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aspiringtrashpanda · 8 months ago

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Beel and mc first date short fic ✨

Our sweet boy Beel deserves all the love <3 Let's gooooo!

Characters: Beel x MC Sharing food as a love language, pure fluff. Did first kiss too, I hope that's okay! No warnings apply

This was a joke, right?

You were seeing things. You had to be seeing things.

There was in no way in all the three realms that Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony and Ruler of the Underworld, had just placed half of his gigadeath burger on your plate.

Half. 0.5. ½.

You weren’t sure his stomach could handle such deprivation! He was a growing demon! He needed his nutrients!

“What?” Beel paused his chewing, burger grease dripping down his fingers and onto the checkered parchment paper on the tray before him. “You’re not hungry?”

Eyes flitting from the burger - the frankly delicious burger oozing premium molten mozzarella, the cheese mingling with the juice pooling from the sizzling meat patty - to his concerned gaze, you wiped the drool from the corner of your lip and shook your head. “It’s not that. It’s just… Don’t you want your whole burger?”

It was cute, the way he cocked his head to the side. His fiery hair fell into his eyes for a moment, his slow blink drawing your attention to his dark eyelashes. Your heart stuttered in your chest when he lifted his shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “I want you to try it. It’s really good.”

“Are you sure?” Your devil nuggets called your name from their carton next to your soda. They were tasty, sure, but that burger looked like something else.

“Yeah,” He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Did you think we were only coming here tonight?”

The taste flooding your tongue - savory and salty with a crunch from the fixings cradled between two soft buns - was so overwhelming, you didn’t register his words. You were too busy relishing in the richness of the burger as it traveled down your throat and to your stomach, warming you from the inside out. It didn’t even bother you that the patty was probably made from some weird Devildom animal that you would usually find unappetizing. The burger was too good to care.

Realization struck you like lightning from above. “Wait, what?”

It was not lost on you how Beel’s indigo gaze traced the tip of your tongue as you licked at the residual taste on your lips. Something unreadable lanced through his irises. Suddenly, it was awfully hard to meet his eyes, your heart firmly lodging itself in your throat.

Lazily nibbling on his last acidic hell fry, he suggested, “Want to have a campfire?”

“A campfire?” You echoed, ducking your head when you became self-conscious of your dumb expression.

His mind made up, he toweled off his greasy fingers and stood, the stool screeching against the wooden floors of Hell’s Kitchen. “Yeah,” Determination as sharp as his jaw set his brow into a deep furrow. “Come with me.”

Keeping up with Beelzebub on the hunt for food was easier than you had expected. Looming over most demons, his long legs gave him the ability to cover impressive distance with each step. However, you found it wasn’t difficult to wander the streets of the Devildom at his side. Maybe it was the way he moved slowly, with intention, as if he was trying to commit every second of this night to his memory. Maybe it was his big heart, always so considerate of those he cared about.

Maybe he was looking out for you, just as you always looked out for him. There was a reason you kept snacks on your person at all times, after all.

It had come as a surprise when Beel had requested your attendance for an impromptu dinner at Hell’s Kitchen. You had been drowning in homework, the sharp knock on your bedroom door startling you from your third attempt to actually absorb the words on the page in front of you.

“Hey, dinner tonight?” He had asked, so casually as if it was any other day.

“Sure,” You had smiled.

“Cool,” He had beamed that dazzling Beelzebub grin that stretched wide across his face. The one where you could count all of his sharp teeth. The one that creased his eyes into crescent moons and made your stomach twist into a pretzel. “It’s a date.”

You were pretty sure it had taken you at least five minutes to process the bomb he had dropped on you upon his exit. Another fifteen to find a suitable outfit - casual and comfortable, but also nice, you know? And you couldn’t possibly discount the solid forty minutes spent worrying over whether he was joking or being serious.

When he had met you in the entrance hall clad in his best jeans and a flattering, nice sweater, you felt the relief inflate your chest like a helium balloon.

And really, you still felt like you were walking on air. Even as you stood in the snacks aisle of a Devildom bodega, shying away from the unflattering glare of overhead fluorescent lights as Beel rifled through foil packaging with an intensity that you long learned accompanied his hunger.

He fought you tooth and nail at the register, amusement dancing upon his lips. “Why should you pay?”

“Because you bought dinner,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest as if it would possibly make you more intimidating in the eyes of the 6’4” demon.

“Hmmm,” he mulled over your argument for a millisecond, just to lean down and blow a raspberry in your face. He smirked, “Nope.”

It caught you off guard, your face burning as bright as a screaming tomato. Brattiness was usually Belphie’s expertise.

Mischief melting into soft affection in his indigo gaze, fixed to you as the bodega clerk processed his payment, he ventured, “What if… you cover our next date?”

You liked the way the tips of his ears flushed, the way he rubbed the back of his neck and shot you a sheepish, albeit genuine, smile.

“I think that would be fair.” A tickle spread across your cheeks, scrunching your nose and burning your skin.

Though, the heat from your flush had nothing on the warmth of the flames lapping at the inky Devildom sky. The embers shot like fireflies reaching for the stars, the campfire crackling within the confines of the pit, lined by rocks that would dwarf even Beelzebub’s palm. It had come as a surprise when Beel had led you off the beaten path, guiding you to a clearing in a forest not too far from the House of Lamentation. However, the secret fire pit made a lot more sense when he explained that it was typically reserved for stargazing with Belphie.

“Are those… rice krispie squares?” You asked, the pop of an adhesive seam wafting vanilla your way.

“They’re crackling mallow bars,” Beel corrected, though there was no judgment in his tone. He had this way of introducing you to Devildom cuisine in a manner that felt familiar, like he understood that there were a lot of similarities between the dishes you knew. “They’re made up of marshmallows and these crispy marrow bits that are caramelized and -”

“Do they taste sweet?” You suppressed a grimace at the unappetizing description.

He chucked, the sound oozing reassurance, “Yes.”

“Okay, cool.” As he retrieved two long sticks, splitting into sharp prongs at the tip, nostalgia hit you like a truck. You hummed, “I used to eat something like this all the time when I was little.”

He raised a brow. “You’re still little.”

“Very funny.”

He laughed. Peeling the wrapper from two treats, he secured both on the ends of the sticks. “Have you ever roasted them over a campfire?”

“I never considered that. They would melt pretty fast, wouldn’t they?”

“You would think so,” He passed you a stick, eyes warm with encouragement and something akin to childlike awe, “But they actually hold up for a while.”

For a moment, it was quiet. Just you and Beel and the chirps of the hell crickets in the undergrowth. It was hard to pay attention to the way the sweet bars darkened, a char climbing up the chunks of… marrow, or whatever… when you could feel Beel’s eyes on you.

When you met his gaze, he was ready, already pulling the snack from his stick. “Here, try this.”

The marshmallow near compromised, the dessert fell apart in his large hands. Beel’s fingers tangled in sticky sweetness, you gasped in delight as strings of sugar stretched towards you with his gesture. “Oh, it’s so gooey!”

His smile was so big, so warm, and you had the sudden thought that if you were in Icarus’s shoes, you too would fly too close to the sun. He went to feed you the treat, laughing, “Open wide!”

The explosion of flavor on your tongue - hot and sweet with that smoky campfire accent - had you squirming in delight, a thrilled hum vibrating in your throat. You were grateful that Beel thought to remove your stick from the fire. You were far too occupied with your new favorite snack to notice it about to ignite.

Beel’s laughter died, his brow furrowing as conflict eclipsed the joy in his gaze. You looked to him, confused. “What?”

Had he always been that close? Had he been watching you with such longing this entire time?

“You’ve got a bit of marshmallow…” His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, eyes zeroing in on your lips. “Can I?”

You nodded. Your mouth was so dry, your pulse in your ears. With his nose nudging yours, you could taste the sweetness of the marshmallow treat on his breath, feel the way you were drawn closer like sticky sugar insistent on holding you together.

His lips brushed yours - soft and chaste. It was funny how a kiss so gentle could hold so much weight. Featherlight, a tender brush, and yet you felt as though the prints of his lips were engraved on yours forevermore.

“Mmm, tastes extra good,” he breathed, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs smoothed over your skin, his eyes reading your soul as you leaned in to kiss him again. A peck to his lips, to his nose, to the apples of his cheeks.

“What are you thinking about?” You murmured, reveling in his proximity, his radiant warmth.

“Trying all my favorite foods off your lips,” He smiled, the twitch of his lips slotting against yours with such ease. “Think we could try that?”

“Sure,” You laughed, “It’s a date.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

this is low-key a love letter to burgers. My requests are open! Find more info HERE. Banner by @4laurus. Check out her work - and also her Beel.

#obey me beelzebub #obey me beel x reader #obey me beel x mc #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #my writing #aspiringtrashpanda #drabbles open #obey me fanfic

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jadeazora · 2 months ago

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It's a new month in Masters, so we have Tierno added as a Damage Challenge reward pair and Shauna in the Lodge. And oof, that Subway event battle. I brought in Lunala and Giratina but they barely were scraping Cofagrigus, even with a Ghost Zone up. Fortunately, Red and Ash were able to clear it no problem tho. Getting mission rewards looks like it's not really worth doing since it just rewards LvUp items and the event Title, and I don't really care too much about that so much as I do gems.

The first TCG Pocket event begins today! Meowth cosmetics are in the shop, Meowth and Chansey promos are available thru Wonder picks, and you can complete missions to earn Shop tickets!

And the monthly rollover for Cafe Remix, the Premium monthly goal Pokemon is Galarian Ponyta!

#pokemon masters #pokemas #rival shauna #pokemon tierno #pokemon xy #pokemon cafe remix #pokemon cafe mix #galarian ponyta #pokemon tcg #pokemon trading card game #pokemon tcg pocket #chansey #meowth

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the-avaricious-meddler · 5 months ago

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Name: Alana _____ Monikers: -The Gambling Former Noble/The Gambling Revolutionary (depending on what circles you're in) -Mr Cards Age: 27 (Main 4 storyline), 34 (Violet Storyline) Species: Transition phase between Human and Curator Gender/Pronouns: Girlthing (She/it) Ambition: Heart's Desire (Power Ending) Profession: Correspondent Lodgings: Suite at The Royal Bethlehem Closest To: Revolutionaries Other Affiliations: The Liberation of Night (Allies), The Masters of The Bazaar (Target), The Cardsharp Monkey (Ally), Mr Pages (Enemy), Virginia (Enemy), The Bishop of St Fiacre's (Rival, One-sided), The Manager of The Royal Bethlehem (Complicated), Rubbery Men, Tomb-Colonists, The Court of The Wakeful Eye, The Dilmun Club (tentatively), The Youthful Naturalist, Polythreme Most Valued Primary Stat(s): Persuasive, Shadowy Most Valued Advanced Stat(s): Artisan of The Red Science, Kataleptic Toxicology Ship: Il-Altun-class Yacht Estivals Experienced: Horticulture Hell, The Sixth Coil

Exceptional/Premium stories canon to this character: Caveat Emptor

Personality: Well-meaning but selfish, artistically inclined, loyal to allies but not always honest about who those allies are. Has strong revolutionary leanings, and aids The Liberation of Night- though unless you are already enmeshed in revolutionary circles, you wouldn't know it. Nasty gambling habit.

History:

Born on the surface in 1868 to a declining noble family. Despite this, they still had a sizable estate, though they were frequently forced to use 'less than desirable' means of moneymaking to preserve their wealth. Her father was a factory-owner, and wanted her older brother to inherit it, whilst she was to be wed to a more successful family to boost the wealth of her own. She frequently witnessed the poor treatment her family's servants- and the factory's workers- were put through, causing her to become jaded to her way of life.

When she was 16, she turned to gambling, and through this she met a group that would permanently alter the course of her life- a small band of Liberationists that still lived on the surface. She joined them in secret, knowing there would be consequences should her family learn of her association. And eventually they did, and there were. At 18, she was discovered and fully disowned, ousted with little more than the clothes on her back.

She would remain on the surface for 7 years more, before deciding she could do more for her cause if she moved out of the Stars' sight. And so at age 25, she descended to The Neath, taking up residence in a cheap rookery somewhere between Veilgarden and Spite. It was around this time she learned about The Marvellous, and began to hatch a plan: she would find a way into this game, win at whatever cost, and use this victory to gain Power. Status. Enough to get into ranks high enough to consort with the Masters of The Bazaar. And from there, she would subvert, sabotage. Use that power to tear them apart from the inside.

Two years of searching. That was how long it took for her to get a potential in to the Marvellous. And how long it took for her to learn she'd have to wait five more if she wanted to play by the game's usual rules. But she wasn't interested in waiting that long. So she set about 'gently encouraging' the current set of players to begin the game early.

(Major spoilers for Ambition: Heart's Desire below)

A peculiar monkey, Intelligent beyond what it should be though not keen on communication, became her companion in this endeavor.

And her attempts, though tiresome and annoying, and requiring her to convince an imprisoned former Prince of hell to pretend to pretend to be freed and make an even further enemy out of the deviless Virginia, were ultimately successful. She convinced almost every player.

And then a larger obstacle presented itself: a Master of The Bazaar was a player. One Mr Pages, whom she already disliked, at that. She unfortunately needed to get its attention. But how?

It was then an individual she would come over time to despise showed up at her door. They introduced themself with no name, only a moniker: The Avaricious Meddler. A moniker she had heard before, not long after she'd descended to the Neath. One many disparate individuals had taken up over the decades with seemingly no connection.

They offered her a deal: They would help her with her goals, if she just did them a little favor later down the line. Not trusting them, but not having many other options, she agreed.

They told her the location of a long-inactive cell of revolutionaries, and what to tell them to get them into action. What to do to target The Bazaar itself.

Of course, before any part of this plan could be carried out, none other than Pages itself showed up. And it asked her to join the Marvellous. ...How convenient.

She agreed, of course. One doesn't turn down that kind of convenience when it quite literally comes knocking at one's door.

Being the one to disrupt the players' lives by starting the game up five years early, it fell upon her shoulders to put in the footwork to actually get things going. She would find a venue that fit with everyone's requirements, and convince whomever owned it to let them play there.

Of course, that location ended up being Arbor, one of the most irritating places to travel to. She was not unconvinced she was in some way being punished for her insistence.

(To be continued...)

#fallen london #fl #fallen london oc #fl oc #oc tag #my art #alana #the gambling former noble #the gambling revolutionary

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 2 years ago

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CONGRATS STAR!

I’m here for Jake and “What are you doing up?” “My personal heater went away.” 🫠🫠

Cassie! Thanks for your congratulations! Here is your cute and fluffy Jake blurb for “What are you doing up?”, “My personal heater went away.” I hope you like it! 🥰😁

I Wouldn't Want This Without You

In hindsight, you should've known that you could take the Texan out of Texas, but he'd never really like the snow. Jake was so fond of you that when you'd suggested spending two weeks skiing in Colorado over Christmas and New Year's, he'd agreed almost immediately. He'd gone all out. He'd booked an apartment with a fireplace and views of the slopes, purchased ski gear and premium passes for the slopes, and done everything. And his excitement was catching. You'd been starry-eyed, dreaming of the trip for the entire month before you were due to leave.

The two of you had driven up to your AirBnB in the middle of a snowstorm the night before. Seeing the fat flakes drift lazily down from the sky, glistening in the late afternoon light, was intoxicating. While Jake had checked you in, you'd hopped out of the passenger seat, your head upturned, letting the flakes dust across your cheeks and catch in your hair and eyelashes. Jake had twirled you about in the snow, a childlike gleam in his eyes at the sight. Of course, the cold had set in later that night, and you’d walked out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and sweats to find the fireplace roaring and Jake wearing flannel-lined pants, thick socks, a long-sleeve t-shirt, and a sweater over it. He’d complained that he was cold until he fell asleep.

On your first day on the mountain, you’d been up with the birds, excitement flowing through your veins at the thought of the crisp, clean powder that had been falling from the sky all night. Jake, on the other hand, had reached for you, grumbled under his breath while still asleep, and rucked all the blankets around his body until all you could see was the top of his head. It made you giggle, looking at him as you got ready to hit the ski lifts.

Jake finally left the bed 45 minutes later when the scent of coffee yanked him out of his dreams. That was pretty much what the rest of the day had been like. You'd had a blast coursing down the slopes, rejoicing in the perfect snow and conditions. Jake spent most of the day falling on his ass. You should probably correct yourself in your earlier statements. Jake had thought of everything on your trip except ski lessons for himself.

"Sweets, I'm going to have a bruise the size of Texas on my ass when we get to the apartment." He'd groused on more than one occasion before he sidled up to you and murmured, "You're going to kiss it better, right?"

And you’d brushed the snow out of his parka each time, kissed his cold-bitten pink lips, and told him to try again. As the day progressed, you’d seen how the cold had sapped his good mood and how he struggled to stay cheerful for you. He’d nearly fallen asleep into his food when you ate dinner at the lodge. When Jake had face flopped onto the bed exhausted, you’d undressed him and tucked the blankets around his shoulders before curling into his arms. You’d fallen asleep soon after him, your body and mind just as exhausted after the relentless onslaught of the weak winter sun and biting cold.

Everything is dark when you wake up. The bedroom is illuminated only by the glowing embers of the fire and the blue glow from the snow piled up on the mountain town. The alarm clock glowing on the coffee table tells you it is just past 3AM. You’re still exhausted, but your mind won’t let you sleep, no matter how you curl into Jake’s arms. Fifteen minutes of tossing and turning later, you carefully slip out of his arms, padding silently out to sit on the sofa in front of the colossal windows in the living room. It’s started snowing again since the two of you had turned in for the night, and you’re content to sit and just observe the snow as it falls.

As you do, your mind turns to Jake. Things hadn’t always been smooth between you. In fact, he’d hated your guts when you were first introduced to each other. You were a friend of Natasha’s, Phoenix, as her squadron knew her, and she’d wanted you to meet the people she trusted her life with every day. You thought you’d been nice when you met him, introducing yourself and striking up a conversation with him like you would have anyone else. Phoenix had told you he flirted with everyone under the sun, so that’s what you’d expected. But what you got instead was a stand-offish rude man who’d greeted you perfunctorily and then walked away. Your rampant lack of self-esteem had taken it to mean that you were too ugly to flirt with. The more you saw Jake, the more you hated yourself. Everything had reached a fever pitch the day you’d been stood up at the Hard Deck on a blind date. You’d walked up to the pool table, handed Tasha your bag, and locked yourself in the bathroom.

Jake had been the person to get you out of there a couple of hours later. He’d wheedled and charmed until you giggled on the other side of the door and hugged you tight when you finally stepped out. The rest, as they say, was history. Of course, he’d gotten the shovel talk of all shovel talks from Natasha, but you adored him. It’s been nearly a year since that fateful night, and you couldn’t imagine your life as it was before Jake. You love Jake. You love him with all your heart. So how are you going to tell him? You’re not a nun. Far from it. Your sex life with Jake has been mind-blowing. Every time you’re intimate with him, your orgasms take your breath away. And you know he loves you too. So why can’t you tell him?

You’re startled out of your thoughts when an arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Jake, what are you doing up?” You nuzzle into his chest as he drapes the blankets he’s carried from the bed around you.

“My personal heater went away, sweets.” He presses a kiss against your temple before tugging you into his lap. “The real question is, what are you doing up?”

“I just woke up, and my mind wouldn’t quiet down enough to let me get back to sleep.” You shrug, playing with one of the tassels on the blanket’s edge as you stare out over the snowy vista.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” His arms are so warm as you cuddle closer to him. “Please tell me, beautiful, especially if I did something wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did. C’mon, sweetheart.”

Your resulting sigh is shuddery as you play with his fingers. “It’s not anything you did, Jake. Not intentionally, anyhow.” You turn in his arms and straddle his lap. His hands rest on your waist as you cup his face in your hands.

“So, what is it, gorgeous?” You can see something way too close to resignation on his face as you peer into his eyes in the half-light. “If you want to break up with me 'cause I can’t ski to save my life, can it wait until we’re home?”

“I’m not breaking up with you, Jake.” You swallow, trying to collect the words. “I love you. So, so much. But what’s happened, I don’t know if we’re, if you’re ready for.”

You can’t see his face when you say the next words, so you snap your eyes closed before finally spitting the words out. “I’m pregnant. 10 weeks. I found out a week ago. And I know I should’ve told you sooner. But you’re away so much, and while you love being an uncle, that’s different than being a dad. I didn’t want this to be the reason why we fell apart. M’so”

You’re cut off by the sweetest kiss Jake has ever pressed against your lips. His tongue slides soothingly across your bottom lip, pressing into the seam of your mouth until you’re kissing him with all the passion he’s kissing you. You’re breathing raggedly when he pulls away, and you open your eyes. This is a look on Jake’s face you’ve never seen before.

“I love you, gorgeous. You make me the happiest man in the world every day I wake up by your side. And now you’re giving me a family? I never thought I’d have that happy home to return to before you. I’m going to take care of you and this baby. I promise.”

You kiss him wrapping your arms around his neck before fishing your phone out of the pile of blankets around you both.

“Want to see the pregnancy test and come to my 12-week scan when we get back home?”

“Yeah, sweets.” His voice sounds so fond as the two of you go through the pictures.

“Merry Christmas, Jake.” He presses a kiss against your jaw before setting his palm against your lower stomach. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you both. We’ll figure out all of the rest of this together.”

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #100 follower celebration #top gun imagine #top gun fluff #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fluff

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charlesandmartine · 3 months ago

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Sunday 6th Oct 2024

Perhaps the most noticeable and improbable thing about HK is that it is pinned up against a hillside of immense proportions. Noticeable because it is so steep, improbable because somehow they attach buildings of such monstrous proportions to it. These are tall buildings; Liam's apartment includes a rooftop on floor 28 and his is a shorter building than many. Land is so expensive that it has to be managed and be efficiently utilised. To this end, outdated buildings are demolished and the city echos to the sound of pile drivers fixing foundations and clearing space for new ones. Foundations go deep through many meters of sand before they hit bedrock. A thoughtful aid to the weary wayfarer, city planners have installed escalators that will convey you effortlessly up the steep roads whilst also being sheltered from the effects of the sun although during the course of the day they will change direction; down for the morning, up afternoon for workers going to and fro to work. Space is at an absolute premium so cost of property is astronomical. Most people rent the smallest of space for a huge price; the most expensive real estate in the world. The streets as well being narrow and steep, charmingly retain the vestages of colonial rule, Peel St, Staunton St, Elgin St, Wellington St. Shelley St. We looked round market halls selling everything including frogs. Saw ladies working a Singer sewing machine in a roadside cabinet the size of an office cupboard. In a city built on commerce, there's a place for everyone.

We then caught the rattling tram to Kennedy Town which is at the furthest extent of the underground system. The old tram unit, running off overhead wires clattered its way through streets and streets of anonymous identical tower blocks, the sort you would wonder if you would ever find again, especially after an SB or two. Breakfast was interesting. Pretty much every meal is structured the same way; what do you want with your rice? Chicken, pork or in my case goose. It was fatty, tender, tasty, greasy and absolutely fantastic.

Underground back into town , Wan Chai and up to top floor in Poppinjays for a refreshing tonic and then take the Peak Tram to Peak Hill, the highest hill on Hong Kong island at 552 meters. The funicular railway system which is 130 years old but recently renovated climbs swiftly up the hill of gradients between 4 and 25.7 degrees! The views from the top are completely stunning, looking down on the tops of buildings which from below seem to dissappear to the skies but from here look like spikes in the road. But then raise your gaze to the horizon, across the sea, across Kowloon Island and beyond passing the mountain range and there's the mainland of the People's Republic of China! It is remarkable that when creation looks about as good as it gets, mankind can add a finishing touch with the built environment to make it look just perfect.

A short stroll through shaded lanes and we reached the Governor's Summer Lodge. Now a park open to the public and an extremely lovely relaxing place to end an afternoon with tremendous views across the city.

ps. It's has been very warm today and the humidity seemed higher.

pss. Calamari tonight!

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vacation-resort-solutions · 1 year ago

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The Lofts at Green Valley - Your Ultimate Getaway Retreat Discover the epitome of luxury and relaxation at The Lofts at Green Valley. Nestled in a picturesque location, these meticulously designed lofts offer a perfect blend of comfort and sophistication. Unwind in style and immerse yourself in the tranquility of Green Valley's stunning surroundings. Your dream getaway starts here.

#getawayvrs #vacation rentals #vacation resort solutions #Green Valley retreat #luxury vacation rental #upscale accommodations #tranquil getaway #The Lofts #premium lodging #scenic destination #travel escape #relaxation haven #exclusive retreat #GetawayVRS.

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dailyanarchistposts · 23 days ago

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Topics: health care, monopoly

In a recent article for Tikkun, Dr. Arnold Relman argued that the versions of health care reform currently proposed by “progressives” all primarily involve financing health care and expanding coverage to the uninsured rather than addressing the way current models of service delivery make it so expensive. Editing out all the pro forma tut-tutting of “private markets,” the substance that’s left is considerable:

What are those inflationary forces? . . . [M]ost important among them are the incentives in the payment and organization of medical care that cause physicians, hospitals and other medical care facilities to focus at least as much on income and profit as on meeting the needs of patients. . . . The incentives in such a system reward and stimulate the delivery of more services. That is why medical expenditures in the U.S. are so much higher than in any other country, and are rising more rapidly. . . . Physicians, who supply the services, control most of the decisions to use medical resources. . . . The economic incentives in the medical market are attracting the great majority of physicians into specialty practice, and these incentives, combined with the continued introduction of new and more expensive technology, are a major factor in causing inflation of medical expenditures. Physicians and ambulatory care and diagnostic facilities are largely paid on a piecework basis for each item of service provided.

As a health care worker, I have personally witnessed this kind of mutual log-rolling between specialists and the never-ending addition of tests to the bill without any explanation to the patient. The patient simply lies in bed and watches an endless parade of unknown doctors poking their heads in the door for a microsecond, along with an endless series of lab techs drawing body fluids for one test after another that’s “been ordered,” with no further explanation. The post-discharge avalanche of bills includes duns from two or three dozen doctors, most of whom the patient couldn’t pick out of a police lineup. It’s the same kind of quid pro quo that takes place in academia, with professors assigning each other’s (extremely expensive and copyrighted) texts and systematically citing each other’s works in order to game their stats in the Social Sciences Citation Index. (I was also a grad assistant once.) You might also consider Dilbert creator Scott Adams’s account of what happens when you pay programmers for the number of bugs they fix.

One solution to this particular problem is to have a one-to-one relationship between the patient and a general practitioner on retainer. That’s how the old “lodge practice” worked. (See David Beito’s “Lodge Doctors and the Poor,” The Freeman, May 1994).

But that’s illegal, you know. In New York City, John Muney recently introduced an updated version of lodge practice: the AMG Medical Group, which for a monthly premium of $79 and a flat office fee of $10 per visit provides a wide range of services (limited to what its own practitioners can perform in-house). But because AMG is a fixed-rate plan and doesn’t charge more for “unplanned procedures,” the New York Department of Insurance considers it an unlicensed insurance policy. Muney may agree, unwillingly, to a settlement arranged by his lawyer in which he charges more for unplanned procedures like treatment for a sudden ear infection. So the State is forcing a modern-day lodge practitioner to charge more, thereby keeping the medical and insurance cartels happy—all in the name of “protecting the public.” How’s that for irony?

Regarding expensive machinery, I wonder how much of the cost is embedded rent on patents or regulatorily mandated overhead. I’ll bet if you removed all the legal barriers that prevent a bunch of open-source hardware hackers from reverse-engineering a homebrew version of it, you could get an MRI machine with a twentyfold reduction in cost. I know that’s the case in an area I’m more familiar with: micromanufacturing technology. For example, the RepRap—a homebrew, open-source 3-D printer—costs roughly $500 in materials to make, compared to tens of thousands for proprietary commercial versions.

More generally, the system is racked by artificial scarcity, as editor Sheldon Richman observed in an interview a few months back. For example, licensing systems limit the number of practitioners and arbitrarily impose levels of educational overhead beyond the requirements of the procedures actually being performed.

Libertarians sometimes—and rightly—use “grocery insurance” as an analogy to explain medical price inflation: If there were such a thing as grocery insurance, with low deductibles, to provide third-party payments at the checkout register, people would be buying a lot more rib-eye and porterhouse steaks and a lot less hamburger.

The problem is we’ve got a regulatory system that outlaws hamburger and compels you to buy porterhouse if you’re going to buy anything at all. It’s a multiple-tier finance system with one tier of service. Dental hygienists can’t set up independent teeth-cleaning practices in most states, and nurse-practitioners are required to operate under a physician’s “supervision” (when he’s out golfing). No matter how simple and straightforward the procedure, you can’t hire someone who’s adequately trained just to perform the service you need; you’ve got to pay amortization on a full med school education and residency.

Drug patents have the same effect, increasing the cost per pill by up to 2,000 percent. They also have a perverse effect on drug development, diverting R&D money primarily into developing “me, too” drugs that tweak the formulas of drugs whose patents are about to expire just enough to allow repatenting. Drug-company propaganda about high R&D costs, as a justification for patents to recoup capital outlays, is highly misleading. A major part of the basic research for identifying therapeutic pathways is done in small biotech startups, or at taxpayer expense in university laboratories, and then bought up by big drug companies. The main expense of the drug companies is the FDA-imposed testing regimen—and most of that is not to test the version actually marketed, but to secure patent lockdown on other possible variants of the marketed version. In other words, gaming the patent system grossly inflates R&D spending.

The prescription medicine system, along with state licensing of pharmacists and Drug Enforcement Administration licensing of pharmacies, is another severe restraint on competition. At the local natural-foods cooperative I can buy foods in bulk, at a generic commodity price; even organic flour, sugar, and other items are usually cheaper than the name-brand conventional equivalent at the supermarket. Such food cooperatives have their origins in the food-buying clubs of the 1970s, which applied the principle of bulk purchasing. The pharmaceutical licensing system obviously prohibits such bulk purchasing (unless you can get a licensed pharmacist to cooperate).

I work with a nurse from a farming background who frequently buys veterinary-grade drugs to treat her family for common illnesses without paying either Big Pharma’s markup or the price of an office visit. Veterinary supply catalogs are also quite popular in the homesteading and survivalist movements, as I understand. Two years ago I had a bad case of poison ivy and made an expensive office visit to get a prescription for prednisone. The next year the poison ivy came back; I’d been weeding the same area on the edge of my garden and had exactly the same symptoms as before. But the doctor’s office refused to give me a new prescription without my first coming in for an office visit, at full price—for my own safety, of course. So I ordered prednisone from a foreign online pharmacy and got enough of the drug for half a dozen bouts of poison ivy—all for less money than that office visit would have cost me.

Of course people who resort to these kinds of measures are putting themselves at serious risk of harassment from law enforcement. But until 1914, as Sheldon Richman pointed out (“The Right to Self-Treatment,” Freedom Daily, January 1995), “adult citizens could enter a pharmacy and buy any drug they wished, from headache powders to opium.”

The main impetus to creating the licensing systems on which artificial scarcity depends came from the medical profession early in the twentieth century. As described by Richman:

Accreditation of medical schools regulated how many doctors would graduate each year. Licensing similarly metered the number of practitioners and prohibited competitors, such as nurses and paramedics, from performing services they were perfectly capable of performing. Finally, prescription laws guaranteed that people would have to see a doctor to obtain medicines they had previously been able to get on their own.

The medical licensing cartels were also the primary force behind the move to shut down lodge practice, mentioned above.

In the case of all these forms of artificial scarcity, the government creates a “honey pot” by making some forms of practice artificially lucrative. It’s only natural, under those circumstances, that health care business models gravitate to where the money is.

Health care is a classic example of what Ivan Illich, in Tools for Conviviality, called a “radical monopoly.” State-sponsored crowding out makes other, cheaper (but often more appropriate) forms of treatment less usable, and renders cheaper (but adequate) treatments artificially scarce. Artificially centralized, high-tech, and skill-intensive ways of doing things make it harder for ordinary people to translate their skills and knowledge into use-value. The State’s regulations put an artificial floor beneath overhead cost, so that there’s a markup of several hundred percent to do anything; decent, comfortable poverty becomes impossible.

A good analogy is subsidies to freeways and urban sprawl, which make our feet less usable and raise living expenses by enforcing artificial dependence on cars. Local building codes primarily reflect the influence of building contractors, so competition from low-cost unconventional techniques (T-slot and other modular designs, vernacular materials like bales and papercrete, and so on) is artificially locked out of the market. Charles Johnson described the way governments erect barriers to people meeting their own needs and make comfortable subsistence artificially costly, in the specific case of homelessness, in “Scratching By: How the Government Creates Poverty as We Know It” (The Freeman, December 2007).

The major proposals for health care “reform” that went before Congress would do little or nothing to address the institutional sources of high cost. As Jesse Walker argued at Reason.com, a 100 percent single-payer system, far from being a “radical” solution,

would still accept the institutional premises of the present medical system. Consider the typical American health care transaction. On one side of the exchange you’ll have one of an artificially limited number of providers, many of them concentrated in those enormous, faceless institutions called hospitals. On the other side, making the purchase, is not a patient but one of those enormous, faceless institutions called insurers. The insurers, some of which are actual arms of the government and some of which merely owe their customers to the government’s tax incentives and shape their coverage to fit the government’s mandates, are expected to pay all or a share of even routine medical expenses. The result is higher costs, less competition, less transparency, and, in general, a system where the consumer gets about as much autonomy and respect as the stethoscope. Radical reform would restore power to the patient. Instead, the issue on the table is whether the behemoths we answer to will be purely public or public-private partnerships. [“Obama is No Radical,” September 30, 2009]

I’m a strong advocate of cooperative models of health care finance, like the Ithaca Health Alliance (created by the same people, including Paul Glover, who created the Ithaca Hours local currency system), or the friendly societies and mutuals of the nineteenth century described by writers like Pyotr Kropotkin and E. P. Thompson. But far more important than reforming finance is reforming the way delivery of service is organized.

Consider the libertarian alternatives that might exist. A neighborhood cooperative clinic might keep a doctor of family medicine or a nurse practitioner on retainer, along the lines of the lodge-practice system. The doctor might have his med school debt and his malpractice premiums assumed by the clinic in return for accepting a reasonable upper middle-class salary.

As an alternative to arbitrarily inflated educational mandates, on the other hand, there might be many competing tiers of professional training depending on the patient’s needs and ability to pay. There might be a free-market equivalent of the Chinese “barefoot doctors.” Such practitioners might attend school for a year and learn enough to identify and treat common infectious diseases, simple traumas, and so on. For example, the “barefoot doctor” at the neighborhood cooperative clinic might listen to your chest, do a sputum culture, and give you a round of Zithro for your pneumonia; he might stitch up a laceration or set a simple fracture. His training would include recognizing cases that were clearly beyond his competence and calling in a doctor for backup when necessary. He might provide most services at the cooperative clinic, with several clinics keeping a common M.D. on retainer for more serious cases. He would be certified by a professional association or guild of his choice, chosen from among competing guilds based on its market reputation for enforcing high standards. (That’s how competing kosher certification bodies work today, without any government-defined standards). Such voluntary licensing bodies, unlike state licensing boards, would face competition—and hence, unlike state boards, would have a strong market incentive to police their memberships in order to maintain a reputation for quality.

The clinic would use generic medicines (of course, since that’s all that would exist in a free market). Since local juries or arbitration bodies would likely take a much more common-sense view of the standards for reasonable care, there would be far less pressure for expensive CYA testing and far lower malpractice premiums.

Basic care could be financed by monthly membership dues, with additional catastrophic-care insurance (cheap and with a high deductible) available to those who wanted it. The monthly dues might be as cheap as or even cheaper than Dr. Muney’s. It would be a no-frills, bare-bones system, true enough—but to the 40 million or so people who are currently uninsured, it would be a pretty damned good deal.

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oxford-golf · 2 months ago

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#premium rooms in Te anau #lake front lodge

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poapoatours · 3 months ago

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 4 months ago

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FFXIV Write: Third-Rate

In which Serafina Lom berates a certain guildmaster for his shoddy work. SFW.

“What kind of third-rate nonsense is this?!” Serafina Lom shouted at Brithael, gesturing to the axe in front of her. “Mate, I’ve been a loyal customer for years and learned smithing here. From you, you twat, and you expect me to believe that this is your best work?! Come on, Brithael. Have you been drinking again?”

Thancred Waters, leaning against the stone wall of Naldiq & Vymelli’s, watched the scene with mild amusement.

Sera doesn’t take kindly to anyone charging her a premium for lesser quality goods and services, especially when it comes to her weapons and armor.

I see Brithael is still…himself.

The hyur held out his hands and smiled nervously. “Lass—”

“That’s Mistress Lom to you, Brithael.” She snarled, her over seven fulm frame tensing.

Oh shit, she’s serious.

This is going to be amazing.

“Aye. Right. Yes. Mistress Lom. Of course, of course. I, erm…you see…” Spit it out, or the Warrior of Light is going to punt you into the harbor. “I can do it. Right this time.” He picked up a sheet of parchment which bore a seal from the Studium. “I wasn’t understandin’ these directions too well.” He shrugged. “Whoever wrote ‘em—”

Serafina groaned. “For fuck’s sake, here.” She grabbed a quill and inkpot, making notes for this useless swine. Why does Sera even go here? She can probably make it herself.

Ah, but…

He smiled softly at his lover explaining to Brithael some of the finer points in the instructions.

Because she loves it and even when Brithael frustrates her, she knows how damn good he can be.

Because she loves this place despite its flaws.

A bit like something…someone else…

After what seemed like an eternity, Serafina finished speaking with Brithael and said goodbye. Thancred offered her is arm as they walked out.

“You’re confident he’ll do better with attempt number two, darling?”

She laughed. “You bet your ass he will. The thing is those instructions were written by a very smart but ultimately dumb person, and they were being read by a very dumb but ultimately smart person. I just needed to translate.”

Thancred blinked. “Why on earth does that simultaneously make sense and make absolutely no sense at the same time?”

“Because that’s how most things are, handsome.” Serafina leaned down to quickly kiss his head. “Dinner at the Bismark? My treat?”

It’s always her treat. She always insists on paying for my meals and any lodging. Honestly can you say no to her? Because I can’t!

“Only so long as the lady allows me the pleasure of treating her later.” Smooth, Waters. You’ve still got it.

To his delight, she blushed. “Always.” Serafina then stopped and leaned to kiss him, cupping his face in her hands. “I love you always.”

This incredible woman loves me.

A fact that still astounds me daily.

Hourly.

“And I love you always, dear.” Thancred murmured, leaning into her touch.

After all, how could I not love her?

#serafina lom #thancred waters #wolcred #femroe #femroe wol #brithael #ffxiv write #ffxiv write 2024 #serafina is my first wol and old main btw #she is tol

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middleearthpixie · 2 years ago

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

A/N: I want to apologize for the slow updates, I haven’t been in a great headspace to write, and with the semester starting this week, my free time is going to be at a premium, so updates may be even slower. Thanks so much for your patience…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Characters:Sophie, Thorin, Heather, Fíli, Dís

Warnings: Sex that doesn’t go quite the way it’s supposed to…

Rating: M

Word Count: 6k

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin heard the silvery laughter before he even stepped into the Great Hall and it made him smile as he paused on the threshold. Balin, who had been walking alongside him, was partway into the Great Hall when he realized Thorin had stopped moving, and came back to say, “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

Thorin nodded in Sophie’s direction. “Her laugh is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Balin rolled his eyes, even as he chuckled and said, “If I didn't hear it with my own ears, I’d never believe it.”

“Hear what?”

“The mighty King Under the Mountain marveling at his love’s laugh.”

“My love?”

“Thorin,” Balin offered up a long look, “you should only see yourself at the moment. You look almost dazed, as if someone hit you in the face. I have to admit, I’ve never seen you this way and I don’t know what that lassie has done to you, but you are smitten.”

“Smitten? Nonsense. It’s simply that I’m—”

“Smitten,” Balin finished.

“Happy,” Thorin told him, tearing his eyes from Sophie, seated at the far end of the room with Narnerra and Gimli, Heather tucked between her mother and the healer, eyes wide as they flicked from left to right.

“Same difference. And know this, I think it wonderful. The king should find his queen so his sister will leave him be.”

Thorin snorted without thinking. “Have you met my sister? I could marry tomorrow and Dís’ next quest would be to pester me about having children.”

“There are worse things she could do.”

“I know,” Thorin nodded, then gestured for Balin to continue moving, “and none of them are any of her concern. She just doesn’t wish to think about Kíli and his wedding.”

“It’s only a few weeks out. I highly doubt he and the she-elf are going to break it off between now and then.”

They resumed their stride and as they both stepped int the Great Hall, Sophie looked over and her gaze landing on him was like an actual touch. Heat shot through him, growing hotter at the shy smile and faint blush that swept along her cheekbones. Her gaze lowered and he almost groaned, and then did groan as Balin snorted alongside him. “Smitten.”

“Quiet.”

“Go and sit with her.” Balin let out a soft chuckle as Heather slid down from her chair and bolted toward them. “I daresay you’ve been spotted.”

“It looks that way.”

“Mister Thorin!”

Heads swiveled in their direction as Heather launched herself at him and he caught her easily, scooping her up to promptly toss her into the air. “Mimûna, one of these days, you will take me from my feet.”

Her shriek of laughter echoed throughout the Great Hall and when he caught her, she threw her arms about his neck. “That was fun!”

“I imagine it was.” He caught a long tangled curl with his forefinger to draw it away from her face. “What did you do today?”

“Gimli and I explored again.”

“Not near the forges, I hope?”

She shook her head, her expression solemn. “No, sir. We did not go near them. Are you going to sit with us?”

“I might, if there’s room.”

She smiled. “There’s always room for you, Mister Thorin.”

“That’s nice to hear, Miss Heather.”

“And I know Mama would like it if you sat with us.”

Balin chuckled. “I’m sure she would, Miss Heather.”

Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked over at him. “You can sit with us, too, Mister Balin.”

“Another night, my lady,” he told her with a smile. “Tonight, Mrs. Fundinson and I are celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” Heather’s forehead furrowed.

“We’ve been married a very long time. And don’t ask how long, because I am sure to get it wrong and then she will be angry with me.”

“We don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is, love. Now you be good for your mama.”

“I will, Mister Balin.”

“I know you will.” Balin looked up to meet Thorin’s grin. “Enjoy yourself, Thorin.”

“And you as well.”

Balin walked off to where his wife sat and Thorin skirted several tables to where Sophie and Narnerra sat. Both women looked up at the same time and Sophie said, “Good evening, Your Majesty.”

It took every ounce of will he possessed to keep from bending over and kissing her right then and there. Although, why he should keep himself from doing so was a mystery to him. He cared not if everyone knew about them. Why shouldn’t they? There didn't seem to be a soul in all of Erebor who disliked either Sophie or Heather. And somehow, it seemed to be the general consensus that he should start to think about a future with someone, so it stood to reason they would all be happy for him.

So, why didn’t he just kiss her?

“Mister Thorin?”

He started, having forgotten for a moment he still had Heather in his arms. “I beg your pardon, Miss Heather,” he said with a grin. “I was but woolgathering.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”

“Woolgathering. Lost in thought.”

“About what?”

“Never you mind. Let’s get you settled, shall we?” He bent slightly to set her on her feet, and as he did, Sophie said, “Heather, what did I tell you about throwing yourself at King Thorin?”

“I don't mind,” he said, moving closer to her chair. “Unless you mind, that is.”

“I don't wish her to make a pest of herself.”

“She is no such thing. If it came to that, I would tell her myself. Although, I would be nice about it, of course.” He met her gaze and then, giving into that impulse that wouldn’t leave him be, he bent toward her.

It seemed as if the room went absolutely silent the moment his lips touched hers and although he felt her start, she recovered in the blink of an eye, her lips moving against his as someone called, “Awww!” from somewhere behind them.

With a soft laugh, Sophie broke away, her cheeks red, but her eyes sparkling. “Your Majesty…”

“What? Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”

“Well… no,” she hedged, the blush in her cheeks deepening. “But people will know.”

“We said nothing about keeping us secret, Sophie. Was I supposed to?”

“I thought you might wish to.”

“Why?”

“Well… I… I—I don't know, really.”

He moved around behind her chair and bent to press a kiss into the top of her head this time. “I have no desire to keep us a secret, mesmel.”

“Then, I suppose it’s all right.”

He chuckled. “Good to know, now. And you’re blushing.”

“I know!” Her hands came to her cheeks as a silvery laughter bubbled to her lips. “It’s just that… well… it’s nice.”

“Nice?” He sank into the chair on her left, mindful of the eyes all on them. “I’m not so certain I like that.”

“No, it’s a good thing. It’s simply I am not accustomed to nice.”

A hint of sadness darkened her eyes to pewter for a moment, but then they swirled silver once more. Without thinking, Thorin caught her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “You will become accustomed to it in time, Sophie. I will make certain you do.”

To his surprise, her eyes shimmered briefly and she visibly swallowed before saying, “Your Majesty, I—”

“Thorin.” He winked. “A roomful of people saw me kiss you. I think formality is no longer necessary.”

For a moment, he thought he’d said the wrong thing, as she pressed her lips together. But then, her fingers tightened about his and she gave a sharp nod. “It does sound silly, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but only a little.” He bobbed his head and draped his arm along the back of her chair, smiling when his fingertips brushed her shoulder to send heat streaking through him. “So, I think going forward I should be Thorin to you.”

Her eyes danced with a hint of mischief. “But Your Majesty suits you.”

“It does, I agree,” he said, unable to keep the soft laugh from his voice, “but I was Thorin long before I was Your Majesty and in all honesty, I prefer it.”

“Very well. But, I should warn you, I might take me a while to remember.”

“That’s all right. I’m patient.”

“Mister Thorin!” Heather broke in and he looked up to see her staring at him with wide eyes. “Why are you kissing Mama?”

“Because I like her,” he replied with a smile. “Does that trouble you, mimûna?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her face somewhat scrunched as if she was deep in thought. Then, she looked over at Sophie, whose back stiffened as if she was preparing for Heather’s objections. “Do you like him, too, Mama?”

Thorin found himself holding his breath as Sophie’s silver eyes slide in his direction and it seemed she, too, was deep in thought. Then, she nodded. “I do, love, yes.”

Glancing over Heather’s head, he caught sight of Dís taking in the entire exchange, her own smile barely contained and her blue eyes dancing with the mischief that told him she would definitely be asking him about this latest turn of events at some point in the near future.

He brought his attention back to Heather, who stared up at him and said, “I suppose it would be all right… I think…”

Thorin smiled down at her. “Good. I was worried there for a moment.”

Heather’s expression grew serious once more. “Just be nice to her, Mister Thorin.”

He rose from his chair and moved around to crouch alongside hers. “Miss Heather, I give you my word, I will treat your ’amad like a queen.”

“You better.”

He nodded, as solemn as she was. “I swear upon my life.”

After supper, Sophie rose from her chair and smiled down at Heather. “We should get back to our apartments, love. You still need a bath.”

Heather pouted. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. You and Gimli were running about all day.”

“Fine.” Heather slid down from her chair. “Good night, Mister Thorin.”

Thorin smiled. “Good night, mimûna. Behave for your ’amad.”

Sophie glanced at Heather, to see if she understood what he’d said to her. Heather nodded, rubbing one eye with her fist as she said, “I will.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Heather bobbed her head and slipped her hand into Sophie’s, who smiled at Thorin over her shoulder. “Good night, Thorin.”

To her surprise, he winked. “Good night, Sophie.”

Sophie turned away then, and she and Heather made their way down to their apartments, where Heather said, “Do I have to have a bath, Mama?”

“Yes. I told you, you were running about with Gimli all day, although, I thought he was sick?”

“He was, but he felt better, so Miss Narnerra let him come explore with me. She said he hadn’t thrown up at all today and we promised not to run about too much.”

“Throw up…oh, I hope he didn’t.”

Heather shook her head. “No. He said he was tired, but not feeling bad any longer.”

“Good. But, the fact remains, you were running about and now you look a bit… grimy. Where did the two of you go?” Sophie unlocked the door to their apartments and pushed it open.

“We went to the floor below the forges. The Hall of Kings, Gimli said.” Heather’s brows pulled low. “Only, I didn't see any kings. But, it has a gold floor.”

They stepped inside and Sophie closed and promptly locked the door behind her. Although she had seen that golden floor for herself, she gave Heather an incredulous look. “A golden floor? Why do I think you’re making that up?”

Heather shook her head as she slipped out of her tiny boots. “I’m not, Mama. Promise, I’m not. I didn’t believe Gimli either, when he told me. But, it’s gold. And so shiny. It looks like I could splash about in it, but it’s solid.”

“That’s probably just as well. The last thing I want is you to drown in gold.”

“Why would the floor be gold?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps you could ask Mister Thorin next time you launch yourself at him.”

Heather let out a soft laugh. “I like him, Mama. He’s fun.”

“Well, he likes you, too, but you need to remember—”

“He’s the king and busy.”

“Right.” Sophie bent to scoop her up. “Now, let’s get you into the tub before the hour grows much later.”

Their bathing chamber was small, but it was a step up from the one back in Esgaroth. A huge step up, actually, as Erebor had heated running water, and turning the brass tap was a far cry easier than lugging up buckets of water to be heated over the fire. Not only did that take far longer than Sophie liked, but there was always the danger of making the water too hot, or when she tried to cool it, making it too cold.

But Erebor was completely different and the water was just the right temperature as Heather sank into it and let Sophie wash her hair with soap that smelled of lavender and honey. By the time she was finished bathing her daughter, the water was only just getting cool and Heather was more than happy to be wrapped in a thick, fluffy towel, with another wrapped about her hair.

Sophie brought her to her bedchamber, let Heather pick out her nightrail, and then sat and combed out Heather’s thick hair, braided it, and secured the braid with a ribbon. By the time she finished, Heather’s eyelids were heavy and her thumb was in her mouth as she snuggled into the pillows.

“Sweet dreams, little bit,” Sophie murmured, pressing a kiss into her forehead before rising from the bed to smooth the quilts up to Heather’s chin.

“Good night, Mama…”

Sophie blew out the candle and slipped from her room, closing the door by as she stepped out into the hallway to make her way back to the great room. She loved this time of night, when everything was quiet and still, Heather was asleep and that meant Sophie could sit and read, or do whatever mending needed to be done, or just sit and enjoy the quiet.

She was just settling down with a book when there came a soft knock at the door. At first, she thought about just ignoring it. After all, she wasn't expecting anyone.

But then there came a second knock, bit louder than the first. She closed her book and set it on the table, then rose and moved to the door. “Who’s there?”

“Thorin.”

Her heart gave a flutter at his growling whisper and when she opened the door, that flutter grew worse as he smiled down at her. “I know you weren’t expecting me, but I hope you don’t mind my being here.”

“No, of course not.” She stepped back to give him room to pass. “Come in.”

He moved by her. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“No. I just put Heather to bed and was sitting down with a book. It’s nothing that can’t wait.” She closed the door, then leaned back against it. “What brings you down here?”

He faced her, offering up a somewhat shy smile, which surprised her, as he certainly didn't strike her as the shy sort at all. “I—I couldn't stop thinking about you and the more I thought about you, the more I wanted to see you, and so here I am.”

A hint of warmth spun through her at his low confession. “Is that so?”

“It is.” He met her gaze. “And I hope I’m not making a pest of myself, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been in this position and I’m not entirely certain what I’m supposed to do.”

She stepped closer to him and let her hand come to rest on his upper arm. Even through the rough, heavy weave of his henley, the solid bulge of muscle wrapped about that arm felt like stone beneath his sleeve. “You aren’t a pest at all. And to be honest, I don't know what I’m supposed to do, either.”

“So, we’re fumbling together, then.”

“I think so, yes.”

He said nothing at first, but just held her gaze, his blue eyes soft. Then, he reached for her, caught her face in his hands, leaned in, and his lips met hers—soft, warm, teasing as they slowly moved against hers. She reached for him, her fingers curling about his thick wrists, her toes curling in her house shoes as his lips parted and his tongue swept along hers. Her heart beat faster and her belly was alive with butterflies beating their frenzied wings to send her blood smoking through her veins.

His thick fingers stretched up, into her hair, tilting her head slightly, deepening his kiss, his tongue slow and teasing, caressing hers, setting those butterflies loose to send sparkling delight swirling through her. Her head spun with that delight, heat ribboning through her, pushing her closer to him, closer until their bodies met. His came firm against her, the muscle solid, as if made from the very stone of the mountain all around them. His thumbs swept against her cheeks, his breath a warm puff against her lips as he pulled back to whisper, “Mesmel…”

A smile tugged at her lips, her eyes fighting to close even as she gazed up at him. “I like how that sounds.”

His eyes softened and without a word, he swept her up into his arms and a moment later, they were in her chambers and he bent to set her in the middle of her narrow bed. He loomed over her, all broad shoulders and wide chest, his dark hair spilling all around them as if to block out any prying eyes. The lamp in the Great Room was the only source of light, and it was enough to glint off the silver runes woven into the long braids at either temple, to bounce off the silver ornament gathering his hair just above his nape.

She slid her arms about his waist, tugged gently to pull him flush against her, and while he was heavier than she’d anticipated, she still welcomed his solid bulk, holding tight when he tried to pull back.

“Don’t,” she whispered, smiling up at him. “You’re fine.”

“I’ve no wish to crush you.”

“You aren’t.”

A smile played at his lips. “Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

He bent to her, and this time, his kiss came not gentle and sweet but hot and demanding, and she returned it in kind, tugging his henley up above the waist of his trousers to slip her hands beneath it.

His skin was hot beneath her palms, the ridges of various scars marring the otherwise solid expanse. As her fingernails brushed his skin, he shivered against her, sighing softly into her mouth. He rocked his hips against hers, shivering once more as he pressed firmly into her. He wasn't the only one who shivered. The feel of him, the firm ridge of his erection sensually pressing into the soft ache between her thighs was enough to make her shiver right back.

Thorin broke his kiss, sweeping a feathery kiss over her chin, down along her neck, which she bowed as the heat within her grew thicker and stronger. He kissed down, along her neck, down toward the hollow at its base, and as he did, he shifted his weight to one arm and with his free hand, slid it beneath her tunic. He pushed it up as his hand skimmed along her sensitive skin and when it curved about her left breast and tightened, she couldn’t help her gasp. No man ever touched her so gently, almost as if he was afraid of hurting her. He kneaded that breast so tenderly, brushed his thumb teasingly over the hard bead of her nipple, slid his hand free to shove her shirt higher and as he bared that breast and bent to capture her nipple with his lips, she bowed her back just as she had her neck. Fire swept through her at the soft swirl of his tongue about her aching nipple, at the way such a light stroke could melt her from the inside out and sent heat pooling between her thighs.

She forced her eyes to open, drinking in the sight of her powerful dwarf above her, the way the light danced along his dark hair, the way it swept along the silver streaks woven like strands of mithril through those dark curls. The air, warm from the fire crackling on the hearth, skimmed along her flesh as he bared it, as he pulled away to whisk her tunic over her head and let it fall in a heap alongside her head.

His eyes glittered in the low light as he drew back to let his gaze wander over her, a soft smile playing at his lips as he murmured, “Mahal, you are stunning, Sophie…”

He said it with no little awe, as if he’d never seen anything like her, and that awe in his deep voice sent an unexpected shyness swirling through her. “Thorin…”

He bent, pressing a soft kiss into her belly, above her navel, and without thinking, she reached to thread her fingers through his hair, which was every bit as soft as it look, and smiled when he sighed at the caress. Another hot kiss swept against her skin, up along her ribs, across her sternum, to capture her other nipple this time.

Her hips rose, rocked to meet him again. Her need for him swelled sharply, her body aching for him in a way it never had before. As they met, he lifted his head, gazing up at her with eyes smoldering sapphire with desire. “Sophie… mesmel… if you wish me to stop, you need say so now.”

“Wish you to stop? Why would you say that? I certainly want you to,” she replied, reaching up to catch a long nearly-black curl and drew it away from his face. “Unless you don’t want to—”

He bent to cut her off with a teasing kiss, then drew back to whisper, “I do, love. You should only know how much I do…”

“Trust me,” she whispered back, curving her hand against that very prominent bulge in his trousers, “I absolutely know how much…”

A soft laugh bubbled to his lips. “You are so very beautiful, Sophie… I cannot help my reaction to you.”

The heat his words sent sweeping through her brought back that hint of shyness, the one she hadn’t felt since she was much younger and in the grips of her very first crush. Still, she smiled. “You don't have to say that, you know.”

“I know, but I speak the truth. I’ve thought so since the night we met, when you were chasing Heather down the corridor.”

“Did I apologize for her running into you that way?”

“There is no need,” he told her, shaking his head. “I’m very fond of her, just as I am her mother.”

“So, why did you stop kissing me then?”

His eyes danced in the low light, a hint of mischief sparkling in those blue irises and bent to her once more. His lips met hers, and it was the spark to the kindling. Sophie wrapped her arms about his waist, let her fingers curl into the heavy fabric of his henley to tug it up and when it slid up far enough, he pulled away to let her tug it over his head, then shifted his weight from one arm to the other as she pulled it free.

She couldn't help but stare up at him. The soft gold light from that lone lamp was just enough to highlight the swells of solid muscle across his broad shoulders, wrapped along his thick arms. Dark hair curled away from his skin across his wide chest and down over his belly, where it disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers. Heavy black lines inked an intricate pattern from the middle of his chest toward his right shoulder, where that pattern continued down his arm, stopping just above his wrist.

He smiled, whispering, “I pass muster, I hope?”

“Oh, you definitely pass muster,” she murmured back, gazing up at him. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, the braids swaying gently as he held himself above her, the silver cubes at their ends throwing off soft flecks of light.

“Good.” He bent to her, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. She let her hands wander up along his arms, over the bulges of rocklike muscle, along his shoulders, slid a hand into his hair where her fingers twisted in the soft waves and held on. The fire returned, slow and steady at first, but as he rocked against her, as he settled between her thighs, it burned with a greater intensity. He arched against her, softly at first, but with each successive pass, he pressed harder into her, searching out his rhythm to offer them both at least a modicum of relief.

Heat wafted from his skin, sank into hers, the ribbons twisting and spiraling through her as he slid a hand along her waist, to the button on her trousers. It gave, the fabric slid away, and his slightly rough palm grazed skin that hadn’t been touched in what felt like a lifetime. She shivered beneath his touch, biting down on her bottom lip as he hooked a thumb in the waist of her trousers to push them down.

He rocked back onto his knees, smiling as he caught the cuffs of her trousers to tug, whisking them from her and as he did, and his gaze fell upon her, his eyes darkened to almost cobalt, his whispered, “Mahal…” almost inaudible.

No man ever gazed at her the way he did right then, his eyes widening ever so slightly as they practically caressed her. Then, his gaze flicked to hers and he smiled, murmuring, “Abnâmul…”

Beautiful. And she felt beautiful, beneath that smoky blue-eyed stare of his, beneath the gentle caresses of his huge hands, of his soft lips. She shivered as he bent over and pressed a teasing kiss just above her navel. He feathered kisses over her belly, swept up between her breasts, and met her lips once more. This time, when he came flat against her, he settled between her thighs and arched against her.

Sophie dragged her fingernails lightly along his back, over the raised edges of scars she’d never seen, along the smooth unmarred skin of his lower back, down beneath the waist of his trousers and when she grazed the firm moons of his backside, he actually shivered against her and sucked in a hard breath at the same time.

His lips found hers, hot and hungry, his tongue plunging between her lips to tangle with hers with a ferocity that had her melting against him. She curved her hands against those firm mounds, pulled him harder against her, and it was her turn to sigh as he gave her just a hint of relief from the tension winding its way through her.

She fumbled with the fastenings on his trousers, but then they gave and when she eased a hand beneath them and found him, he shuddered from the force of his sharp inhale. His low moan rumbled through her as she let her fingertips sweep ever so gently along his heated length, as she curled her fingers about him to caress him slowly from base to tip.

“Mahal…” His voice was husky and low, almost a growl, and disbelief wove through those two syllables, his voice hitching as she stroked him again. “Sophie… mesmel…”

She gazed up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips softly slack, and his expression serious as he rocked to meet her touch. Her thumb slid over his tip, catching the fluid of his arousal to offer up a silken glide on her next pass.

He went still against her. Well, mostly still, as he thrust into her grasp, drew back, and thrust again, whispering, “Mahal—this is—that is, you are—oh, we should…”

She smiled at the faraway tone of his voice and let him slip from her grasp as she murmured, “We definitely should,” and caught the waist of his trousers to push down over his hips.

He rocked back and rose from the bed, then bent to remove his boots and hose, which he left in a haphazard heap alongside the bed. And when he stood, he shoved his trousers to his ankles, then stepped out of them and, for a moment, Sophie forgot how to breathe. She had never seen a man cut as fine a figure as the naked dwarf before her.

He was utterly gorgeous—thick bands of muscle layered his shoulders, wrapped his arms, his thick thighs, his equally thick calves. He was like the mountain itself, solid and compact and when she met his blazing cobalt stare, a wave of heat more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before washed over her.

This time, when he bent over her, he loomed larger still, blocking out the low light as he found her lips and covered her gently, pressing her down into the soft featherbed. He stretched out alongside her, his hand coming to rest on her hip. It didn't remain there for long, though, sweeping lightly down the length of her thigh as his tongue swept along hers. She melted against him, the crisp hair curling away from his hot skin tickled hers, teased her nipples into tight beads once more.

His fingers were light and gentle against her, roaming the length of her thigh. Down along her calf. Up along the back of her knee. They swept over the front of her thigh and then he hesitated, his hand going still just inches away from her melting core.

She shifted, angling her hips to offer up a bit of room for him to ease that large hand between them. He hesitated again, then tentatively brushed along her inner thigh. He grazed upward, and when the backs of his fingers brushed the damp curls at the apex of her thighs, her fingers twisted into his hair and her hips arched to meet his touch.

He crept higher, moving slowly, as if he expected her to halt him, to grab his wrist and yank his hand from her.

A laugh, that. The ache within her was impossible to ignore now and when he brushed those curls again, she couldn’t hold back her sigh, just as she couldn't hold back her shiver when his fingers slid into her heat. To her surprise, he sucked in a sharp breath along with her as he gently slid a finger inside her.

The heat within her spilled over at that soft caress and she tightened about him. Twisted her fingers harder in his hair, her eyes closing, her body humming as he stroked her, as he teased her, as he brought her so close to the edge that she could almost taste the sweetness of relief.

Little by little, her body tensed, hot darts of absolutely bliss poking through her with each pulse, with each swirl of his finger and she met his rhythm, moved with him, the sharp tingles of her climax riding on the tails of those darts.

She reached for him, wrapped her hand about that hot, proud part of him and met him once more, each stroke slow and silken, making him moan softly into her mouth as he arched hard into her hand.

He broke his fiery kiss, whispering, “Mesmel… that feels so very good…”

“Oh, does it…” She smiled up at him, pressing a hand into the middle of his chest to push him onto his back.

He obliged, his eyes going wide as she moved astride him. “Sophie?”

“What?”

She shifted slightly, and when she guided him into her, nothing could have prepared her for his low, rumbling moan, his sudden, sharp thrust, or his growled, “Mahal… yes…”

Sophie sat back, savoring the fullness of him inside her, the sweet pleasure that went along with that. His hands tightened on her thighs, his breath came in quick bursts, and when she gave just a slight roll of her hips, he shuddered beneath her.

She moved slowly, lifted away and came back gently against him, rocked forward and back, as the sensations rolled through her, hot and tingling. He watched her intently, his eyes glittering in the low light, the lids sliding shut, only to have him snap them open once more.

“Sophie…” Her name rolled slowly off his tongue, as if he had trouble saying it, his voice thick and husky.

She found her rhythm, but as she did, he groaned low in his throat and tensed, his fingers biting into her thighs now as he arched hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and as she teetered on the verge of utter ecstasy, as the knots deep inside her tightened, he gave a powerful thrust, shuddered hard beneath her.

And came.

Disbelief tore through her. No! Oh, please no! She was so close to that amazing edge, so close to her own fulfillment, and disappointed shot through on disbelief’s heels as he sank back into the featherbed, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. His eyes closed and he whispered, “Amrâlimê.”

“Thorin?” She stared down at him, the frustration of unspent desire, of unfulfilled arousal swirled through her. The fullness inside her dissipated, and he slipped from her with a low sigh bubbling to his lips.

But, to her surprise, he reached for her, gathered her against him and whispered, “That was—Mahal—that was amazing.”

Perhaps for him. Not so much for her. Still, she let him hold her, even as tears pricked at her eyes. This wasn't fair… it wasn’t fair that once more, she was left yearning for release, for the fiery hot pleasure the man she was with always seemed to savor. Surely there had to be something in it for her as well. There just had to be…

Thorin wrapped her in his arms, pressed a kiss into the top of her head, and whispered, “Sophie, what troubles you?”

“I—nothing.”

“Sophie,” he shifted slightly to look her in the eye, “what troubles you?”

She took a deep breath and shifted off him to stretch out alongside him. “It was over far more quickly than I’d expected.”

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, as if rising from the depths of his beard as he rolled to face her. With a gentle forefinger, he stroked along her cheek. “It won’t be the next time, mesmel. I promise you, it won’t. It’s just… I didn't expect it to feel that good.”

“Wait…” She stared at him, brows pulled low, “what do you mean, you didn’t expect it?”

A hint of shyness wove into his smile now and her belly fluttered as he said, “I mean just that. I had no idea what to expect, because this was my first time.”

That was the last thing she’d expected him to tell her and at first, had no inkling as to how to respond, so she simply stared at him for a long moment before her tongue decided work once more. “Your first—are you joking?”

“I am not, no.”

“Thorin.”

“What?”

“You must be joking.”

He shook his head. “Why would I joke about that?” He curved his hand against her face and smiled in the low light. “So, did it not feel so good for you?”

“It did at first, but then…”

He came up over her then, urging her onto her back, covering her body with his. “Allow me to make that up to you, then, mesmel.”

She smiled at the mischief dancing in his eyes and decided that her questions would wait.

For now.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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