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vintagexherry · 8 months

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Treasure for three days [1]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

// Hostage, threatening, superstions, misogyny (I think), manhandling, implied forced royal marriage, kidnapping, implications of sexual acts, Ooc Miguel, Miguel is mean

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A/N: Not sure if Im gonna turn this into a series but we'll see

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This isn't what you meant when you wanted to be taken away from a mundane life.

"If none will provide with what I have requested. The princess will get it." He ended maliciously.

'He' being a man of height and strong structure is as of right now, holding a sharp edged sword at your throat while holding your hands behind your back.

'He' being the famous pirate, notorious for his actions and sharp with his demands.

"Let go of her! or else!-" Your father still in his sleeping clothes demanded the man who held you hostage.

"What? Make your gaurds shoot me? I have cannons standing by and men waiting, and with a simple signal, they can pillage and destroy this kingdom." He threatened as his hands grip his sword tighter, pushing it slightly closer to your throat, making you whimper.

He isn't only notorious for his actions, but his brain. He didn't get his popularity by just blowing up things to bits like any other pirate.

He plans them.

So darn good at it too.

Your brain is still wondering how'd you get into this position.

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"You keep pressing the wrong note. Once again, from the beginning."

You held back your sigh as you started to play a musical piece on the piano all over again.

You've been at this with your mentor for hours and you swear if you don't take a single break, your bones will desintegrate.

Your mentor has known you since you started etiquette training, and so on and so forth.

And as much as you knew her, she's always been nothing but strict with a permanent frown on her face, her hair tied into a tight bun, and you wonder how come she still has hair.

Once you finally pressed the right note, she nodded approvingly.

"Very good now. We'll practice this piece tomorrow again at noon. Now, if you excuse me, I'll inform your father of your progress."

Not waiting for your reply, she stood up from her chair and left you sitting by the piano.

You exhaled a breath of relief and stretched your fingers for a bit, hearing small pops here and there. You look out the large window by the wall, watching life go on the large village. You'll soon rule once your father chooses a suitable husband for you.

Speaking of your father, he entered the room, slightly surprising you with the sound of the heavy doors.

"My dear, your mentor has told me you had difficulty on today's lesson." Your father looked at you with slight disappointment in his eyes.

You sigh, you know your mentor has told me about your progress, not skipping good bits, but it just seems that your bad quality only worth focusing on.

"I know father, it's jus-"

"Then you will do well to practice even more. Remember, you're performing for tomorrow's night annual ball."

You held back a groan.

Of course, he cares about tomorrow's ball.

Nothing but an excuse to let men ask your hand for marriage and letting your father decide if their good or not. At first, you were flattered, and people would ask for your hand, but it gets tiring once you learn it is just for politics sake, nothing but lies, only wanting to feel the crown on their head.

Your father's kingdom was known to be one of the most successful of them all. Trading and economics were bountiful, and the crime rate wasn't high.

"Yes, father." You defeatedly relented while he grunts in acknowledgement and left you without another word. You just wish a humble and kind man will take you away from this mundane life.

It was finally nighttime when you got ready for bed, you got out of your bath and wore your white cotton sleep dress.

You went to one side of the bed to blow off the candle, but before you did, a sharp sword suddenly appeared behind you, The edge of it just inches away from slicing you.

"Don't move."

A deep and gruff voice commanded you, and you froze.

How did he get in? The balcony? through the door? That can't be. There's gaurds around the palace patrolling every second.

"Where is the necklace? And don't lie, or else your pretty little town gets it."

Necklace? What necklace? There's billions of different kinds of necklaces, and that's the best description he can give you?

"I-I don't know what you're t-talking about -" You winced when you felt the sword go closer to your throat.

"Not speaking, huh? Well, I can jus-"

His words were cut off when your room door busted open, revealing gaurds with their guns and your father in his sleepwear.

"So it was you who knocked out those gaurds!" Your father yelled, so that's how he got in.

The man behind you didn't waste time grabbing your hands and holding them behind your back. He took quick yet short steps to your now unlocked balcony, and he stopped by the edge.

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So now you're here, with a pirate at the edge of your balcony.

"You."

His sword left your throat, but instead, he pointed it to your father. In turn, the gaurds raise their guns higher.

"Necklace, or you won't get your little princesa back."

You looked at your father with tears brimming at the edge of your eyes, silently begging him to give what the pirate wants, but he doesn't seem to mind you.

"O' Hara." Your dad stated, starting to collect his bearings.

"That necklace is a national treasure, you can't possibly!-"

"Daily pirate life, I would say."

You paused.

That necklace?

The necklace?

You only remember bits of story of that supposed treasure, where your father had gathered a rare type of gem from a group of natives who are part of the neighbouring lands. Once gathered, the gem was then moulded and sanded to become a necklace.

"So... No necklace, then? That's alright...I'll give you three days, and if not given your kingdom, can disappear on the map."

You loudly yelp when you suddenly turn around and get carried on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He didn't waste time sheathing his sword and jumping off the balcony, which made you scream while he grips line of rope.

As O'Hara lands and runs for it, you hear gunshots and your father yelling for you.

You tried beating his back with your hands and waving your feet to at least loosen his grip, but alas, it's useless.

"Let go! Unhand me!" You shouted, but your words were going out on his ear and the other. You kept shouting for help, but you were suddenly cut off by your own yelp when you felt a large hand smack your ass.

"You pirate!" you seethed

He laughed at your reactions. "Tell me something I don't know, princesa."

His feet were moving faster than any man you've seen before, and before you know it, you arrived at the shore of the beach.

"Lift up the anchor and start sailing." He ordered as he climbed up the ship.

As he lands, with your upside down view, you see people pulling up the anchor and unfolding the sails.

"A woman on board, huh? You do know what they say about women being on a ship righ' boss?" A random crewmate noted as he took a closer look at you while your still hoisted on his shoulder.

"Quit talking and more sailing, or you're walking the plank." He threatened and the crewmate didn't waste time going back to business.

As the ship starts sailing and the sounds of gunshots and shouting were becoming more and more distant, O'Hara started walking up to a room.

As he enters, he roughly plops you down on what seems to be a bed and ties your hands and feet together.

"Stay." He simply said as he went to a desk and chair.

You scoff, as if you had a choice.

"Look, if it's the necklace you want I can just tell you where!"

He didn't say anything as he sat down and looked at various maps and papers.

"Please, I ju-"

"Shut up." His rough voice hightened in volume.

You quickly did.

"If you won't stay quiet, I can leave you naked for my men to use. So if you know what's good for you I would recommend you to zip it."

You shivered from his words.

You didn't want to anger him further, so you opted to look around the room.

More maps were scattered, and bottles of what seemed to be rum were placed neatly in shelves. Chest full of gold and jewelry were scattered everywhere. Artefacts and even bones of beasts were displayed like trophies on the wall.

"I must say, for a spoiled mocosa, you obey well." He chuckled.

You wanted to spit something back, but you're afraid that once you do, he'll keep his words.

"If your father doesn't give his precious treasure, get ready to say bye-bye to your little kingdom. So let's hope he's as obedient as you." He chuckled as he sat down, drinking from a bottle of rum.

"But if he does? You'll return me and keep the town safe away from your cannons?" You asked.

Miguel looked at you and lightly laughed.

"We'll see about that, but if he did give it, maybe I will keep your pretty little place safe and you'll be back at your papa's arms."

You don't believe him but do you have any other choice? "You....You promise?"

Miguel glanced at your shivering form, and after a deep thought, he took a quick gulp of his rum and finally spoke.

"I promise your little princess ass."

You gulp, hoping he would keep up with his words.

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Morning came by, which marks the first day of your captivity, and you really want to take a bath.

O'Hara or Miguel, which he prefers to be called. Has removed the rope around your wrists while he lets you go around the ship, even outside the captain's cabin, just as long he could keep an eye on you. He was confident enough that you won't really go anywhere.

Not that you can anyway.

With water surrounding you in every direction, you lost hope trying to escape. Maybe until they make land, but who knows.

Right now, you were at the helm of the ship looking at the distance. Miguel, on the other hand, was talking to what seemed to be his navigator.

You really hope that your father would just let go of that necklace when he had the chance. But you hope even further that Miguel will keep his words that you will return safely and the town will he out of harm's way.

"boo"

You flinched hard, hearing a deep voice right next to your ear.

And of course, it's no one other than Miguel.

"Don't think too much or else your head will explode." He chuckled while you scoffed.

You suddenly feel self aware of your state.

It's been several hours, and you're still in your sleep wear. What's worse is that your barefoot with your ankles on display.

Miguel noticed your furrowed expression and chuckled.

"Is the princess not happy with her accommodation on the Arachnid?"

The arachnid is what they call this ship. You can say it's impressive apart from the crew.

"Shower." you demanded

"A wha?-"

"I need a shower." You completed your demand.

The ship suddenly got quiet, and all chatter seemed to stop as they stared at you. The only sounds that can be heard are water crashing against the ship, the wood of floor creaking, and seagulls squaking above.

You froze from the attention, when all of a sudden, the ship was filled with laughter all around even Miguel threw his head back to laugh, and suddenly your face flushed with embarrassment . I mean, should you be embarrassed?

All you want is a shower, you feel disgusting from the dirt you have gathered for today, and a change of clothes would be nice, something or anything that would cover your ankles.

The ship's laughter died down to chuckles.

"Shower you say? The princess wants to shower." His smirk grew in size while he looked at you.

"Well... Yes, I need a shower. If not, then at least give me proper change of clothes. If you're gonna kidnap someone, at least do it right."

Your words made Miguel laughed more.

"Change of clothes, huh? Bothered your little ankles are showing?" He mocked.

"If you're bothered by that, you should see the entertainment district. Trust me, hermosa when I say they show more than their ankles." With his words, laughter grew once again on the ship, and you winced in disgust on his implications

"Speaking of the entertainment district, why don't we give it a visit while princess looks for change of clothes." With that, the crew cheered, and the navigator smirked as he directed the steering wheel to the nearest land which you assumed where the "entertainment district" is located.

You gulp.

How are you gonna survive three days with these men.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #tw bullying #pirate #alternate universe #miggy #misogny #historical #princess

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toastedbiali · 3 months

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@rfswitchart , what you have just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may G-d have mercy on your soul.

https://minorityrights.org/country/palestine/

Close to 99 per cent of Palestinians are Muslims, with Christians making up less than 1 per cent of the population (PCBS, 2017) with small numbers of members of other communities including around 400 Samaritans resident in the West Bank.

#historical revisionism #palestine #israel #islam #judaism #christianity #jumblr #billy madison #facepalm #demographics #alternate universe #alternative facts #history #history of palestine #gaza #west bank #free palestine #free palestine from uneducated westoids

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hogoflight · 3 months

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absolutely huge stretch here. BUT. Mycenaean piracy potentially seen as valid career path at the time & the (supposedly) original settlers of Delos before it was sacred to Apollo and Artemis being called pirates & pirates potentially settling and starting cities & followers of Apollo sometimes being referred to as pirates & Apollo being the god of building cities. YOU COULD MAYBE WRITE A STORY WHERE SOME PIRATES WORSHIPPED HIM / HE WAS WORSHIPPED AS A GOD OF PIRACY (derogatory) IN SOME AREAS.

basically. Pirate Apollo.

#apollo #pirate #mycenaean #THIS DOES NOT HAVE HISTORICAL BASIS AS FAR AS I’M AWARE. CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH #but you COULD?? MAKE IT WORK?? For a hypothetical story?#Alternate universe but the universe is ours

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cadotoast · 1 month

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Chapter 1- Jousts and Announcements

Minors DNI please. About 5k word length

Lances readied. Visors lowered. Steeds pawing the earth. The crowd holds its breath.

The thunder of hooves! The jangling of armor! The collective gasp!

You stand on your toes, heart in your throat as you watch your brother's lance shatter, his body swaying in the saddle. His opponent thunders past towards the other end of the list field, dirt flying from his horse's hooves. The crowd lets out a cheer, and you exhale, albeit a tad shakily, as your brother stays in his seat. He guides his mount to where his squire stands ready with another lance, sparing a glance over to where you stand on the sidelines, hands clasped at the front of your breast in anxiety. His grin is free, comforting, and you smile back at him, wishing him luck. He taps a small cloth tucked at his neck, your token of favor to him being your personal handkerchief.

"How exciting!" Your attention is momentarily pulled to your best friend, Jenny, who is clinging to the fence post in front of her. Her eyes practically have hearts in them as she stares at your brother, her cheeks flushed with the anticipation and thrill of the moment. "I always knew your brother would make a wonderful knight. He is proving himself true, in witness of the royal family no less!"

At the mention of the royals, your gaze flickers up to the raised dais where the King, Queen, and crown Prince sit with the rest of their court. They seem to be enjoying themselves just as much as the commoners that mingle in the stands and on the fairgrounds below them.

"He is doing very well." You agree, leaning gently against the fence in front of you, tugging lightly on the sleeves of your dress. "I was worried when he told me he would be joining the tourney. The Kings' Men are participating, after all."

"But that's not a Kings' Man." Jenny points to where your brother's opponent is readied once more, silver armor gleaming in the light, the emblem of a crimson griffin his standard.

"You don't need to be a member of the kings' inner circle and guard to be a formidable foe," This voice comes from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to smile at your father. His eyes twinkle at you as he squeezes your shoulder gently, before looking to the knight in question. "That man there is Ser Mathis. He's a shoo-in for King's champion in a few years."

The next run has started, and you lean forward with bated breath once more as the two knights thunder towards each other. The harsh clang of lances meeting shields accompanies the surprised yelp your brother lets out as he is launched from his saddle, landing heavily on his back in the dirt.

"Jonas!" You leap onto the lowest rung of the fence, heart in your throat.

"Relax, he's fine, see?" Jenny grabs your arm to prevent you from hiking up your skirts and vaulting into the arena. Sure enough, among the cheers of the crowd, Jonas is getting to his feet, greeting his squire as the young man runs to attend him.

Ser Mathis is heading off in the other direction, surely to rest up before the next joust with whichever opponent in the tourney bracket he would next be facing.

"Who is jousting next?" Your father asks, looking up the field to where standards and flags wave in the summer breeze. You cast back in your memory, trying to remember the roster.

Before you can speak, two more knights are approaching the listing field, their standards held aloft. Your father makes an impressed sound in the back of his throat.

"This is going to be a good fight," Jonas has rejoined you, his squire Richard at his side. "That's two of the Kings' Men, Sers John and Kyle."

You look between the two knights, comparing the stature of each. Ser Kyle is slimmer than his opponent, but both are similar in height. You watch as Ser Kyle waves at the crowd, his expression jovial, before he places his helm on, lowering the visor. Ser John appears more somber, his eyes narrowed slightly, his frowning expression framed by a rather becoming set of facial hair.

"Ser Kyle Garrick was the squire of Ser John Price." Jonas says with a smile. "We started as Pages together. I am sure the student is looking forward to unseating his master."

Both knights have acquired lances, and now Ser John's face is obscured by his visor. The men salute the King, and then ready themselves. You lean once more against the fence, eyes darting between the combatants.

The fight is indeed thrilling. Both knights' lances shatter on the second pass, and suddenly there is a ringing of steel as Pupil and Teacher go sword to sword. You find yourself cheering as long with the crowd, caught up in the excitement.

"Put him in the dirt, Kyle!" Jonas roars.

The swords engage and disengage, the horses rearing, their masters urging them onward. But in the end, Ser John proves the better, looking down at where Ser Kyle lies winded on the dirt, sword knocked from his hand. The crowd erupts in cheers once more as Ser John dismounts and helps the other up. They embrace and slap each other on the back, ignoring the armor apparently, as men often do. When they lift their visors, both are grinning at each other, and you can't help but recognize the older's handsomeness when he isn't scowling.

"Ser John is one of the commanders of the King's forces." Your father remarks, leaning against the wooden rail next to you. "It would be telling of his aging if he was bested by his former squire so soon." His eyes twinkle as he glances sideways at you. "It was a close fight, though. I think the commander has some old war wounds that bother him."

You hum thoughtfully, eyes trailing the knight has he leads his mount off of the jousting field, making room for the next set.

Your face is red from the sun and sweat is collecting in your hairline and along your back when the jousts finally finish, emerging with a Ser Simon Riley as the victor. It's not surprising, seeing as he is a mountain of a man all donned in black-polished armor. You and Jenny leave your father, Jonas, and Richard to discuss the jousts, choosing instead to wander the fairgrounds, examining various wares from vendors as you make an attempt to cool down from the unforgiving summer sun.

"Did you hear that there was supposed to be some sort of special announcement done by the King in the evening?" Jenny asks as she examines a glass bauble. "I wonder what it could be?"

As a matter of fact, you have not heard of this, at least not yet. You purse your lips thoughtfully, counting the silvers in your purse as you contemplate buying a necklace with a charm that claims to offer the wearer good luck and protection from evil spirits.

"Maybe he is lowering the taxes for the townspeople?" You offer, handing over your silver coins to the merchant in exchange for the charm. "It has been a good year so far, and we aren't at war. Maybe he will ease some of the burden of the lower class."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Jenny sighs, a bit wistfully. Her own purse only holds a few coppers, the most she could spare from her laundry washing earrings. You pass her a silver coin, which she tries to give back. You refuse.

"I never got you a gift for the winter feast. This is my late gift to you, buy something for yourself." You make sure that no sound of pity escapes from your voice, and keep your eyes on your friend's face, and not the worn, patched clothing that she has to call her "Sunday Best" Jenny gives you a sheepish smile, and then hands over the silver piece to the merchant, a small glass figurine clasped gently in her hand.

The two of you continue to wander the fair grounds, admiring the young men in their armor and the pretty ladies vying for their attention.

"Would you ever want to be married to a Knight?" Jenny asks you as you watch a group of young women surrounding a dashing Knight with a rather peculiar haircut. He wears a plaid kilt around his waist instead of the traditional armor of the knights of the kingdom.

"I'm not sure," you confess, beginning to walk over to where the local tavern has set out tables outside, drinks and food being sold to the festival goers. "With them having to go out and lead armies for the King, I would be worried that he would never come home."

"Even commoners like our fathers can be called to arms at times of war," Jenny reminds you. "How is that any different?"

Leading the way to an empty table, you ponder the question. "I suppose in the grand scheme of things, they are quite similar." You tuck in your skirts around your legs as you settle on the worn, wooden chair. "Maybe I just think that having a knight for a husband would be aiming above my class. My status." Never mind the fact that your brother is a knight himself. "We need no rumors spreading that I am simply looking for a higher rank in society."

"Hmm..." Jenny settles across from you, flagging down a young woman who is carrying a tray of pints. You run a nail along the grain of the wood, turning to people-watch those wandering the town square. The queerly-dressed man has been joined by Sers Simon, Kyle, and John. All have changed into more comfortable garb, but Ser Simon has his face covered with a black cloth so that only his eyes peek out. They all seem in high spirits, and the kilted man stretches up to place a flower crown on top of Ser Simon's clothed head.

"All four of them are in the Kings' Men." Jenny says, her gaze following yours. "The man in the kilt is Ser John MacTavish. Though I hear that his close friends simply call him 'Johnny'."

The men in question move as a group under the shade of a tree nearby, settling at a table. You watch them subtly as they banter and laugh, your attention only diverted when a tankard of chilled cider is set in front of you, along with a plate of hearty stew and a thick crust of bread. You thank the tavern maid with a smile, and take a sip of the soup. It's delicious, as to be expected from this particular tavern.

You find your attention drifting more and more to the table of knights, your stew cooling and your cider warming in tandem. It takes several repetitions of your name, and a harsh kick to your shin under the table before Jenny can pull your attention back to her and the conversation. "You're staring," She says bluntly, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Which one of them's caught your fancy?"

Your face floods with a heat not caused by the summer sun, and you take a hasty gulp of your lukewarm cider to chase away the mortification stuck in your throat like a dry piece of bread.

"It's nothing," You deflect. "My head was in the clouds is all."

Jenny raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, then tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder with a snigger. You in turn glare at her playfully, before ducking your head to eat some more of your meal. Your ears, however, stay piqued towards that particular table.

"How are ye feelin' after that joust, Captain? I hope I didnae batter ye too badly," It's the kilted man who is talking. His accent is thick and foreign, exotic, you think. I bet it's barely understandable when he's deep in his cups.

"If you think I'm huffin' and groanin' after a few bouts with you lads, then I might as well turn in my sword today," Grumbles Ser John, but his expression is playful. "I ain't in the grave just yet."

"I'll say," It's Ser Kyle this time. "I'm going to be sore until next summer. You sent me flyin' with that lever you call a lance." A chorus of playful jeering erupts, and there is some shuffling as the men push and shove each other in their banter.

With a meaningful clearing of her throat, Jenny draws your attention back to her. You blink at her a bit owlishly, a sheepish smile turning the corners of your lips. Jonas is standing above the two of you, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Searching for a suitor, darling sister?" He drawls. You try to glower at him, folding your arms across your chest.

"Not at all, Jonas." You try for a cool and collected tone. "Just observing. One must stay vigilant at all times."

"Vigilant of all the eligible, dashing knights, that is," Jenny's wearing a wicked grin.

"You are one to talk," Your gaze cuts momentarily to Jonas, and then back to Jenny's face. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as she narrows her eyes at you, and you simply beam at her, the picture of benevolence and Innocence. Jenny huffs, rolling her eyes, as she gets to her feet.

"Jonas here was going to take me to see the stables, do you want to come along?" Something flashes in her expression, and you have to bite your lower lip to suppress a grin.

You shake your head, waving both of them off. "I'm just going to stay here and cool down. Don't let me ruin your fun." The responding smile is answer enough to your unspoken query, and you watch as Jonas, ever the gentleman, lends Jenny his arm as he leads her through the crowded fairgrounds.

Now alone, you find yourself feeling a bit awkward. You fidget with the new charm around your neck, pressing the cool, smooth glass to your lips. The tavern maid refills your cider and takes your empty bowl, as well as a few silvers for the meals you and Jenny ate.

You're contemplating getting to your feet to wander the fair once more, when a loud scream sounds from behind you. Startled, you jump to your feet and spin on your heel, searching for the source of the commotion.

A heard of horses, which had presumably been picketed at one point, have been spooked into a stampede, still tied together by lead lines. The crowd is scattering, some getting out of the way quick enough, some not. And just to your luck, the herd veers sideways and right towards you.

Cursing in a very unladylike fashion, you rush to escape the horses' path, but your skirt snags on a split in the wooden log that makes up the bench, and you tumble over it to the ground, landing with a pained grunt. Winded, stuck, and in the path of a deadly stampede, you're frozen in place, watching your demise trample towards you.

You barely register the ripping of fabric as two strong hands wrap themselves around your upper arms and pull, jerking you free and dragging you backwards over the dirt. The herd of horses blunders past, shrieking and whinnying as they crash into tables and benches, and overturning barrels of mead and ale.

A rushing in your ears drowns out most sound as you stare at the spot where you had previously been lying, now deluged with hoof prints. The scrap of fabric from your skirt is pummeled into the soft ground. Belated in their arrival, a troop of guards runs in the direction the horses have fled to, shouting orders and trying to clear the way of injured townsfolk.

"Are you okay?" A deep voice sounds in your ear. You're leaning back against a warm, broad chest, its steadyness contrasting to the trembling of adrenaline shaking your body. With a deep, shuddering breath, you pull your gaze from what would have surely been your early grave, to look into the face of your rescuer.

Ser John looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed low in concern. He wears a frown, his brilliant blue eyes looking you over, assessing you for damage. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

"I think I'm okay..." You absently run your hands over yourself, feeling for anything amis. "Maybe a little bruised." Your shin smarts from where it had collided with the bench.

"Looks like your skirt took the worst of it, lass," On your other side kneels Ser MacTavish, his own gaze wide with concern. "Tha was a narrow scrape ye had there."

Ser John assists you to your feet, and supports you while your knees tremble. After you have gained stability, you step cautiously away from the knight, turning to face him as you brush grass and dirt from your skirt to the best of your ability. Sers Kyle and Simon watch from their table, the former's gaze twisted with concern.

"Thank you so much Ser," You say to Ser John, lowering your gaze respectfully. "Without your help, I would surely be injured."

"You're sure you're alright?" The man in question asks, his gaze roaming your body in a cursory examination. "Did I hurt you at all?"

Your hands rub your upper arms where the man's hands had nearly swallowed you, a phantom heat lingering. "No, Ser, you did not hurt me."

Ser John straightens as he looks down at you, hands on his hips. He gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement, settling down in his seat only after giving you one final once over.

"You're Jonas' sister, aren't you?" This question comes from Ser Kyle, who has gotten to his feat and pulled up a seat for you. It seems rude to refuse him, so you settle in the chair, mournfully fingering the rip in your skirt.

"Yes, I am." Your lips curl up at the corners. "He mentioned that you and he were squires together, Ser Kyle."

"What a lad," Ser Kyle beams, his teeth shining on contrast to his darker skin. "One of the best in our group. I don't understand why he ever declined the position."

You blink. "The position? What position?"

"Ye dennae ken?" Ser MacTavish stares at you. Heat wells in your cheeks self-consciously. "He was offered a place in our ranks as a Kings' Man."

The table falls silent as you process that information, watching absently as the tavern keeper rights some of the tables. You note your spilled pint of cider and mourn its cool refreshment silently.

"He never mentioned it," You finally admit. "Granted, he doesn't like to talk about his work too much when he comes home to father and I. Prefers to stay on lighter matters, I suppose." You glance once more at Ser Kyle. "He was supposed to be a Kings' Man?"

"I was second pick for the opening when Ser Richard resigned to his manor by the sea. Your brother was the first pick, the King asked him to join pretty much as soon as he earned his title and standard."

You chew on that for a moment, curiosity itching at you. "He's a rather modest man," you say. "My guess is that he probably thought he wasn't up for it. That someone more capable should take his place."

"Not that I am ungrateful for the position," Ser Kyle glances at his former Knight-master, "but it should have been Jonas."

"If I had to take my guess," Ser John is the one to speak, his sentence broken as he takes a sip from a pint of ale. "He declined it to stay closer to you." At your confused expression, he pushes onward. "Even as a page and a squire up at the castle, he spoke of you often. More often than not, actually. He desired to be able to support you, especially after the passing of your mother, and with your father becoming more elderly and declining in his health. He wanted to provide for you until you wed, and even then, to be close by if you ever needed him. Us Kings' Men are sent all over the realm to do the work of the King. If he had taken the position, he would not have been able to remain as close to your side."

You don't know whether to be embarrassed by your brother's apparent coddling, or touched by his thoughtful nature. Gazing down at the grains in the table, you run a finger over your lower lip in thought, turning over the Ser's words.

"Ae, sounds like somethin tha lad would do." Ser MacTavish agrees.

"If it is as you say," You muse, a smile gracing your features, "It seems rather fitting of him."

"Speak of the Devil," Ser Simon speaks up, looking over your shoulder. You glance behind you, grinning when you see Jonas, Jenny still on his elbow, walking in your direction. Jonas is wearing a flower crown of daisies, which Jenny keeps grinning at, a bluish sitting high in her pale cheeks.

"Heard I missed some action," Jonas calls, his gaze roaming over you. Despite his cheery expression, you can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in your rumpled condition. "Is everything alright around here?" The underlying question about your welfare rattles in your brain like a gong.

"The Tavernkeep might be needin' to seek out the carpenter, and the las's skirt might need some mendin'," Ser MacTavish replies, leaning back to pull up a few more chairs for the new arrivals. "but as far as we can tell, she is no worse for wear. Ser John here kept her out of harm's way."

"And for that, I thank you, Ser," Jonas dips his head to Ser John, a respectful look in his gaze. He then looks to you once more. "You are uninjured?"

"A little rattled," you say with a smile. "But my pride, a bruised shin, and my skirt are the only casualties."

Jonas leads Jenny to her seat, right beside the rather imposing Ser Simon. Jenny gives the large knight a rather nervous look, taking in what features were not hidden by the face covering he wore, and managed a small smile as she gathered her skirts around her. Jonas sits easily in his chair, his arm slung over the back of Jenny's.

"We were just discussing your promotion to knight," You tell your brother, raising an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me the King offered you a position in his guard?"

"Wasn't for me," Jonas replies instantly. "I do my best work close to home. There is plenty for me to do here, I'll let the other more adventurous knights such as our present company go gallivanting around the kingdom."

The other men chuckle good-naturedly, and Jonas calls over the tavern maid to order a round of drinks for the table.

"Hey Jonas, did you hear about Prince Aldous?" Ser Kyle suddenly interjects, his expression conspiratorial. Jonas leans in immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What about him?"

The other knights groan in synch, and you and Jenny look at each other in interest. The crown Prince is a good-looking, but rather pompous young man. Despite his attitude, many women in the kingdom seem to be falling over themselves to get his hand in marriage if possible.

"He failed out of his test of Knighthood."

"Again?!"

"Again," Ser Kyle can't seem to keep a mirthful tone from his voice. "That makes three times."

"Must be a record," Ser MacTavish chuckles.

"Careful," Ser John admonishes, his voice a low grumble. "He is still the Crown Prince."

"Well the Crown Prince is a--" Jonas' words are cut off as you kick him sharply under the table, eyes flashing in warning. He gives you an embarrassed sort of smile, then clears his throat. "well, he leaves something to be desired," he finishes, albeit a little lamely.

"He's still young, there is time to learn." You say, drumming your finger against the wooden table, smiling at the tavern maid as she sets a fresh pint of cider in front of you. Ser Simon makes a noise of agreement into his ale.

"He's only a year older than yourself," Jonas reminds you with a smirk. "Maybe you should try for his hand."

A flush fills your cheeks, and you shake your head adamantly. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"You'd be a Queen, too," Jenny's eyes glitter. "When he takes the throne. I think you would make a wonderful Royal."

You merely shake your head again, taking a sip of your cider to cool the flush in your cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Too much attention, for one thing."

"The royals are always under constant scrutiny," Ser Kyle says with a nod. "It is a lot of pressure. Not everyone is fit for it."

"Maybe you should try for his hand, Jenny," You tease, knowing full well her answer. She narrows her gaze at you, pursing her lips at your grin.

The conversation flows easily, and time speeds by as the sun descends towards the horizon. As the sunset approaches, Sers Simon, Kyle, MacTavish, and John excuse themselves from the table, begging pardons, but they have to return to their duties as Kings' Men. Not long after, you can hear trumpets sounding from the festival grounds.

"That's the call to assembly," Jonas says, stretching. "Whatever announcement the King is going to give is going to happen there, we will probably want to be there."

Jonas takes the lead in heading towards the festival grounds, clearing away through the crowd for you and Jenny to pass through safely. You keep your eyes peeled for potential troublemakers. As vigilant as the local guards are, instances of pickpocketing and sudden brawls are not exactly unexpected on festival days.

A large crowd of people are gathered on the green lawn, facing a large wooden podium set up underneath a pair of ancient oak trees which provide a natural canopy. The King, Queen, and Crown Prince sit on makeshift thrones up on the podium, flanked by some now-familiar knights. Ser John stands almost directly behind the Crown Prince, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. Sers Simon and MacTavish are behind the King and Queen, with Ser Kyle standing off to the side with a handful of other knights belonging to the Kings' Men, whose names you can't recall at this time.

Jonas picks his way to the side of the crowd, where a small copse of trees offers some shade to some lower-level knights who shelter there. They greet Jonas with friendly waves, and don't protest when you and Jenny settle in the lush green grass.

"How were the horses?" You ask Jenny, settling your skirts around yourself modestly.

"Oh they were wonderful!" Jenny giggles, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Jonas took me to see all of the knights' mounts, including that bay he rides. Her name is Anika. She likes carrots, daisies, and chewing Jonas's tunic." You both giggle at that last bit, and you turn to examine your brother. The shoulder of his shirt does appear a little gnawed-on. Jonas himself is chatting with the other men, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms.

"He probably forgot to take a bath, and that was Anika's way of telling him he smells," you joke, biting your lower lip as you chuckle. Jenny snorts quietly, shaking her head back and forth.

"His Majesty, the King!" A herald shouts, and the buzzing of the crowd dies down to a hush, raptly focusing on the podium. King Cassian Godfrey is a handsome man, dark haired and tanned skin. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black, that demand the attention of everyone around him. He is a good king, though the graying along his temples reflects his age, and the promise of his son someday taking the throne is a rather daunting one. His Queen, Helen, bares a remarkable resemblance to their son, her fair blonde hair shining like gold in the dying sunlight. She is known to be kind and philanthropic, a mother of the realm, so to speak.

"I come before you today with a joyous announcement for our Kingdom," The king says, his voice projecting across the lawn. "My son, the Crown Prince Aldous, has come of age. After much discussion, it has been decided that he will be allowed to pick a bride of his own choosing." A murmur ripples through the crowd, mixed with some gasps from some women in the crowd. Aldous looks rather bored up on the dais, turning a ring over on his finger and watching it glint in the dying light.

"Every eligible woman will be sent a summons to the palace where they will be required to present themselves before the prince. He will then make a selection of ten women with which to court for a period of time. Of those ten, he will chose his bride."

"A summons?!" The word slips out of you, hushed and shocked. Your sympathies seem reflected by those in the crowd.

"We always knew the family was a bit eccentric," Jenny murmurs, worry in her gaze.

The buzzing of the crowd has risen slightly, emotions melding together in a mixing pot as the realization sets in to the citizens. A mandatory summons. That means equal possibility for all of the eligible women in the kingdom to potentially win the hand of the Prince. But that also means that the initial summons are not optional. Weather or not you are interested in becoming royalty, you are required to present yourself to the prince for his approval or dismissal.

"All unmarried women of eligible age will receive a date of which to present themselves. If they are selected at the end of the first presenting, they will be offered accomodations at the palace for the rest of the courting season."

A headache starts to develop behind one of your eyebrows, your previous words from the evening slamming against your skull like Athena prying herself from Zeus' skull. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"Summons will be delivered to those eligible beginning next week. The first presentations will begin the week following. To the families of the ten selected women, a monetary stipend will be paid to cover any loses of income should the women in question be employed to support their families." You and Jenny glance at each other, both thinking of the meager jobs you have managed to acquire to assist your families.

"What if someone who is selected for the ten women does not wish to be?" Someone in the crowd yells. The King pauses, looking in the direction of the speaker.

"It is the belief of the royal council and of myself that it is a service to the country to be accepted to this position, and that any women selected should be honored to do so."

"So in other words, its not optional. You can't decline." one of the knights behind you says in a hushed tone. Jonas grunts, glancing down at where you and Jenny are sitting.

"I suppose if one didn't want to be selected, they would just try to appear as unappealing as possible," Your brother muses, but there is a dark lilt to his tone, and his jaw clenches.

The crowd murmurs among itself, the mixed sentiment evident.

"Thank you for gathering and enjoying the festivities today." King Cassian finishes, before stepping down off of the podium, his family and the King's Men following him.

You sit there on the grass, gazing down at your clasped hands, your heart beating out what seems to be your funeral dirge as reality sets in.

You are unmarried.

You will be presented.

#john price x reader #cod mw2 #alternate universe #simon riley #john mactavish #kyle garrick #john price #medieval fantasy #historical inaccuracies #Writer has not played COD

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

Alpha, Beta (& Omega) Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, dom/sub elements, alpha Steve, beta Bucky, hurt/comfort, wedding night, alternate history, nobility/royalty au, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage, enemies to lovers

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, eldest son James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

A contract of engagement. (Word count: 1066) Teen

A most untoward introduction. (Word count: 2368) Mature

A wedding eve's dinner. (Word count: 1619) Teen

A late morning wedding. (Word count: 1862) Teen

A wedding night. (Word Count 2411) Explicit

A honeymoon. (Word Count 2976) Teen

A honeymoon, cont'd. (Word Count: 3536) Mature

A consummation. (Word Count: 2817) Explicit

A fever (Word Count: 3619) Mature

A consummation, cont'd (Word count: 2928) Explicit

A school reunion (Word count 3449) Teen

A sojourn in London (Word count 2010) Teen

A public scene (Word count 3617) Teen

A Headship's rebuke (Word count 3627) Teen

A dream, a visit, a game (Word count 4823) Explicit

A tour of the continent (Word count 5652) Explicit

A Homecoming (Word count 4286) Explicit

Masterlist

@openup-yourmind

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pfirsichspritzer · 3 months

Text

In the mood for Regency ghosthunters? Look no further!

It was an honor to illustrate CandraJade's amazing story Reason in Madness for the @lockwoodandcobigbang2023.

We're writing the year 1811. Lucy's family has always been bothered by her "hallucinations" about voices no one else could hear. After a fatal accident at the mill she's working at Lucy finds herself at Bedlam, London's hospital for the mentally ill, infamous for the cruel way the patients are treated. Can meeting a mysterious stranger change her fate?

Here is an illustration of the end of chapter 7:

And the team in their regency era attire. Notice the difference in Holly's and Lucy's maid uniforms?

#lockwood and co big bang #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanart #my art #locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #holly munro #alternate universe - historical

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teresawymore · 4 months

Text

This is a cover and some details, since I like how I'm coming along with their faces.

This is the cover for my alternate universe series Dark Intimacies, about fallen Aziraphale and angel Crowley trying to save him. They are master and slave in Late Rome, just before the invasion of Alaric.

If you like transgressive fiction and historical fiction, and favor the idea of Aziraphale a really dark character, you might like the story. I have chapter one posted and working on the next.

It was watching Michael Sheen in other shows that got me keen on reading Aziraphale as a dark character.

Sheen would destroy the role--his evil is so good. David Tennant's demon is misunderstood, disillusioned. That's why Crowley will never be truly evil, as Pratchett and Gaimen intended, because he fell for merely questioning.

I love our Good Omens the way it is, but just suppose...

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xxstraymoonchildxx · 1 month

Text

This Couple is Unusual

Prev. / Next

Chapter 4 This couple, danse macabre

cw: human trafficking, violence, swearing

“What is she doing here?” Ciel slightly panicked as Sebastian forced him to face away from his fiance. “She cannot, under no circumstances see me in this…this…”

“Oh, look at that pretty girl over there, her dress is so cute, too! Please excuse me, Miss.”

“Oh, stay-”

The blonde girl swiftly followed the girl in her pink dress who vanished within the crowd with the man dressed in black.

“...safe.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head with a smile on your tinted lips.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Satan popped up next to you, handing you a drink. “Are you alright? You look confused.”

You leaned in, voice low “I think I just saw Ciel Phantomhive crossdressing.”

“You’re pulling my leg.” Satan raised an eyebrow, mirth reflecting in his eyes.

“No, the cute girl a second ago pointed at them and I recognized his butler, otherwise I would have missed it.”

Satan hummed “An effective masquerade I must say. Do you have any idea who the girl you were walking to was?”

You side-eyed him “No, but I have the feeling you do. The Earl panicked when he spotted her, tho.”

“Precisely. Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford is his fiancé. She is also Madam Red’s niece. If she blew his cover, he’d be humiliated.”

Your nose wrinkled “Didn’t you tell me she is the Earl’s aunt, too?”

He nodded.

“Sweet home Alabama,” you mumbled.

Satan chuckled “Madam Red is part of this gathering as well, by the way. I’ve seen her in the lounging area enjoying herself with the other guests. The Chinese man, too. They are sticking out like a sore thumb.”

“Huh, is her butler not with her?”

Satan shook his head “I’ve seen him earlier at the entrance but we should concentrate on the Viscount.”

The two of you got on the dance floor, keeping a lookout for Viscount Druitt. Satan gently moved you to the flow of the classical music. You were glad you’d gotten enough dance experience from all the balls Lord Diavolo hosted (and all the other parties you were invited to) for not embarrassing Satan and you.

Your blond husband had the perfect posture, guiding you with perfectly even steps. He was great with ballroom dances, rivaling Lucifer’s, Barbatos's, and Diavolo’s skills. That he looked like a fairytale prince - no, king - with the outfit Asmodeus picked for him was only a bonus for his royal demeanor. Satan gave you a soft smile only reserved for you when he noticed you staring at him with furrowed brows, and for a moment you forgot why you were even here. It was just him and you. His eyes were a unique shade of blue and green with a yellow gradient that sparkled whenever he was excited over cats and literature and when talking about you. Your heart swelled with pride.

The moment was over, however, when you locked eyes with Sebastian Michaelis dancing with his protégé among the crowd of humans. He gave you an ominous smirk.

After the meeting with Undertaker, you were informed by Satan that the butler in black was a demon, a lesser one compared to your found family of course, but the kind that wants your soul in exchange for making a pact to eat it after its fulfillment. The child Sebastian was with must have been very desperate to make a Faustian Contract. You only knew the child was an orphan and inherited a factory for toys after his parents tragically died in a fire.

You smiled back, discreetly flipping him off right before Satan twirled you around again to create a distance.

You watched the couple reach the dancing area's side, noticing one of your targets approaching the Earl. You look at Satan who nods, following suit.

You decided to stand nearby, maintaining a low profile but close enough to eavesdrop, another beverage in hand to look unsuspicious.

With disgust, you observe Viscount Druitt making a move on the now-alone preteen. Kissing his hand, laying a hand on his waist, holding his chin like a lover would, and calling him “my little robin” - it took willpower to not storm over.

“What the fuck is this demon thinking leaving the child all alone with this creep?”

Suddenly the music stopped. Everyone's eyes were on Sebastian Michaelis who set up a cupboard in the middle of the crowd, announcing a magic performance.

“That gentleman over there, would you mind to assist me?”

Sebastian grinned, pointing at Satan of all people. You nearly snorted out your drink. A dark aura surrounded your husband, his lips twitching in annoyance.

The demon butler now was asking for trouble.

╔═══════ ∘◦⛧ﾐ◦∘ ══════╗

with Satan & Sebastian…

╚═══════ ∘◦ミ⛧ ◦∘ ═════╝

This third-rate demon couldn’t be serious.

Satan kept a socially acceptable expression as he walked toward the make-shift mise-en-scène. He ignored the curious glances, trying to suppress his murderous intent.

The Ravenette, now wearing a lacy butterfly mask to conceal his identity to a certain degree, smirked and opened the wooden wardrobe. “As you can see, this is an ordinary cupboard,” Sebastian explained “I’ll go inside and I need you to tie it up with these chains.” He handed over the metal chain to Satan who accepted it, slightly curious what exactly he had planned.

“And then you can use these swords-” he pulled out several iron swords from out of nowhere “...to pierce this cupboard. After you do this, I shall come out alive for all to see.” Satan’s face darkened with wrathful mirth “I won’t hold back, are you sure?”

Sebastian held his gaze with a smug one of his own “I’m sure you will.”

Then he addressed the audience “There is no trap or trick to this. Please enjoy this rare performance!”

The party guests gasped, murmuring and whispering.

“I’m going to enjoy this” Satan murmured, quickly tying the chain and fastening it tightly.

Within the blink of an eye Satan pierced a sharp sword into the top of the cupboard, then into the left, the right, back, and front, pushing in more and more like a madman until nearly no space was left untouched.

The viewers gasped.

(And Sebastian felt something akin to anxiety for the first time in his life when the first sword aimed for his head. And that other demon was fast, too)

Satan flipped a strand of hair back “Let’s see if he is alright, shall we?”

When the door opened and Sebastian stepped out with a strained smile, the crowd cheered.

“Impressive!”

“A miracle!”

“You owe me one for not exterminating you,” Satan hissed.

╔════ ∘◦⛧ﾐ◦∘ ════╗

Meanwhile…

╚════ ∘◦ミ⛧ ◦∘ ═══╝

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I get your attention please?”

The crowds' murmuring died down, focusing on the stage; more precisely on the covered something next to the emcee.

“Next we have the item everyone has anticipated. Please look at it carefully~”

With one movement the cover was swiped off, revealing a metal birdcage.

Masqueraded nobles ranked their eyes over his bound form, happy murmurs filled the room yet he couldn’t see through the blindfold around his head.

“You may keep her in the cage. If you prefer you can play with her as much as you wish. Use her for a ceremony! If it is only parts of her you desire, it can sure be arranged.”

Ciel felt a wave of dizziness when he snapped his head towards the voice closest to him.

/That’s Aleister Chamber’s voice/

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a hard-to-get item. Her eyes are bright and beautiful like the sea! And now I’ll proceed to show you!”

When the light of the candles hit his face, his temples throbbed. Ciel opened his eyes, realization setting in like he’d swallowed a heavy stone.

“The starting bid is one thousand pounds!”

Hands shot in the air, high numbers outdoing the other.

“Wow, you people are disgusting fucks.”

The candles flickered violently before they were violently blown off by a sudden gust of wind.

/Who the hell is this?/

“Spirit of earth, cover the mouth of those nobles who sit before me, and silence their cries forever.”

One bidder after another sagged in their chairs, heads dropping row after row in the blink of an eye.

The only noble left standing was Viscount Druitt, unable to process what happened, and unable to move a single muscle.

Of course, this wouldn’t do.

A fist met his cheek with a satisfying crack.

“Sweet dreams you pig!”

You turned to the birdcage, meeting Ciel Phantomhive's flabbergasted stare with an accusatory one of your own. His eyepatch was off, showing his pact mark.

“What…what are you?”

_____________________________________________________________

“What in the sweet hell’s where you thinking?! Do you understand what could have gotten wrong if you didn’t wake up before being sold off to some pervert!?”

Ciel whipped off the dust from his dress after he was freed from his restraints. “I would have been doing fine even without you interfering. I was just about to call for my butler before you barged in,” he scoffed, crossing his arms “You also didn’t answer my question. Are you some sort of witch?”

“Are you trying to insult me? I’m a sorcerer!”

“Same thing!”

You pinched his cheek, hard. “It’s not! Sorcerers are far superior.”

Ciel slapped your hand away with a huff, rubbing the arching side of his face.

“How did you even get in here?” he eyed your attire critically “You’re still just some journalist from overseas.”

“Company secret,” you answered slyly, making him roll his eyes after you winked at him, pointer finger moving to seal your mouth.

“Whatever…Sebastian!”

Within a fraction of a second, the butler spawned next to his master.

“My, my. Looks like my service wasn’t needed after all.” Crimson flashed in his auburn eyes as he bowed slightly. “Although it wasn’t expected nor in fact needed, the Phantomhive household offers their gratitude for your act of kindness.”

His honeyed words went from one ear through the other.

“Maybe take better care of your charge then who obviously can’t even defend himself properly from pedophilic creeps.”

Sebastian shot you a stink-eye despite his smile “Rest assured, he is in the best of hands.”

Before you could answer, a gloved hand found its way to your mouth. Satan’s distinct perfume hit your nose as he pushed you against his broad chest, his other arm lazily draped across your belly.

“Since the party is over and the Yard is arriving any minute, I’d say we also take our leave. I’m not too thrilled explaining this to the commonality.”

“Anyhow, the case of Jack the Ripper is closed now,” Ciel said “You may write about the murders but there are things that obviously shouldn’t reach the ears of the public. As assigned by Her Majesty, I shall oversee any reports regarding this topic.”

You wondered if you could contest the Avatar of Wrath if you would spend any minute with this audacious child.

Speaking of the personification of sin, Satan let out a chuckle “We might do that real soon, well, if this is the end of the murders, that is…”

Sebastian and Ciel couldn’t hide their surprise.

Seizing this moment you took the hand from your mouth, pulling out your D.D.D from under your corset.

Snap,

A flash of light went off and you two vanished into thin air. “See ya~”

“Tell me that strange device wasn’t a camera,”

“I’m afraid it was, my Lady.”

“Sebastian!”

It was frustrating that you weren’t allowed to temper with the past.

The very same night your contact from Scotland Yard called you to the new crime scene. Annie Shepherman was murdered while you were busy with Lord Chamber’s underground auction.

Her body was severely battered, much worse than the last victims of Jack The Ripper. She was transported and brought to Undertaker for the autopsy which was a technical formality at that point. Satan took pictures of the crime scene for undercover reasons before you called it a day and went back to your hotel.

In the morning you decided to finally go shopping for the brothers and your friends. It was successful this mid-morning. You got:

A fancy pocket watch for Diavolo.

A crested tea storage box for Barbatos additionally to the tealeaves he wanted.

A couple of rare magical ingredients for Solomon.

A classical music gramophone record for Lucifer.

An antique hairbrush and mirror set for Asmodeus.

An original copy of the Hokusai manga for Leviathan.*

A vintage money box for Mammon (aside from several trinkets he’ll resell).

A mechanical music box that played a soothing lullaby for Belphegor.

A large amount of confectionary for Beelzebub (you were glad to have unlimited storage space inside your bag after nearly buying up the Funtom Corporation’s and Harrod’s whole stock of candy).

A hand-crafted royal blue dairy with a fun trick lock for Simeon.

And a receipt book about authentic Victorian desserts for Luke.

Mephistopheles’s hand-carved riding crop was still a work in process, so you had to come back tomorrow. You also haven’t found something for Thirteen and Raphael but you were thinking of buying an embroidered sewing box kit for the angel and one of those fancy umbrellas for the shinigami.

You also didn’t know what to buy for Satan. Knowing him he has already picked up something super thoughtful for you and you want to show him your appreciation, too, so it can’t be just some book or vinyl.

As you went your merry way, you found yourself at the doorsteps of The Undertaker shop. Was the silver-haired mortician done with poor Annie?

Before you knew it, your feet carried you inside.

The jingle of a small bell above the door announced your arrival, but there was no one in the stuffy, dark front room.

“Mister Undertaker?” No reaction. Was he in the pathology downstairs?

You carefully trod forward, half expecting him to emerge from one of these coffins to give you a heart attack. Mammon would take to his heel by now if he was here but you weren’t a scaredy cat. “Undertaker!” you tried again. Nothing.

You opened the coffin he hid inside the last time but it was empty.

He sure wouldn’t mind if you looked around for a bit, wouldn’t he?

There was a large cupboard on the far left where a man like Undertaker would fit in. You turned the knob. It didn’t budge at first but after rattling on the door a few times it swung open.

Whoosh.

“Argh!”

Bonus: Somewhere the brothers felt a chill running down their spines as their "MC-is-doing-sth.-reckless"-tingle was activated

*credits go to PerpetuallyAwake / @anunholyabomination, tysm!

Guess who is crawling back...It's me! This was supposed to be even longer but, I kinda wanna be an ass and end with a cliffhanger instead of dragging it into 4000k+ words, so I'll move the following scene to the next chapter (that I will hopefully post in April) [Btw, who can find the gaming references I couldn't help but put in?]

Feel free to give me constructive feedback :)

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