathed between your teeth and peaked down at your bodies. He was covered in black and blue splotches; bruised from his battle with his brother, from which armor couldn’t even protect him.

“Do you like how I look inside you?” He teased, “How I feel?”

You turned your head away and stared at the wall. He chuckled and nuzzled your temple.

“I don’t know how I should ever keep myself from you now,” his hot breath seared your skin and you shivered as another heat began to blossom.

🐍

The wardrobe was locked and you were allowed no clothing when Loki left you. Nor were you allowed to stray from the bedchamber. The receiving chamber was also closed and you were to linger in your cell. The last of the tournament would be marked with a feast and the claiming of prizes by the champions.

You kept a sheet around you. You felt grimy and used. The king had bathed after he ate but had forbidden you the same. You were to remain filthy; his touch lingered on you; inside of you.

You sat by the window but did not look out. You listened to the titter of birds and the distant crowd. You weren’t so curious as before. The nobles could keep their games.

You dozed in the slat of sunlight that leaked in between the curtains and didn’t wake for some hours. Despite your despair and the way your nerves never quite stopped, you were too exhausted to resist. Your body was stiff as you woke in the chair, sore from the abuse of the king.

You rose and paced for a time. You found the book Loki had left on the side table and flipped through the pages. You didn’t know the letters or what they said but you admired the colourful illuminations. You felt an urge to cry but did not. Could not. That would be his final victory and you would keep it from him or as long as you could.

The day wore on and evening shrouded the sky without. You wondered if Loki would return with the same fervour or be too fatigued from a day of gaiety. You distracted yourself by twists and knotting the rope which had formerly bound you. A single lantern burned as you grew restless.

Then you heard the door. More jarringly, you heard a voice that was not the king’s. The deep tone was cheery and was met with Loki’s cool timbre. You moved to the door and listened as you hugged the sheet around you.

“Brother, it is late, I have an early morning,” Loki bemoaned, “I haven’t time for another drink.”

“But you do require it. Your mood remains.” The visitor, Thor you could guess, returned. “Are you so quick to be away? You might stay for another day. My wife is most happy to host your court.”

“The very court you left behind,” Loki countered.

“I do miss you, brother,” a chair leg whined against the floor and Loki sighed. “One glass. For me. For father.”

“In spite of father,” Loki replied. Glass met the table and you heard a cork pop. “One glass.”

The brothers went on as such. Little japes and jabs. You still wondered why the elder had stepped aside but he did sound happier away from the royal parade. You listened passively, knowing that when Thor was gone, Loki would have no reason to delay.

“I know you are still sour from our contest,” Thor intoned, “But know I did not mean to slight you.”

“A game. I know,” Loki assured him though he was less than convincing.

“You always did enjoy games.” Thor said, “You are adept at toying with others. It is why you will be a better king.”

There was a silence. A glass was set down.

“I know you did not come to praise me so, brother, so why is it you’ve chosen to hound my chambers this night?”

“Always so distrusting. I never looked at you as an adversary as you have me.” Thor replied. “Can’t we set this all behind us. You have the crown--”

“So why do you pace my chambers as if you have lost a precious ring?” Loki challenged.

“I have sat much today. I wish to stretch my legs.”

“You are a poor liar.” Loki sneered. “If you will not be forthright, you will leave me in peace.”

“Well, you know how it can be. How word travels quickly. How the slightest inconsistency does stir the servants to chatter and the ladies to repeat it.”

“As you said, brother, you aren’t so skilled at toying with others so what is it?”

“You are keeping a secret. From me. From your court.” Thor said staunchly, “You dress her in servant’s garb and keep her in your chamber but I do believe that boy with the dusty hair is your attendant.”

“What are you doing? Don’t--”

The door opened suddenly and you looked up as a large figure stood over you. You blinked and clutched the sheet as you got to your knees and backed away. Loki appeared beside his brother and wrenched him back.

“What does it matter if I seek relief?” Loki huffed, “You have your wife and it is no secret that her condition does see your eye astray.”

“Where did you get this creature?” Thor tried to pull away from his brother but Loki clung to him. 

“Never you mind. You’ve a staff of your own, an entire city of willing harlots beyond your gates.”

“I am only curious,” Thor shook off Loki and advanced on you again. You struggled to your feet and he raised his palms. “I will not hurt you, lady.”

You looked to Loki and he shook his head. As your eyes returned to Thor, his were on your chest, just above the sheet. You covered the incisions there. He smiled and spun back to his brother.

“Should you not marry before--”

“I have time to marry and I will find a princess to fill the crown,” Loki insisted, “You needn’t worry, brother. It is my throne now and I will tend to it.”

“And how should a princess feel when she is met with another in her spot? Even calling her a queen could not absolve her affront.”

“Why are you so concerned?” Loki spat.

“Merely… curious,” Thor neared his brother, “And surprised… perhaps she might ease that lance ever lodged up your--”

“Good night, brother,” Loki barked and strode to the door, “You’ve had your drink.”

“I understand your impatience,” Thor stopped by the door and looked back at you, “I understand it too well.”

“Just go.” Loki opened the door. “As I’ve said, I’ve an early morning.”

“Late night, as well,” Thor chuckled. “Good night, your majesty.”

With that, the elder Odinson left and the door was closed with venom. Loki spun and leaned against it with a growl. You watched through the door frame and his eyes met yours.

“I’m sorry--”

“Quiet,” Loki pushed himself away from the painted wood, “Come.”

He beckoned you forth and you reluctantly crossed the room. He met you halfway and tore the sheet away from your body. He pulled you close and ran his hands up and down your figure. He turned you and bent you over the table so that your hips met it with a pang.

He hastily untied his trousers and freed himself. He sheathed his cock in you without hesitation and you went rigid as you braced the table.

“You know what you’ve done?” He rutted into you as his words were harried by his breath. “My brother… he never let me have a toy of my own.” He crashed into you without relent. “Even the throne he did not hand over until he tired of it. Until he realised--” Loki groaned and sped up. “We must leave as soon as we can.”

[starryseung]

lee felix + smut

☾

word count; 1.6k words

warnings; stimulation using a knife, fingering, royalty! au

prince! felix bites back a smile as he walks up the stairs. he looks up at you, only to see your mother, the queen, staring down at him with a graceful, elegant smile, welcoming the king and queen of their neighbouring kingdom who had arrived at their palace for her daughter’s hand in marriage.

celebrations, festivities were organized all around the kingdom, as the news of the princess getting married wasn’t to be taken lightly; especially if the royal lee family’s son was the one she was going to be married to. women and girls of all ages were dying to see a glimpse of the charming prince’s smile, his sweet gaze overturning their hearts. but you, you were the lucky one who was going to have him to yourself the rest of your lives.

“psst,” felix whispers, grabbing your attention. the servant standing between you smiles, and you simply wave her off. “hey,” you smile back, fingers messing with your gown as you look back down to avoid the attention of anyone else.

felix feels like he’s about to burst into tears, the fact that he was going to marry the love of his life constantly bugging him, making his heart bloom. you two had met each other in the woods towards the outskirts of your town, when you were practicing horse riding, and he was out hunting. since then, it’s been a frequent meet, and felix couldn’t express in words how much he was head over heels for you.

“you look beautiful today,” the prince flaunts, still keeping his voice low. you’re a blushing mess by now, it was obvious. you couldn’t control your feelings in front of the man, and it had been so long since you’d met him. “thanks, you too.”

“a—are you calling me beautiful?” felix grins, and you giggle softly, covering your mouth as you shake your head. “no no, i meant—”

“now that we have agreed with the wedding,” felix’s father’s voice echoes throughout the marble and concrete castle; “it’s time that the prince and with your permission, your highness, the princess, shall spend some time alone.”

your mother nods in understanding, smiling at the two of you as she gestures you and felix to head upstairs. you send felix a look, standing up to leave before bowing to the others. he follows your actions, smiling sheepishly as he trails behind you.

you open the door to your room, standing aside so felix could walk in through the door into the room he had sneaked into multiple times through the window in the past.

“ah, after you, princess,” felix bows, feigning respect while you giggle at his antics, rolling your eyes before walking and pulling him inside. you hum before plopping yourself onto your bed in the far centre of the room, draped with a white and pale blue canopy. felix laughs before walking in further, sitting himself down onto the mattress as he eyes your room, smiling at the small drawings you had made on the walls as a child.

you sit back up, nudging closer to him and resting your head on his shoulders.

“it’s finally happening,” you smile, thinking about how you were finally going to marry the love of your life about whom, surprisingly, your parents did not know about.

“yeah, it’s gonna be weird walking into your room from that door instead of jumping in from the window,” felix laughs and you chuckle beside him, holding his arm as you play with his fingers. he tangles his fingers with yours, smiling softly at the soft feeling of your hands against his calloused ones.

“felix?”

“hmm?”

“i love you,”

the prince sighs, smiling so hard his jaw hurts. he turns around to face you, pecking your lips as if replying to your sudden confession— the one out of thousand times you’d already exclaimed your love for him.

“you do?” he asks, smiling before kissing you once again, this time deeper, biting your bottom lips ever so lightly.

“yeah, a lot,” you breathe out, focused on the intoxicating feeling of his lips on yours. he pulls open a knot on the back of your dress, letting the corset untie itself as it falls loose. felix pushes you slightly backwards, so you’re back to lying on the bed. easily swinging a leg over you, he rests a hand beside your head so he’s upright, pushing his tongue in you when you gasp at his quick actions. he fishes out something from his pocket, something you can’t recognize, but it comes in your view when he moves lower to your jaw, nipping at the skin. for some reason, he had his pocket knife out in his hand, and for some reason, even after spending so much time with him, you hadn’t ever seen it. 

he moves lower, pulling your gown off of you in nearly two swift attempts, the lack of the heavy garment on you making your skin feel relieved, the warm air of the room engulfing you. he snaps open the knife and you can only see a glint of the small letter engraved on it, y/n, and when he subconsciously flips it, you see his name, felix. he kisses lower and lower against your skin, stopping when he reaches your bra.

“is it pretty?” 

you bite your lip to hold back a smile, realizing he had created the blade, just for you.

“yeah, it is,” and it’s only a split second since the words have left your mouth, before the tip of the knife gently comes in contact with your temples, the cold tip grazing against your warm skin as he brought it lower, eyes glinting in fascination as you whine at the cold feeling, a wave of sensitivity taking over you.

“you like that, princess?”

you nod, biting your lips to hold back any more noises to create suspicion outside your room. felix smirks, gliding the metal down to your bra, unbuckling and tossing the clothing away before bringing the tip back to your exposed breast, placing the cold surface flat against your perked nipples. you whimper softly, mouth hanging open at the sensation against your buds, your panties uncomfortably sticking to yourself.

“tell me if it feels bad,”

you nod again, too focused on the blissful feeling as he moves lower, dragging the knife carefully along with him. he reaches your white underwear, smirking as he cuts the fabric in a second before pulling it away from you, chuckling at the wetness slowly dripping out of you due to his previous teasing.

“is this because of me, princess? i did this?”

“y—yeah, felix, you did,”

he smiles, bringing the wide part of the knife carefully against your heat, and you bring your hand up to your mouth, shielding back the loud moan. it felt heavenly, the cold metal pressed against where you needed it the most, the mere sensation sending your brain in a frenzy.

felix knows the effect it has on you, bringing the knife away before cleaning it against the sheets; bringing it back to your cunt. this time, knowing how you feel about it, he presses it straight against your clit, and the effect it has on you has him grinning from ear to ear. your back arches away from the bed, thighs trembling as he rubs the metal against your folds, mindful of the sharp edge. your small whimper and moans make him fall further into the want of making you feel pleasure, and he pulls away the wide knife before bringing it back onto your clit, rubbing it in circles. 

“mmh felix, please,” you groan softly, clawing at your sheets, half sorry for the maid who will have to come and clean up your room. but that thought stays just for a mere second, felix’s fingers replacing the knife as he pushes it back into the pocket, tossing it on the bed. he rubs two fingers against your hole, spreading open your folds as he prods his digits.

he’s pushing them in ever so slightly and you clench around him at the foreign feeling, toes curling in pleasure when he pushes them deeper. he groans at the tight feeling you provide around his digits, breathing erratic from the way his fingers curl in you, scissoring you as you feel your high closer, like a thousand pins pricking at you. he thrusts his fingers quicker, gyrating his palm against your clit in a way you’re seeing stars.

“i— ah, felix,” your thighs shake violently under him, his fingers continuing their movements in you as he rides out your thigh. you drop your head back on the sheets as you finish off around his fingers, trying to even out your breaths as felix cleans you up with a rag he found on the chairs, cleaning up his knife as well before stuffing it back in his pocket.

he helps you get into your dress, tying your corset as he looks at you through the mirror, and you break out a small giggle at his focused expression behind you as he tightens the knots once again, double-checking you out in the mirror.

he kisses the side of your head and then your cheek, smiling before holding your hand to escort you out of your room.

he leans in to whisper into your ears, a quick ‘i love you’ before leaving you blushing, walking ahead to reunite with the rest of the royal heads to continue with the discussions of your wedlock.

—

a/n; welcome to ep. 1930127495124 of my fics aren’t showing up in the tags :D i was gonna post something else today but lets keep it for next time hehe ;) and i honestly thought about keeping changbin in this, but i realized there was like 1 felix fic on this blog, so that’s changed now >:D thanks for reading!!!!

taglist; @joengni @cherryeol04 @lomlminho @bruh-changbin @yooniversalstudios @ann0325441904 @yourdaddychan @nightshade-minho @yangomangos (message me if you want to be added!)

@stayverse

[siriuscatbennett]

The First Avenger info dump because I can

Enlistment/Dog Tags/Awards:

It is canon that Bucky Barnes enlisted on his own right after Pearl Harbor (and Steve tried). This would make his dog tags a type two. His service number would start with a 1 (enlisted army soldier) and a 2 (from New York). This site can be used to generate dog tag numbers (I haven’t tried all the functions, but be aware the O for officers is a 0 starting in 1942). 

During WW2 (amongst other times), there was the Regular Army and the Army of the United States (which no longer exists). Voluntary enlisted men were in the Regular, with draftees in the other (officers were often part of both and had two separate ranks). If you choose to divert from canon and make Bucky a draftee (I personally have always liked this fanon because I’m evil), his service number would start with 32 (drafted, New York). This would also better explain why Bucky rises to the rank of Sergeant so quickly as promotions happened constantly in the AUS ( Dwight D. Eisenhower rose from a colonel to five-star general in three years). 

Steve would have a different type of dog tags than Bucky (including a different chain). He would have a type three (as would anyone between July 20, 1943 and March 31, 1944). I will illustrate the differences below with the custom tags I made for Steve's sister and Bucky in my fanfic (feel free to use the info from them). The N and 7 in her tag are for nurse.

The T42 you’ll see below is the year tetanus shots were recieved. I’ve seen some with two years and some with one. The B is blood type and the P is religion. 

Steve received an award for rescuing the POWs. Seeing as this wasn’t presented by the president, I’ve decided it was the Distinguished Service Cross. This award comes with a $2 pay raise; as a Captain, Steve previously made $200 a month, paid monthly (post-serum). Bucky made $78 as a Sergeant, with a $3.90 pay raise after 3 years of service (December 1944). Steve also obtained SSR pins after joining them (and I believe the Howling Commandos should have as well). (Even though nurses had the rank of an officer, they didn’t get equal pay until after WW2. They earned $70 a month for the first 3 years.)

Many soldiers put their second dog tag in their boot, usually slipped on the shoe laces in between the tongue and top of the shoe.

Not a fact, but I will add a link here to a website where you can either buy Bucky/Steve’s dogtags or make custom ones for $10 (personally, I would advocate for the custom as Bucky’s say he’s not from NY and show he is a draftee. Also, he has type B blood, not O. And Steve is Protestant, not Catholic. The site also states officer’s service numbers didn’t start with 9, but those with special duties did. His service number would most like be between 800000 and 999999, starting with a 0- to show he’s an officer).

Sister: Margaret E Rogers N-724669 T42 B                         P

Bucky: James B Barnes 12831412 T42 B Margaret Rogers (next of kin) 1404 Alameda Ave (next of kin address) Brooklyn NY     P (address, religion)

Italian Front:

Seeing as the 107th were venturing to England in June 1943, they most likely headed straight to Sicily from there (or diverged if they had fuel) to aid in the invasion, continuing into the invasion of the mainland before pushing troops back toward Austria. Italy surrendered at the very beginning of the invasion of the mainland, so the Allies only fought Nazis and Italian soldiers loyal to Mussolini (National Republican Army), who was arrested during the invasion of Sicily and broken out during the mainland invasion. Seeing as Chester Phillips and Peggy were with Steve, they must have joined the 107th later. In my canon, they (and Howard) join at the beginning of the mainland invasion. 

AM-lira (Allied-Military Currency), 100 "am-lire" for a U.S. dollar, was the currency specifically put into circulation for Allied Military after the landing in Sicily. It was used interchangeably with their normal currency. Once the Howling Commandoes join the SSR, they use British currency. 

The 107th’s camp pre-Battle of Azzano was most likely behind the  Volturno Line. Azzano is part of Umbria, which was about 170 miles into enemy territory. 

Post-Azzano, the camp was most likely behind the Barbara Line. Walking approx 533 miles from Kreuzberg, Austria, with troops alternating resting periods in the trucks, walking approximately 42 miles for 12 hours a day, they would reach camp in thirteen days.

Random:

Steve’s canon address according to Avengers is 1404 Alameda Ave. Brooklyn, NY 11362. This is a Queens zip code. I changed it to 11237.

As a Sergeant, Bucky would command a squad of 12 soldiers (privates), split into 3 fireteams. He was also assigned a PFC (one of the scout riflemen) as an assistant; this soldier could serve as either the squad leader's messenger to the platoon commander or could be used to relay orders to other squad teams, as needed. Sergeants are responsible for the individual training, personal appearance and cleanliness of their soldiers, and are expected to set a standard for lower-ranked soldiers to live up to.

Women did have their own army sect for part of the war (Women’s Army Corps) but they didn’t go overseas as they didn’t legally get benefits overseas {I didn’t read a lot on this, take this with a grain of salt}. They did all the non-fighting jobs like listening to radio transmissions and fixing weapons. 

On the ship, there were three-tier bunks. Enlisted men got footlockers under their beds (you could lift up the base), while officers got standing lockers. I would assume water on ships was cold, filtered from the ocean, and they had showers.

Showers were available but not popular at this time, just like hot water heaters. Many people still boiled water to take baths. People also didn’t bathe as often and there was only one kind of shampoo and no conditioner. Women made their own concoctions, used soap, or straight up would do egg masks. Hair was kept clean by doing the “100 strokes” with a hairbrush that was cleaned after every use. Indoor heating also wasn’t used everywhere, leaving many places still using things like fireplaces and wood stoves.

Soldiers used latrines in WW2. They also used a bucket of water and a bar of soap to wash. When water was unavailable and snow was, it was melted and used. They could also simply use things like rivers and lakes if available but if unnecessary, weren't used as lice was prevalent along with disease. Clothes weren't washed often (depending on the situation, some men went weeks without washing their uniform, only changing into dry socks when necessary) but when they were, they were boiled in big pots of water in mass and hung on a line to dry (there were also other ways, but I preferred this one). They carried an extra shirt, socks and laces, water canteen, ammunition, a spade, grenades, a gas mask, food rations, a cup, a wash kit (toothpaste, razor, comb, etc), first aid pouch, and a helmet (usually on their head) in their haversack's/on their belt (and rations, of couse). There was also a tent pack, but most soldiers would simply carry a raincoat. Lots of candles and oil lanterns to light the night. Canvas water bags – also known as Lister bags – were hung around camps and used for dispensing drinking water in which a dose of chlorine was added for purification.

Medical:

Morbidity from such diseases as tuberculosis (anti-tuberculosis agents didn’t begin to appear until 1949), rheumatic fever, typhus, dysentery, and malaria were high. There were tuberculosis quarantine wards separate from the other patients and were eventually evacuated. Frostbite was also common during the cold. Hepatitis A and B were also prevalent. Trench foot was also common, sometimes leading to jungle rot (often referred to as 'the creeping cruds'). PTSD was known then as 'battle fatigue'; men showcasing symptoms were often just given rest and food near the front lines and would normally rejoin the fight in a few days or were evacuated if necessary. All soldiers were vaccinated against tetanus, typhoid, smallpox, cholera, and yellow fever before shipping out. Dental hygiene was extremely important and many field hospitals were equipped with dental prosthetics. 

Food:

A-Rations referred to fresh/refrigerated meats, bread, and vegetables, prepared in mess halls. These meals were basically the same as C-rations, but fresh and always warm.

C-Rations consisted of one M-unit (12 oz can, meat), one B-unit (12 oz can, bread/dessert), and an accessory pack. Each daily ration consisted of three M-units, three B-units, and three accessory packs (one for each meal). The cans were made of tinplate. The cans had a gold lacquer finish. C-rations can be eaten cold or hot and were cooked with a Coleman's pocket stove (which was made specifically for WW2 soldiers).

M-units initially had three kinds: meat and beans, meat and potato hash, and meat and vegetable stew. In 1943, meat and spaghetti in tomato sauce was added; along with meat and noodles, pork and rice, frankfurters and beans, and chicken & vegetables in 1944. 1944 also brought a chopped ham, egg, & potato unit and compressed cereal B-units to replace meat & vegetable hash.

B-units contained crackers, three sugar tablets, loose candy (Brach's chocolate caramels, candy-coated peanuts/raisins, Charms hard candy), and a packet/small can of beverage mix (instant coffee, powdered lemon drink, or bouillon soup powder). Orange drink powder was added in 1944. Due to spoilage, the loose candy was replaced in 1944 with a Brach's fudge disk or a Jim dandy.

Accessory packs (brown butcher paper) contained sugar tablets, water purification tablets, a flat wooden spoon, a piece of candy-coated chewing gum, three 3-packs or one 9-pack of cigarettes, a book of 20 moisture resistant matches, a paper-wrapped P-38 can opener (with instructions that everyone immediately throws out), and about 22.5 sheets of toilet paper. Cigarette brands included Camel, Chelsea, Chesterfield, Craven A-Brand, Lucky Strike, Old Gold, Philip Morris, Player's, Raleigh, and Wings (these were traded constantly). Can openers were meant to be disposable but soldiers wore them on their dog tags for later use either with opening cans or other things (clean muddy boots, screw screws, open letters, strip wires, trim loose thread, and sharpen pencils). 

Seriously. They really gave every single soldier three can openers a day. With printed instructions. During metal rationing. Of which soldiers just put them on thier dog tag chains for later use. Where did all these excess can openers go? And why half a sheet of toilet paper? 

Clothes:

The nurses wore an olive drab service jacket and skirt (they are seen in pants as well) and cap, khaki shirt and tie, and brown shoes (wore nursing shoes or boots). The rank insignia (a single gold bar for second lieutenants, the vast majority of nurses) was worn on the epaulets. A gold "U.S." pin was worn on each collar, and a gold caduceus with a red N was worn on each lapel. Whenever the service jacket wasn't worn, the rank insignia was pinned to the right collar, the caduceus on the left.

Soldier’s field uniforms looked like this (with some adjustments based on gun used). And yes, the leggings are neccessary, they helped keep feet dry: 

The layout I made for Steve’s apartment (there are 2 beds and dressers in the spare room because Bucky lives there too, feel free to change this):

These aren’t all the links I used, because I’ve gone through a lot, like a lot, but here are the ones I saved that are relevant (I don’t like using wiki but I cross-checked any info stated above):

https://www.google.com/amp/s/screenrant.com/winter-soldier-mcu-complete-timeline-bucky-barnes/amp/ https://movies.stackexchange.com/questions/65170/how-did-bucky-get-the-rank-of-sergeant https://marvel-movies.fandom.com/wiki/Steven_Rogers https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_campaign_(World_War_II) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied_invasion_of_Sicily https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied_invasion_of_Italy https://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwii/medsvcsinmedtrnmnrthrtrs/chapter6.htm https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squad https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/4j8zos/pay_of_american_gis_during_world_war_ii/ https://blogs.stockton.edu/womeninwwtwo/womens-military-involvemnt/womens-nurse-corps/#:~:text=The%20pay%20of%20members%20in,per%20month%E2%80%9D%20(2). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Service_number_(United_States_Army) https://www.med-dept.com/articles/u-s-army-ww2-dog-tags/

Find me on Wattpad here where all of this information and more will be compiled in a Bucky Barnes series with mediocre writing (coming soon). 

[thebountyfucker]

The Royal Affair - A Choose Your Own Prince Fic

18+ ONLY - NSFW

I wanted to try an experiment where I wrote a story with two parallel branches so readers could choose which character they wanted to read without me writing two separate fics! Let me know what you think! (Subject to more parts!)

Embo x AFAB!Reader or Cad Bane x AFAB!Reader

Tags/CW: Threats of violence/assault, embarrassment

Here's the link to my masterpost!

Want to be tagged in upcoming fics like this? Here's my taglist application!!

You eased up to the table, smiling despite yourself, and bowed your head. You didn’t say anything to them, as per the instructions from your boss, and carefully handed out the flutes of champagne. The royals prattled on in Durese, hardly paying you any mind, though the Prince did cast a glance up at you from the periphery of his vision. You bowed your head once more, and turned to leave.

-

You had never been more nervous in your life than you were now; with a tray of champagne flutes balanced in your hand, and the heel on your left shoe coming loose, you had to put the entirety of your focus onto your task at hand. It was a simple one, really - deliver the drinks to the Duros royal family, bow, and return back to the kitchen to fetch hors d'oeuvres. Simple. Easy. Yet the wobbling in your ankle frightened you. The last thing you needed was to drop the crystal flutes in front of everyone - or worse, on someone.

As you turned, you heard a loud snap, and your ankle buckled and rolled; you went down, your tray clattering to the floor. Conversations around you stopped, and the gazes of three royal families found you collapsed on the floor. A horrified blush crept up on your cheeks as you crawled toward your tray and gathered it up in your arms; you pulled off your shoes and slowly stood, pain blossoming from your ankle. You limped to the back room, and tossed your shoes straight into the garbage.

“What happened to you?” One of your coworkers, a pretty Rutian Twi’lek, asked, glancing down at your now bare feet and rapidly-swelling ankle.

“My fucking heel broke!”

“Oof, tough luck.” She shook her head as she kneeled down and prodded at your ankle. The pain was horrendous, but she didn’t look concerned. “It ain’t broken… I’ll see if I can get a wrap and some new shoes for you.”

“Thank you, Salicia.” You muttered as you sat down, propping your leg up on the seat beside you. Your other coworkers came and went, taking out drinks and snacks, and coming back with dishes and trash. They hardly spared you a glance. There was work to be done and attending to the weak link would only slow it down. You sighed softly as Salicia returned with a bandage and a pair of silken flats.

She sat beside you, gingerly lifting your leg to wrap your ankle. She was gentle, and the pressure of the bandage made it feel instantaneously better. When she had secured it in place, she handed you the pair of flats; colored a vibrant blue, the flats sported a winged lizard embroidered on each of the sides. The slippers clashed with your uniform, but it was better than nothing; you eased them on, and cast Salicia a glance.

“Queen Esmera gave these to me when she saw me asking the other girls. She saw you fall, said these would probably be more comfortable than anything we could offer.” She explained, her lekku tips curling up as she shrugged. “I think she may be fishing for a thank you… so… you might want to go out and tell her.”

“Alright.” You sighed as you stood and brought your tray back to the bar; the bartender noted you with a frown, but knew better than to say anything. “Can you get me seven glasses of your most expensive Phatrongi red? You can… add it to the party’s tab.”

“Did Queen Esmera give you those?” He asked, suspicion heavy in his voice. You glanced down at your shoes and nodded.

“Yep.”

“I suppose the wine is a ‘thank you’ to her.” He muttered, waiting for your nod, before continuing. “And you’re stroking her ego because…?”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do, I guess.” You shrugged, and he shook his head as he poured the thick, purple wine into the glasses.

“Yeah. Polite. And then they turn around and treat you like trash.”

“They’ve been nice to me so far.” You muttered as he helped stack the seven glasses of red wine onto your tray. Your departure toward Queen Esmera’s table was slow-going, as you didn’t want to risk tripping or putting undue stress on your ankle. Your coworkers were careful about not bumping into you, but there were a few close calls.

You made your way toward the Kyuzan Queen, careful to stand a distance away in case she turned her head to regard you; her ostentatious crown, constructed of metals and jewels and silken cloths, was large enough that it could sweep the wine right off your tray. That was the last thing you wanted.

She did, in fact, turn when she noticed you, and you breathed a small sigh of relief as her crown cleared your tray. She offered you a kind, mask-less smile, and you bowed your head respectfully in response.

“Thank you for your kindne-.”

And then it happened. You took a few step closer and the slippers caught on something - likely the queen’s dress. You tripped, and the tray of wine went flying; the wine splashed upon the Queen’s lap and onto the table. The princes and the King jumped back from the table as the wine spread out toward them. Your heart plummeted to the bottom of your chest, and you dropped to your knees at her side.

“I am so sorry.” Tears welled in your eyes. Salicia rushed over with towels, much sooner than you expected, and thrust one at you; she mopped up the table, apologizing to the princes, while you gingerly dabbed at the Queen’s dress. The red wine marred her white and gold gown, and you knew that the stain would never come out. “Please forgive me. Please. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you.”

The Queen gingerly patted your head as you dabbed at her gown; the weight of her ring-covered hand was rather comforting, and it did make you feel quite a bit better.

“There, there, Little One.” Her voice was honeyed and velvet-smooth, yet there was an imposing timbre deep beneath it, as if she knew and reveled in the power she had in this situation. “It was an accident, and these things happen. It is okay.”

“It is not okay!” The King’s booming voice startled you from the calmed stupor the Queen had put you in. Your gaze focused on the Queen’s dress as the party hall went quiet. “This insolent worm ruined your dress!”

“There is no reason to be upset. What is done is done.” Queen Esmera continued to pat your head reassuringly.

“There must be recompense!”

“Enough. You are causing a scene.” Her voice was even and steely, and her husband eased back down into his chair. The waves of rage radiating off the king made your skin crawl - he was one of those kings where the rumors of his temper far outshined any good he had done. There were numerous stories about girls being used and thrown in ditches after minor misdeeds. You hoped your employer would protect you from the likes of him… but that was no certainty. “The dress is ruined. I will call for a maid to bring me another.”

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, and she tilted your chin up.

“That is enough, Little One. Now run along, okay?” She smiled sweetly, and you got up with your metaphorical tail between your legs. You limped back to the staging room, where you found a bench and collapsed onto it. Tears threatened to spill over, but you rubbed them away with the heels of your hands. You felt so foolish, so demeaned. The worst part of this, though, was that it was all your fault. No royal had made you spill the wine. No royal purposefully tripped you, nor did they break the heel from your shoe. It was your own insolence. You buried your head in your hands, a strangled sob leaving your lips.

Someone sat down on the bench beside you. You figured it was Salicia, until you noticed their scent - it was woodsy and entirely manish. You couldn’t think of anyone you knew who smelled like that. Curious, you spread your fingers open and peeked through them; sitting beside you was one of the Kyuzan Princes - the youngest of the four, whose name, you believed, was Embo. He cast you a glance, his browridge cocked.

“Oh! Uh…” You wiped your eyes on your hands, and then wiped your hands on your skirt. “Hello there, Prince.”

“You are in trouble.” He spoke, his voice unwavering and deeply serious. Your heart skipped a beat, and your stomach dropped.

“W-what?”

“My father is like a jungle cat chasing a rat. In his eyes, you wronged him, and he will not rest until you pay the price.” He explained, his voice low and conspiratory.

“But I didn’t do anything to him!” You squeaked.

“You embarrassed him, and my mother. He believes you made fools of them both before our allies.” Embo explained, his hands laced together and resting on his lap. “I came to offer my help. The last thing I want is for someone undeserving to be left in a ditch to die.”

“But you’re his son. How can I trust you?”

“Just know that I would rather see him dead than let any harm come to you.” He replied, his gold eyes narrowed and a small growl rumbling in his chest. You blinked at him, and then looked down at your hands. “And he knows better than to touch anything I lay claim to. If I tell him you are under my protection, he will not dare bother you.”

“I… wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense. My family keeps a large staff already. We would hardly notice one more.”

Your gaze remained on your hands, your mind running a million miles a minute. If you didn’t take the Prince’s protection, what would happen to you? Would the king stoop to harming you? It seemed that if his own son was worried, the answer was likely yes. So it would be best to go with the prince then. What if he was lying? What if this was all some elaborate ruse to get you into bed with him, or worse?

“I’ll… need time to think.” You replied, your voice shaking.

“Of course. You have until the end of the night.” He got up, dusting off his expensive suit, and disappeared through the door which led back out to the main hall.

You sat there, still trying to process what was going on; the staff around you stared at you, either concerned or shocked that you had gotten so close to the Prince without mention of sexual activities. You glanced at them, before standing.

“I… I need to take a walk.”

No one stopped you as you slipped out the door into the main hall. The royals were all happily conversing, and you noted that Queen Esmera had, indeed, changed her dress. You ducked down the hallway to the front door, desperately needing some fresh air to help clear your head. Ugh, you had a headache.

The guards allowed you outside, and you sat down on the top step to gather your wits. The warm, humid Coruscant air caressed your bare skin, grounding you to reality. The ambience of the thousands of speeders and marching of armor-clad guards drowned out any sounds from the gala itself. You buried your head in your hands once more, just trying to think.

“You’ve got some shit luck tonight.”

You turned toward the intruder, noting that the Duros Prince was approaching; he had a lit cig between his fingers, and he took a long drag.

“First de heel, den sullying Queen Esmera’s dress…” He shook his head as he eased down onto the step beside you. He offered you the cig, but you declined. “What gods did ya anger?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed, shaking your head. Cad leaned back, perching the cig between his lips.

“I assume de big guy already warned ya?”

“About his dad? Yeah.” You answered, your worry rising again; it was one thing to hear about the danger from the King’s son… now you were hearing it from an unrelated royal? Great….

“Den ya know you’ll need t’ low ‘til he comes t’ his sense, right?”

You nodded at this. “Prince Embo offered to let me stay with him.”

“Did he now? Doesn’t seem quite safe t’ be going back to de same home as yer threat.” He mused as he took a drag of his cig. “I came t’ offer de same thing.”

“Why?” You asked, wary of Cad’s intentions.

“Well, King Triakt has no domain over me and my family. And messing wit’ us could end badly fer him.” Cad drawled as he plucked the cig from his lips and flicked the ashes off of the end.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for someone you don’t know.”

“I don’t know ya but dat doesn’t mean I can’t extend some kindness.” He took a long drag of his cig.

“What’s the price?” You asked, watching his lips twitch into a small smirk.

“I don’ know yet. We’ll figure dat out as we go.” Cad smothered the cig beneath his boot. “Whaddya say?”

“I… need to think about it.”

“Sure, sure. When you make up yer mind, come find me.” He winked at you and stood, straightening out his outfit. He sauntered back inside, leaving you alone in your thoughts. Now, you just had to decide who to go with...

-

Who do you choose? Embo or Cad Bane

Tags List: @justanotherstarwarswhore, @doctor-ren, @that-clone-wars-girl, @some-serendipity-snail

[greenbriar-j]

5 times the prince crashed the bookstore

and the 1 time the owner(’s grandson) broke into the palace

-

One.

             The first time was an accident. Sort of. Not really.

             Prince Gabriel did need to buy new ink and maybe a new journal to replace the one Gunther accidentally threw into the fountain the last time Gabe escaped the palace. If he was so pressed, though, he could’ve asked one of his attendants to buy it for him.

             So, yeah, it was kind of an accident. Gabriel donned his “commoner” attire, hiding his immediately recognizable curls under a cap. The clothes he wore were bland, but he had the kind of figure that made every outfit stand out. He snuck out through the window, running to the bookstore to get as much time away from his princely duties as possible.

             It was so boring, all of it. The paperwork, the meetings, the girls.

             Full confession: Prince Gabriel loved girls. Adored them. Thought they were the neatest thing to be placed on the planet. He loved the neighboring princesses, their mother queens, the female attendants – he loved women. He could not for a second imagine kissing any of them.

             Kissing Gunther? That, he’d imagined several times before the guard had caught on and assigned him even more paperwork. Fucking Gunther.

             Not, Gabe grimaced, pushing open the door to the bookstore, fucking Gunther. Stop thinking about fucking Gunther. About fucking. In general. … You’re a disgrace of a prince. At least you’re not responsible for producing an heir.

             Because he was the second prince. Because he was responsible for many things, actually, while also not being responsible for a thing at all.

             “Welcome to Vanilla Pages, how can I help you today?”

             The prince’s head whipped to the sound of the voice. It was not the voice he expected to hear, the almost frail, ever-loving voice of the old Asian lady who’d always been here the last few times he came. This voice was rich, masculine, deep – and, oh, the prince was very, very gay for it.

             “Uh,” he said intelligently. “You’re new.”

             The man smiled at him. “I’m not. I’ve worked here every summer since I was ten. Granny gets a little faint in the summer. The heat and all.” A beautiful hand waved in a beautiful, dismissive gesture.

             Gabe had one thought, and it was this: He himself was feeling a little faint this summer. Somehow, behind the broad shoulders filling out the loose shirt, the scruffy ponytail, the calm yet twinkling eyes, the man was undoubtedly a big teddy bear. “Ah,” he said, again the pinnacle of intelligence towering over his whole kingdom. “What’s your name?”

             “It’s impolite to ask for someone’s name without giving yours first,” the man prompts. “Your Highness.”

             Your-? “The disguise is that bad?”

             “If I say so, will it end in a death sentence?”

             Fuck, fuck, fuck. That smile is unfair. What the fuck. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

             “Then yes, it sucks. The name’s Phuong.”

             “Oh, word? Good name.” I did not just say that. Who responds to introductions with oh, word?

             Gabe could not stand to make any more of a scene. This was fun. It was also very embarrassing. He grabbed a journal without really examining it, checking out and running across the street to the bakery.

             Gunther picked him up there after his own round of flirting with the baker’s daughter. There would probably be a wedding soon. Depending. The guard seemed surprised that the prince turned up on his own, but the prince thought nothing of it. He thought nothing at all.

             Not about the name Phuong.

             Not about those broad shoulders and muscular arms left on full display. The wide, toothy grin.

             Not anything at all.

 Two.

             The second time was a detour.

             “Gabe, I mean this in the most respectful way, but if you do not finish writing a birthday card to the prince of [other kingdom, idk], we will be having a war council within the month.”

             “Gunther, he can’t even read. Why does it matter?” Tossing his head back and stretching his legs out, he acted like the brat he only was for Gunther.

             The guard delivered a withering glare without adjusting his rigid stance. Even the prince has to admit that Gunther seemed to be experiencing physical repercussions for his job. In just a month, the prince had aged his friend by a year, or so it seemed.

             Reluctantly, Gabe held in every protest dangling on the edge of his tongue and penned a birthday note to the two year old prince. “We have to deliver this in person?”

             “Yes.”

             Gabe groaned. He could not think of a prospect he hated more. In a month, he had not managed to gather enough poise to revisit his beloved Phuong at the bookstore. He merely whimpered the name in his sleep, according to an unusually smug Gunter. And now, to be separated by this meaningless trek?

             “To the post, Gabe. Not to [neighboring kingdom].”

             Ever the model prince, Gabriel drew himself upright immediately. “The post, you say,” he repeated regally. “The one three streets away from the bookstore.”

             “That’s the one.” His guard, his best friend, smiled tightly. “I intend to propose along the way, and your stringing this out is not helping my nerves.”

             His royal eyes wider than saucers, Gabe ruffled all of his curls in distress and excitement. “Propose! Why didn’t you say so, you big baboon?”

             “You were sulking, Highness.” Gunther’s smile is wry, only a little amused.

             “I most certainly was not. Agh, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

             In his rush, he sustained more injury to his hands that day than he had in the past year.

 -

             “So…” Phuong glanced at Gabe’s hands, a quick flicker of dark brown eyes. “What happened to your hands?”

             Prince Gabriel hid the offending bandaged digits behind his back. “A mishap while writing the world’s most useless letter.”

             “Oh?”

             “Its recipient can’t even read. OH!” Without thinking, Gabe grabbed at Phuong’s shirt, tugging in his hasty excitement. “He’s doing it, he’s-!”

             He turned, only to find his face alarmingly close to Phuong’s. Why was the other man looking at him anyway? Did it matter?

             The moment was broken too soon by a holler across the street. “GABE! SHE SAID YES!”

             “OF COURSE SHE DID, YOU BABOON!” He fired back, pretending not to feel the heat rising inside him from the sudden close proximity. “He’s going to look so hot at his wedding,” Gabe muttered dreamily, still clinging with bandaged fingertips to Phuong’s shirt.

             “I have something for you,” Phuong said suddenly. “I wasn’t sure when you would come back, but I have something.”

             It was the best news the prince had heard all day. Seeing Phuong while getting his work done and receiving a gift? Only the gods could provide such a setup.

             He was right, for once, that it was too good to be true. Phuong deposited a box of fanmail in the prince’s arms and turned away without a word.

 Three.

             The third time was a disaster.

             “Did you read them?” Phuong asked after the initial pleasantries had been exchanged.

             “The letters?” Gabe leaned on the counter. “Burned them.” He grinned, but back-pedaled when the joke falls flat.

             Phuong swallowed, then busied himself wiping down the counter. “You burned them?”

             “If I read every piece of fanmail I ever got, I wouldn’t survive, Phuong.”

             “I see. I suppose- No, never mind.”

             While he hadn’t burned them, Gabe hadn’t read them either. He had no reason to read confessions of love from women who didn’t stand a chance with him because 1) he didn’t like women like that and 2) he only had a certain pool of suitors to choose from. This thing he was perpetuating with Phuong… It would burn him eventually. But Phuong was still very, very hot, and Gabe was still very, very gay.

             There was no promise of reciprocated anything from the clerk. He was simply doing his job, and Gabe was just a guy that came in a little too often for a little too long. That was all.

             “What’s this about, then? Was there one I should have read? Is it from your sister?”

             “I don’t have a sister.”

             “Your cousin?”

             “Your Highness,” Phuong looks at him, finally. Gabe doesn’t enjoy it, though. Not the way the address comes out so clinical, so distant. “All the letters had the same handwriting. My handwriting.”

             The prince’s throat goes dry. “What?” He whispers.

             “I’m closing the shop early today,” the other man responds in that same distant voice. “You’ll need to leave, Your Highness.”

             Stunned, Gabe returns to the palace.

 -

             Each of the letters is one sentence long.

I hope this finds you well, Your Highness.

 The stars in your eyes shine brighter than mine, yet belong to the same single sky.

You’re a brat.

Gunther came to the bakery today; I’m strangely disappointed by your absence.

A heartless one, you turned out to be.

The stars in your eyes shine on different continents than mine, it seems.

 Foolish of me to write letters to someone I’ve only met once.

Why do I think of you so often, my most hated daydream?

              There’s one for every day of the month Gabe avoided Vanilla Pages.

             “Gunther?” He calls into the air. A maid scurries in instead, apologizing for the absence of his guard, a different guard trailing in behind her. “It’s fine. Will you bring me some alcohol?”

 Four.

             The fourth time was a mistake.

             The very same night, a very drunk Gabe stumbled through the streets. It would be a prime night for assassination, if anyone wanted to put him out of his misery. A shame that no one did.

             Mindless feet guided him back to the bookstore. Fruitlessly, he banged on the shut and bolted door.  

             An angry Gunther dragged him home, and Phuong was never the wiser.

 Five.

             The fifth time was purposeful.

            “Your engagement was decided today.”

             Hollow-eyed, Prince Gabriel blinked at the captain of his guard – a married man now. The wedding had been beautiful. As expected. “My what?”

             “Your engagement, Highness. She’s a very pretty woman, if it’s any consolation.”

             “It’s not.”

             “Phuong is also in very bad shape, if it’s any consolation. Rea said so.”

             “It’s not.” The words came muffled by the pair of hands covering the prince’s face. It was enough that he felt bad about everything. There was really no reason both of them should feel awful. “Gunther, clear my schedule for the next hour. I’m going to the bookstore.”

             “You’re engaged now.”

             “I’m aware. Betrothed men ought to tell other suitors when they’re off the market.”

             The intention is clear, and Gunther seems upset. Unreasonably so. “Your Highness-”

             “I have to, Gunther. I’m going to make him hate me so he can move on faster.”

             “But you-”

             “I always knew how this would end. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

             He was anything but okay. He was gay and in love and engaged to a beautiful woman who deserved the kind of love he could never give her because he was gay and desperately in love with someone else.

             Each solemn step of the way, he bid farewell to each part of the man he had inexplicably grown to love. Goodbye, beautiful hair. Goodbye, kind heart. Goodbye, brown eyes. Goodbye, biceps; goodbye, thighs. Goodbye, hands. Goodbye, stupid love letters.

             He walked in, announced his engagement to the ground, and fled before he could see the other man’s reaction.

 One.

             Phuong considered his life in chapters.

             They were typically large, vague categories of his life that were boring and tedious to live through. Childhood. Teenage years. Adulthood. Gabe. It was only this latest chapter that made any difference in anything he thought.

             Before Gabe, life was dull. Every day, the same. After him, every day was painful – but the good kind of painful that perhaps would lead to something. The second prince bore the name of the messenger of the lord, and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

             Apparently not. For Gabe to cut him off so quickly… If he had hoped to give Phuong any kind of conclusion about what they were and what they meant to each other, he failed spectacularly.

             After milling around Rea’s bakery for half the day, he finally called in his favor. “Rea, can I… Uhm…”

             “If you wait until sundown, Gunther will come home for dinner, and he can take you straight to the brat himself,” she replied before he finished the thought. “Just tell him how you feel, and if it goes bad, you can have free cakes for a week.”

             “I’ll get fat and unattractive.”

             “Honey,” she said in that pitying tone he’d so hoped to avoid.

             “Can I… Have a free cake now?”

 -

             Prince Gabriel and Gabe were very different people, and while Phuong had known this, it didn’t really dawn on him until he saw it with his own two eyes.

             Gabe – his Gabe – smiled and laughed at everything, had horrible posture because he was always trying to get that tiny bit closer to Phuong, and dressed horribly because he thought it’d work as a disguise.

             Prince Gabriel wore tailored clothes that made Phuong a little dizzy because of how they accentuated a man who didn’t need accentuating at all. Prince Gabriel spoke with authority and walked with it, too. He oozed it.

             Phuong didn’t know if this made his job any easier.

             The moment the door shut behind him, the prince groaned and stretched and stripped off his clothes from the day. He flopped face-first on the bed like a child and immediately called for the captain of his guard.

             “Is it okay that I’m here instead?” Phuong said softly.

             Unexpectedly, the prince jumped ten feet in the air. “Phuong?”

             A complicated series of expressions crossed the prince’s face. He looked like he wanted to be upset, but couldn’t, and in the end, he started to cry, reaching for Phuong with grabby hands and a bleeding heart. What a foolish prince, to wound himself like this, when he really didn’t need to be wounded at all.

             “Your eyes shine with stars that are different from mine, but they share the same sky,” Phuong murmured, climbing into the prince’s bed and pulling him into a clumsy embrace. “If you had read that, I thought you’d have understood.”

             “It’s not the same as telling me upfront. I can’t bank my decisions on I think.”

             “I know.”

             And the prince only cried more. This was all his heart had ever wanted, but it still didn’t tell his mind what to do. Could he afford to forfeit his engagement? Would he have to forfeit Phuong again, knowing what he knew now?

             He didn’t know. He didn’t care yet. It was hard to care with Phuong’s finger sliding through his curls, with feathery touches of lips to his forehead.

             “Gabe.”

             “Hm?”

             “I really, really like you. But I get it if you still have to let me go.”

             Gabe tightened his arms around Phuong. “I won’t. I don’t want to.”

             “Okay.”

Spoiler alert: I have no idea how to actually end this but I believe they figure out their way to get together and live happily ever after bc that was the whole point of this but I really can’t be bothered to write it out whoops

[acahope311]

Thorin looses track of the kids and they get into shenanigans. What does Amari do?

Ooh ho hooo! I love this-- I didn't take that Thorin loses track of the kids, moreover this happened to me when I was a kid lol! Enjoy 😊

The sun shone brightly as King Bard strolled leisurely through the morning markets. His subject greet him fondly and eagerly. When Bard reaches a specific side of the market, a toy merchant catches his eye and surveys the wares with his and his friend's children in mind. An ugly, small burlap doll catches her eye, the poor thing looks like it's been through the ringer and cursed for extra good measure. Darna would love this.

"I want it please?" A tiny familiar female voice sounds next the king. Huh. That sounds like... Snapping attention to the source, 3 pairs of blue eyes look up at them.

"Arnel? Darna?? Even Amorin?! What are you doing here?! Alone?!" Bard bends down and carries the babbling red haired Amorin. Arnel and Darna are glistening with sweat from being over dressed with multiple layers. Frowning, he begins to take off sweater after sweater, "why do you have so many sweaters on?"

"Adad and uncas gave it to us: 'too cold, your beards will fall off' but it's too hot." Arnel says as he raises his hands automatically waiting for his turn to be stripped of his many layers of sweater. Bard bends down and helps the young prince, when he was appropriately clad, Arnel pulls the clothing from the human King and folds it-- as best he could for a 6 year old. When finished, he looks to the ruler and bows.

"Thank you, king unca Bard." Smiling fondly, he ruffles the prince's hair.

"You're welcome, lad. But where is your father?" Darna reaches up and hold the hand of a raven haired dwarf standing next to her.

"He's right--" looking up she realizes that the dwarrow was not their father. Quickly she let's go of the man and runs to Bard, Arnel follows closely. As the twins watch the stranger walk away, a sudden thought dawns on all of them.

"Don't tell me, little one... that you followed that stranger thinking it was your adad...? The question causes the twins to freeze. Rigidly, they look around. Bewildered they stare back at the king. Darna's eyes begin to have a glazed sheen to them, a sign of tears.

"He was... we were... I don't know." She whispers. Arnel froze in place, looking for a strategy to find his father. Although trying to keep up a strong facade, small tears began to fall down his face. At the sight of his big sister and brother crying, Amorin loses it. Shrieking. So it was there that everyone in the market saw the King of Dale, dragon slayer, in disarray and at the mercy of three, sobbing, half dwarven half human children.

"Oh dear, don't cry, shhh shhh." He soothes, patting the baby on his back. Arnel quietly hiccups and pats Darna's back, following Bard's gesture

"Oh *hic* dear. Don't *sniffle* cry. Shhhh *hic* shhhhh" the sight warms everyone within a three stall radius as the other adults come and comfort the children.

--time skip to 30 minutes--

"FIND THEM! FIND MY CHILDREN!" Amari screams as she runs up and down the halls of Erebor. Thorin in tow, the Company dragged willingly behind her.

"Ghivashel-- do not fear, we will find them" Thorin's baritone voice washes over her, but to no avail. What usually would bring calm and peace to the Queen under the mountain just sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Turning to face him, she stood to her full height (which wasn't much considering there's just a 4-6in difference).

"I swear Oakenshield. If my babies are harmed, even one scratch, I'm gonna hang you by your thumbs. You're gonna wish Azog got you." She growled-- turning around, her red hair smacks his face, giving him a good waft of her beautiful scent. A love sick look crosses his face, watching her walk off. Dwalin moves next to him and shakes his head.

"Now is not the time, Thorin."

"I KNOW! SEARCH THE MOUNTAIN!" Thorin flusters. A snicker echoes behind him. The sound brings back his kingly aura to hum.

"Is there a problem?" He turns to the Company, idly looking anywhere but at him.

"No but uncle, where--"

Suddenly, the sounds of horns echo at the mountain's entrance.

"KING BARD APPROACHES" groaning the dwarves and Amari all approach the parapet, looking as to why the King of Dale was visiting on such short notice. All their faces fall flat at the sight; even from a distance, Thorin and Amari could see their children sitting on a horse pulled cart with a load of goodies behind them.

"What in Durin's beard!?" Running to meet them, Amari jumps over and under people to meet them at the gate.

"Mama!"

"My babies!" The twins jump off and run to their mother, tears in their eyes at the reunion.

"Are you ok?! Are you hurt?!" Amari looks over the children with great scrutiny. Thorin follows suit and bends and hugs his crying children.

"We're ok mama!" Darna says, muffled by burying her face in her father's chest-- hiding her tears. Arnel nodding in agreement as he hugs his father from the side. A sigh of relief comes as Bard walks over with a squeeling happy baby Amorin, reaching for his father. When all three children are in their father arms, Amari smiles, but just as the happiness comes, indignation flares.

"WHAT IN MAHAL'S NAME DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!" Amari shrieks. Thorin nods in agreement, a stern look on his face.

"OH NO! YOU ARE IN JUST AS MUCH TROUBLE OAKENSHIELD! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL--" An awkward cough saves the Durins from her wrath as she looks to Bard.

"As much as I want to see that, I do have to go back to Dale. And the children seems to have gone on their own shopping spree." Pointing to his cart, a mound of toys, sweets, and gadgets form a mini version of Erebor. Thorin pales at the cart. Amari, smiling in mischief and mirth at his reaction, laughs.

"Alright Bard, thank you so much for taking care of them. I promise we can pay--" Bard stops and reassures her that it was no trouble, considering he himself has 3 children. After the pleasantries and money were exchanged, the King rides back to Dale. A comfortable silence fall on them, Amorin's little snores were the only thing making sound. Although, from an outward perspective, the loving family was just enjoying each other's company. However--

"I am so mad right now... You're all in so much trouble" Amari says with a sickly sweet smile as she stares at her husband and three children. Turning around, the Queen under the mountain walks back calmly.

A chills settles on the Dwarf king and his children.

"Adad... I'm scared." Arnel whispers. The king grimaced and tries to hide his discomfort.

"Aye... me too son." Reluctantly, Thorin- with Amorin in one hand, Darna holding his other hand and Arnel walking next to her- walked back to his mountain, awaiting the impending storm brewing under the great dwarven halls.

Mahal give me strength.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? I

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

A/N: As you can see from the summary above, I have... had a very strange idea. But! It’s one I look forward to exploring, and this is an AU of a sort that will be revealed as the story progresses :) If you have any ideas what the AU is exactly, I’d love to hear them! Otherwise, I would also love to hear any other feedback, and I hope you enjoy! Please reach out with DMs, reblogs, or asks if you’d like to be added to the taglist, which will be at the end of the post. Skål!

Warnings: Hospital-like environments, mad science, injections, human experimentation, etc. Google translated Norwegian and German, and Old Norse in Italics!

Masterlist

—

The World Turned Upside Down

The first thing Freydis noticed was the bright lights overhead, even if she didn’t know how they were so bright. She shut her eyes against them, and moved her arm to cover her face in an attempt to block them out. When her arm didn’t move, held down by something wrapped around her wrist, her heart lept into her throat. She had thought to wake in Valhalla, to be welcomed by the gods after her sacrifice in saving Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless, facing him with what she had done and still fighting to save her own life from him. But… this could not be Valhalla, she thought.

Wherever she was, it was cold, and almost unnaturally bright. Her eyes finally opened again as her chest rose and fell quickly. She was hyperventilating. Vaguely, she became aware of a strange, high pitched sound that was short and quick. People around her were speaking, she heard their voices, but their words were foreign and unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem to her this could be Hel either. It didn’t match any description of what she knew from the legends and stories from home.

So… what was this place?

Freydis’s eyes soon adjusted to the bright lights, which she saw were coming from strange spheres, held up by… some sort of disk, on a pole? Her head turned to the side, and she groaned quietly. “Where am I?” she tried to call out. “Who is there?” Her voice was scratchy, and cracked under the attempted volume.

“Hun er våken,” she heard someone say, and she frowned. It sounded vaguely similar to her own language, but not quite familiar enough that she could make it out. She caught the first word, she, so… they were talking about her, weren’t they?

“Who are you?” she tried again.

A door behind her opened, catching her attention and making her quickly turn her head to look. The room began to spin with the speed she’d turned with, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“God morgen, Freydis,” the voice said, and her eyes opened to see a woman standing in front of her. The woman was dressed like no woman she’d seen before, in a strange white coat that came to her thighs, beyond which Freydis could see she wore loose pants, of a dark shade, and strange shoes which covered the front, sides, and back of her feet, but not the tops. “Ikke vær redd, vi er dine vinner, hm?”

She couldn’t understand enough of the woman’s words to respond, though she could catch not, we, and… friends? Was she saying they weren’t her friends? Her heart jumped again.

“What is happening?” the Viking woman tried to ask. When the woman put what was meant to be a calming hand on her arm, Freydis flinched and tried to jump away. A soft sob left her throat, one she hadn’t even realized had been building. “I don’t know what you want with me,” she started to say, “but please, just let me go. I will not cause you any trouble, I swear it.”

“Shh,” the woman said, beginning to stroke her hair. “Du er trygg her.”

You, and here. She wished they could understand each other, at the least. The woman looked toward the source of the strange sound, and sighed. It’s speed and frequency had increased. “Du er for stresset,” she mumbled. “Du må slappe av.”

“I cannot understand you,” Freydis tried to tell her, but the woman just shook her head.

“Du burde hvile,” she said. “Vi flytter deg til annet rom.”

The woman picked up a strange looking device, like a tube with some liquid in it, a long thing off the tip. Her breaths only became more shallow, more quick, as she brought the thing closer. “What is that?” Freydis asked. The woman didn’t answer, and she pushed the tip to her neck. A sharp pain immediately pierced her skin, and a soft cry came from the Viking woman. Something burned through her under her skin, making her gasp and writhe on the cold surface they had her strapped to.

“Hvil, Freydis,” the woman said. “Du vil føle deg bedre når du våkner igjen.”

The corners of Freydis’s vision were darkening, and she let out a quiet whine as she started to lose consciousness. Her chest ached in the worst way, feeling tight and strained. One last choked sob left her, and she descended into darkness.

—

When Freydis woke the next time, there was still darkness. Her head hurt, and her body felt stiff, but she could move. She was laid in a bed now, blankets laid over her body, her head resting on a pillow. It was better than what she’d been used to as a slave, the straw pallets she slept on, but not what she’d had as a Queen, as Ivar’s wife. The bed was small, with a firm mattress and flat pillow.

She sat up slowly, closing her eyes to combat again the way her head was spinning. Her hand went to her forehead as if that could help, brows creasing. Once she felt more steady, Freydis opened her eyes once again and started to look around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was nothing else in the room, it seemed, aside from her little bed. But that was better than that harsh surface from earlier. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, sighing.

At least now, Freydis could see she was alone. Without that woman in with her, she began to mumble softly to herself- or, really, to the gods. “You gods, you cannot leave me alone here,” she whispered. “Here I know no one, and I have nothing. If I must remain, help me to understand what it is I am to do here, and bring me a companion, so the loneliness will not set in and take my desire to do your will.” She sighed, running her hands over the wall, which felt much like the cold, hard surface she’d been strapped to earlier. It must have been made of the same material.

“I do not doubt that it is my fate to be here,” she continued, “and I will not question your judgement of my fate. I only ask it be made more bearable for me. For your servant, Freydis.”

At that time, she heard a clicking sound, the same sound that before had signalled a door opening. Her heart jumped as she whipped around, looking for whoever may have entered the space. This time, she was joined by a man, one who still dressed in no way she had ever seen. He wore similar pants to the woman, though his shoes covered his whole foot, and he had no strange white coat. Just a long sleeved shirt, a vest over that, and a… strange sort of bow fixed around his neck. What sort of clothing did they have there?

(It should be noted, at this time Freydis had not yet noticed the far stranger garment she wore- an almost nightgown sort of thing that stopped above her knees, and opened down the back except for the three or four places it was tied together.)

“Hei,” he greeted, smiling at her. Freydis lifted a brow in response, and subtly pressed herself closer to the wall. “Snakker du norsk?”

“I… do not fully understand you,” she told him, more confident without being tied down. “I can tell this once you have asked if I speak Norwegian, but only because the words are so similar to my own. But I do not speak your language.”

The man chuckled a little. “So my theory is correct, then,” he said. Her eyes widened as she recognized every word that came out of his mouth. “The Norwegian spoken today is similar to the Old Norse spoken in your time, similar enough much meaning can be understood, but not similar enough for the languages to be interchangeable. Fascinating.”

“What do you mean, ‘the Norwegian spoken today’?” Freydis questioned. “‘The Old Norse spoken in my time’? Hm? I don’t deny I am glad to hear my own language spoken, but you must understand the unnerving situation I find myself in. I do not know where I am, who you are- only that you are not my friends- and it would appear that I am being held captive. All I want, is-”

“Who has told you we are not your friends?” the man interrupted her. “Of course we are your friends. We’re- well, we’re the reason you’re alive, My Lady.”

“That woman who came to me when I was restrained. She said we were not friends. And then she took my consciousness.”

“Yes,” the man confirmed. “You were having a panic attack. We knew there’d be no use talking to you, explaining anything, if you were panicking. My colleague chose to sedate you so we could restore you to a calmer state, and explain then. She does not speak Old Norse, or perhaps she could have calmed you better than she did.”

“Perhaps I should not have been restrained, if calming me was your goal,” she pointed out flatly.

The man’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and her brow lifted. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But what we have done with you, has never been done before- not successfully. It has been attempted, but you are the first success.”

His words brought no comfort to Freydis, and her eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly to the side. “What did you do to me?” she questioned. Her voice had turned more firm than before, losing any of its naturally amicable tone, as she demanded this answer.

“We brought you back to life, of course.”

Everything froze at his words, including Freydis herself. She watched him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and then she laughed bitterly. “That is a cruel joke. If you want me to believe you have brought me back to life, then I must first have died. But I know I have not died, as I have not seen Valhalla. I do not believe you.”

The man sighed, and bit his lip. “Could I convince you to come with me, then?” he asked. “I can show you proof of my claims. Then, perhaps, you will let us help you.”

“If it is true you raised me from the dead, then you should be horrified with your actions. You have stolen me from Valhalla, and the gods, and interfered in fate. They will be angry.”

“Or, perhaps you have found a new fate with us,” the man suggested. “Come. I’ll introduce myself along the way.”

Perhaps against her better judgement, as she had nothing else she could do, Freydis walked to the man, and allowed him to take her from the small room she was in.

The man led her out into a long, bright hallway that felt similar in nature to the first room she’d woken in. Large, white rectangles seemed to light the space, and she creased her brows as she looked up at them. Something about them made her quite uncomfortable. She swallowed again.

“You have not told me where I am,” she commented. The man merely chuckled in response. “Do not laugh at me.”

“My apologies, Queen Freydis,” he said. “I was laughing because you’re right. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

Freydis narrowed her eyes at the man’s back. “No, I don’t,” she agreed harshly. “And I will not ask again. Where am I?”

“You are… in Germany, not that this will make any sense to you. You’d have known Germany as the Germanic tribes, which were part of the Frankish Empire.”

“Has it been taken from the Frankish?” she questioned. Her mind turned to her husband’s uncle, Duke Rollo, who had helped him take Kattegat. Freydis wondered vaguely if Rollo was alright.

The man chuckled again, but answered before he could anger the Viking woman behind him. “Many centuries ago, yes.”

A frown set on her lips as her brows creased harshly again. “I still do not believe you, that I have been dead before,” she said. “I fell unconscious at the Battle for Kattegat, and you have kidnapped me. Perhaps I am not even in the Germanic tribes.” She swallowed hard, making sure her voice did not shake, and no nerves were heard in her voice as she spoke again. “My husband will come and find me. You should return me to him before he destroys you and your people.”

She couldn’t see the way the man grimaced. History didn’t know that Ivar the Boneless murdered his wife after her betrayal. After all, she had been found sharing a tomb with him, buried like heroes together, and none of the sons of Ragnar had taken note of how Freydis had died- other than it was the day Björn Ironside took Kattegat. So, with her question, he was hit with the realisation that she didn’t know her husband was dead.

“He… is not a concern to us. We are safe, keeping you here,” he said vaguely. He hoped that Freydis wouldn’t realise anything about Ivar’s passing until she learned it truly was centuries later, and it would only make sense that he was gone, just as she once had been.

This caused Freydis to frown more deeply, and she suddenly stepped quicker to the man, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him into the wall. He immediately pulled away from her as best he could, though he did not escape her. His eyes squeezed tightly shut. Clearly, he was terrified of her.

“Ivar the Boneless will come for me,” she hissed out. “You would be wise to return me to him, entirely unharmed, before he raises up his Great Heathen Army again, to come and rescue his Queen.”

The man was shaking under her. Freydis wondered how little prepared these people must have been, if their men fell apart so easily. She wasn’t even a shieldmaiden, and yet he was terrified of her. “If- if we could get through this tour, I think you would see just what- what I mean about your husband, Your Highness.”

She huffed, and narrowed her eyes. “If you try anything, and he finds out, he will kill you. I’ll be sure of it.”

He nodded enthusiastically, still grimacing and trying to push himself into the wall. “Of course,” he said. “I’ve told you- we are your friends, here. We won’t hurt you.”

“See that you do not, or there will be Hel to pay.”

Eventually, he took Freydis into another strange room. Though this one was still different from all she had seen so far. It was filled with strange slabs of metal, all with moving images on them. People in the funny white coats, including the woman from earlier, were watching these moving images, and writing in a language she couldn’t read.

The images showed men and women strapped down the way she had been, the same strange devices put to their skin, sometimes multiple of them, and various liquids were pushed into them. The woman from earlier soon noticed Freydis’s presence, and she smiled, coming toward her. The Queen backed up immediately, and the woman’s face fell.

“Jeg antar at det er fornuftig at du ikke vil like meg, ikke sant?” she said. Freydis looked up to the man, as he had clearly understood her, and she didn’t understand this woman.

“Doktor Schmidt, sie spricht kein modernes Norwegisch,” the man said. This was yet another language, and Freydis frowned sharply. What the hell were they playing at.

“It is rude to speak in front of a guest in a way they cannot understand you,” she reminded him pointedly. “What are you saying to her, and what is she saying?”

The man turned to Freydis to answer, “I was telling her that you don’t understand modern Norwegian. She doesn’t speak the Old Norse you do, so I’m going to have to translate between you two, I suppose.”

“No need,” Freydis said. “She is the one who has brought me here, is she not? She put that strange liquid in me which took my consciousness. I will not speak to her.”

The man grimaced and relayed what she said to the woman, who pressed her lips together and sighed, before answering him. Freydis’s eyes watched his response intently.

“She is sad to hear this, but understands. Though, she asks your forgiveness for making you sleep earlier. You were beginning to have a panic attack, and she wanted to keep you from going through that.”

The harsh glare Freydis shot the woman revealed she did not have Freydis’s forgiveness. “Anxiety and panic are nothing I have not experienced before,” she said. “I would have been fine.”

Again, he spoke to the woman, but this time she didn’t stay to listen, her eyes catching on one of the moving images. She had seen herself flicker across it. An image of her sitting in a throne, eyes open yet unseeing, hovered in the upper right corner. She looked beautiful, if not… dead. Covering the whole thing was a moving image- the one in the corner was still- of people moving around a woman, strapped to and laid out on a cold… hard…

Gods above… she thought. It was her.

What Freydis was watching was footage of her being brought back to life by these scientists, who were testing various things on her corpse, monitoring her, until an order was given. A shot of something was put straight into her heart by one scientist, and then they all quickly cleared the room. It was then that she woke, and she watched the interaction she had had with the woman- now standing behind her- before she’d been rendered unconscious.

She watched as she was given a shot of a tranquiliser, and fell asleep, and then the image froze. “This is a monitor,” the man at her side said. “We play back videos on it, and can take notes on what we see in them. That video was of you being woken up for the first time- brought back to life. The picture in the corner there, that was your corpse as we found it. You were with your husband, Ivar the Boneless, in a tomb meant for heroes. Preserved. It was… it was incredible, really. To find you both so perfect, even after death. We were thrilled, naturally, and-”

Freydis stopped listening as another one of the ‘monitors’ shifted, and showed a different image that struck her to her core.

Ivar’s corpse, laid out on the same sort of table as she had been, and he was being injected with various things, just as she had been. She hadn’t seen that part of her own footage. She walked away from the scientists again, and up to the monitor, watching as an injection was given to him in his heart, just as had been done to her. The scientists in the room with him cleared out, and just as she lifted her fingers to the screen, her expression unreadable… Ivar the Boneless took a breath.

Freydis promptly passed out, and collapsed to the floor.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @zuzus-sun

[gospelofme]

The First Look

Part 1

The young King stared at the large map in front of him. His eyes were tired, but he couldn’t let them rest just yet. His father had passed a month ago and he was dealing with being challenged for his throne by another who sought power. He hadn’t even been officially coronated yet due to all the disruption of raiding, threats, and attempts on his life. Now he was going to put an end to this game.

“What about this place?” He pointed to a small clearing on the map with a tower drawn in the middle. The clearing was set deep in a forest, there was one small road that lead to the clearing.

“Your father approached that King many years ago for an alliance. They rejected our offer and further attempts at contact were met with hostility. Majesty, those woods are haunted. Witches and warlocks live in there.” His General advised.

“Do you believe in that stuff?” The King asked, looking up at the older man.

“I’ve seen that stuff with my own eyes, my Lord.”

“We need fighters, we won’t last five minutes in a battle with the Southern King.” The young ruler reasoned. They had sent out requests for alliances, no responses had arrived. At least not yet, the King tried to remain hopeful.

Later that night, the King sat on the balcony outside his room. He had a heavy blanket pulled up under his chin as he stared out at his dark lands, his people sleeping under his watchful eyes. His tired eyes, which had begun to droop, they soon closed.

He stood on a dirt road, old oaks rose on either side of him. Their heavy branches creaked and groaned as the wind played with them. There was a heavy mist around him, obscuring much of his surroundings. He looked ahead and saw a horsed figure far in front of him, facing him. A spear was held in the figure’s hand. Without warning, the horseman charged. The King tried to draw his sword, but he was unable to move at all. The horseman drew closer, raised the spear, and threw it.

The King startled awake when he landed on the stone floor of the balcony. He took a moment to steady his heartbeat, his breath misted in the cold air. He picked himself up off of the floor.

“Don’t let those child stories get to you.” He muttered to himself.

He sat on his horse at stared at the tiny road. It was the same one from his dream. They could only ride single file, which was risky. A heavy mist swirled around them, giving the area a gloomy atmosphere. But it also looked enchanting. His General was beside him, his brown courser shifted nervously.

“I want to state my disagreement again with not bringing weapons with us my Lord.”

“And I’ll note it once again. We don’t want to appear as the hostile party. If we’re unarmed, they hopefully won’t attack.”

“Hopefully.” His General muttered.

The King didn’t even dress in armor, he had chosen to wear a dark red doublet, breeches, and simple shoes. His General, who was armored with a surcoat, had expressed displeasure with this as well.

They traveled single-file down the road: the King, his General, and 4 horsed knights. They were a small group, but hopefully that was nonthreatening.

“Hopefully.” His General had said.

“They say if you venture off the road, you’ll be absorbed by this mist. The witches conjure it to blind travelers.” One of his knights spoke up.

“Ooohhhh spooky.” The King replied with a smirk. Suddenly, something flew inches from his face and slammed into a tree. An arrow glanced off his General’s pauldron and spiraled off.

“Go! Forward!” The King urged his antsy courser into a gallop. He heard the sounds of arrows whizzing passed him, but he couldn’t turn back. He needed to at least plead his case. He heard his men following behind him, at least they had armor to protect them. He saw movement tracking him to his left, but he didn’t want to look. A spear impaled itself into the ground in front of his courser, spooking the animal into rearing up. Although he was a good horseman, the King lost his balance and was thrown to the ground. The slippery leaves caused him to tumble down the hill on the right side of the road. Thankfully he managed to avoid any large trees, both standing and fallen. He came to a stop at the bottom, about 10 feet down from the road, landing on his back with a thump.

He stared up at the tree tops, but his view was soon obscured by a horse nose. The animal sniffed at the King’s face, the King pushing the horse’s face aside gently. A spear point replaced the soft, velvet nose. The owner of the spear was sitting atop the horse, clothed in loose, black pants and long-sleeved top. A large scarf was wrapped around the rider’s head and lower-half of their face.

“Get up!” The rider ordered, a woman’s voice. The King slowly got to his feet, hands raised. The woman prodded him to turn around with the flat side of her spearhead.

“Go, up the hill!” She ordered.

“Okay, okay.” The King nodded, speaking softly. The woman followed him on her horse, the point of her spear occasionally poked his back if he slowed. Once he was back on the road, his General had the reins of both his courser and the King’s. His men were unhorsed and surrounded by fighters dressed like the woman behind him.

The King made to walk towards his General, but was stopped by the woman’s spear.

“Woman, if you harm him-“ the General threatened.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” The King soothed, gently trying to push the spear away, it didn’t budge. The woman was strong.

“I would like an audience with the King of this forest.” He said, looking the woman in the eyes. Her brows furrowed as she glared at him.

“Walk.” She gestured down the road, towards where the clearing should be. He took the reins of his horse and followed her, his men following behind.

They walked in silence, the road seemed never ending. The King gave a sideways look at the woman’s horse, a magnificent Appaloosa. He was probably the finest of that breed the King had seen. The young King tickled the horse’s chin, the animal responding by playfully flapping his lips at the Royal’s fingers. The soft laugh of the King caught the woman’s attention. A stern rap on his hand with the spear butt was like when his mother would smack his hand away from the sweets at dinner.

“Woman, I won’t warn you again.” His General threatened.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” The King soothed.

The road opened up to the clearing, which seemed much larger than what the map depicted. There was a large stable with pastures to the left of a castle with two towers. A tower stood off to the side, a coup that housed doves for sending messages. The structure looked foreboding. The large, heavy doors parted and they were led into a courtyard. The woman dismounted and walked her horse back out to the stables, all but one of her fighters followed. The one who stayed behind handed his horse off.

“This way.” He said simply. The group followed him into the castle and into the throne room, which was empty. The dark, wooden empty chair sat on a raised platform in front of them. Two large ravens perched on the arm rest, their beaks nestled into their wings. The man then left them, the heavy doors to the throne room closing behind them.

For what seemed like hours, they sat there. A couple of his men even fell asleep. The King and his General sat on the steps leading up to the throne, the ravens ignored him. Everyone jumped to their feet when the large doors swung open thunderously. 20 armored knights filed in and lined the path to the throne, 10 on either side. A figure walked towards them, the light from outside silhouetting the form. The doors closed and the King could see it was the woman from the forest. She had put on a armored cuirass over her black top, the armor was black and fitted to her form. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, black runic tattoos were visible on her skin. Her dark red hair was set in braids of various sizes that disappeared into loose hair tied up into a long ponytail. Her face, though stunning to behold, bore a fierce expression. The King wouldn’t know it until many years later, but that was the moment his heart pledged itself to her.

She stalked passed him, up the steps to the throne, turned, and sat. The ravens, now alert, settled on her shoulders. The woman rubbed the beak of one and the chest feathers of another as she considered the men in front of her.

“If you wish an audience with the King, my father, my General can show you to the crypts. He may not be as chatty as he once was, but you might get lucky. If you wish an audience with the Queen, you may speak.”

Tag list

@crc-general-orin @halzore @thatonegreyghost @escapedthesarlacc @eyecandyeoz @jgvfhl @leias-left-hair-bun

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3