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arosebyanyother-name · 1 year

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Sometimes When I Get to Thinking pt 7

4643 words

This fic is mostly smut, so you’ve been warned. It also contains choking and restraints. I hope you enjoy! (+ sorry it took so long to write)

Also cw for a slightly implied miscarriage. Please take care of yourselves!

gif credit @godzillawillsaveus

You’re lying on the bed you and the doc share, your head comfortably resting on two downing pillows, and your wrists bound to the intricately carved bed head by your own stockings. The doc had tied you there an hour ago, right after you both finished dinner, in fact you were both in such a rush to get into bed that your dirty dishes and pot of food are left abandoned in your kitchen. Clean up can surely be left for later, you both think. There are much more pressing matters to be dealt with.

So, for the past hour the doc has been ‘playing’ with you. He enjoys being a tease, and likes to work on you slowly whenever he can stand it. You squirm, pulling your silky restraints tighter around your wrists as your back arches, as if against your own will. A debauched moan escapes your mouth, one of many, as the doc fucks you tantalisingly slowly with two fingers of his right hand, choking your neck with his left. Being choked is a feeling you very much enjoy, and he knows it. Amos intermittently releases your now tender neck from his grip, allowing you to catch your breath, and for your pooling blood to reach your brain once again. He chokes you until your ears ring, but never too hard, and never for too long. His medical training has made him the perfect breath play partner. Choking was not something he’d tried before he met you, but your enthusiasm for it makes him like it just as much as you do. His ability to give you orgasm after orgasm is more addictive to him than any drug in his possession.

So, he releases you neck once again, leaving you panting between moans. He holds eye contact with you constantly, surveying your reaction, ensuring you’re alright, that you can take what he’s giving you. He takes his role as love maker and pleasure giver just as seriously as he takes his role as doctor. His fingers curl up inside you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your moans becoming louder.

“Please, fuck me Amos... fuck me with your cock!” you beg, still panting, and although your eyes are closed you can still feel the docs eyes on you. The way he watches you turns you on to no end.

“Uh uh,” he denies you. “Not yet honey, not just yet,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you, and inspects your egg-whitey wetness on them before he enters you again with three.

“Oh god!” you cry out, your eyes flying open. His face is so close to yours, and he’s red and sweating. You let your eyes wander down his body, pulling at your restraints to try to get a clearer look at his unclothed cock. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, a loud sigh exiting your lips. He’s hard as a goddamn rock, and the precum escaping him tells you he’s more than ready for you. The restraint he must have to keep himself from fucking you senseless is absolutely unfathomable to you. You want his cum... no, you need it.

“Careful, you’ll break the skin,” he comments, gesturing to your lip. You release your lip from your tooth’s grip just as he takes your neck back into his grip once again, squeezing good and hard. Your legs rise and wrap around his hips as he rocks his fingers in and out of you, entering you as deep as he can.

“God. I can feel your cervix,” he comments breathlessly. He’s concentrating hard, eyebrows furrowed, and although to some his words may sound oddly medical, you know how much it turns him on to enter you as deep as he can possibly go. He’s been edging his fingers higher and higher since he first entered you an hour ago.

The pleasure is becoming too much for you. You’ve thought that same thought so many times during this lovemaking session, thought that ecstasy would finally take over your body, leaving you trembling and sopping wet, and your husband wholly unsatisfied. Sure, you can take multiple climaxes in a row like a champ, but you know how much Amos loves the feeling of your pulsing cunt squeezing around his cock after being teased by him for so long. You need him to cum inside of you, and you know that stimulation or no stimulation, if you cum whilst his cock is outside of you he’ll cum anyway.

“Please Amos! God, doctor please! I need your cock! I need it! I need i-“ and before you can say another word his hand is removed from your neck, his juice drenched fingers are in his mouth, and he’s readying his cock to enter you. Teasing your clit first, he lets out a soft low grunt as precum spills onto your vulva. Not much, just a few drops, but it’s enough to wet your appetite.

“Are you... you ready for me?” he asks, slightly apprehensively. Despite his facade of confidence, and despite your unyielding begging, he’s still slightly unsure of himself. He’s often like this, both in and out of the bedroom. You think it might be a symptom of his time serving as a doctor in the war. He has told you of his time there, vaguely, and often in abstractions, but you understand. More than once during the war he had to make decisions regarding his patients health that ended up killing them, not saving them. Of course you could see that he had never been at fault; he had done the best he could, he had followed his Hippocratic oath to the best of his ability, and between the shooting and the noise and the blood... well no man could have done any better than your husband, not matter his training, but he still blamed himself, and as a result second guessed himself still. He’s a stickler for consent.

You nod in response to his question, giving him your last gesture of consent before he enters you, slow but firm, and intentional. He rests his forehead against yours, both of your eyes closing as you savour the feeling you’ve both been craving all day... and suddenly you hear a voice cry out, a mans, Johnny’s in fact.

“Don’t answer,” you find yourself whispering to the doc. It was certainly not an ethical request, but you truly feel that you’re more desperate for a fucking climax than any man could possibly be for medical attention. Johnny calls out for the doc once more.

“Goddammit!” the doc exclaims, opening his eyes again. “What?” he yells out to Johnny, awaiting his answer. The doc pulls out of you slowly, beginning to untie your wrists when he hears your disappointed sigh.

“Someone’s been shot at the Gem, one of the whores!” Johnny replies.

“I won’t be long,” your husband whispers to you, running his ringers lovingly through your hair before he gets up from the bed and begins to dress. You rub your sore wrists as you sit up (it’s a feeling you somewhat enjoy), and the doc gets up. He begins to dress frantically, huffing in anger the way he usually does. You find it awful endearing.

“I’ll get dressed and meet you at the Gem in case you need a hand,” you tell him, fastening his shirt buttons. He tries his hardest to position his cock in a way that will hide his erection in his pants, and is mildly successful, however to you it’s still slightly obvious. As he takes his hat in hand you kiss him on the cheek. “Be safe,” you say. You know your husband always does his best to be safe, I mean he knows how to mind his own goddamn fucking business, but your request to him serves as a little reminder of what’s waiting for him at home as he goes about his stressful and often dangerous business. He nods in reply, and thinks that tonight he will be extra careful... he knows what’s waiting for him.

“I’ll make this up to you,” he promises, furrowing his brows as he grabs his medical bag and heads out the door, leaving you alone in your house once again. This, you think, is an exemplary example of what it’s like to be a doctors wife, but somehow Amos always makes every moment you spend alone seem worth it.

You can hear Johnny and the doc talking softly as they walk down the thoroughfare towards the Gem, and you begin to dress. You don your corset, then your dress, no bloomers or stockings. You want to give Amos easy access. You put on your boots, purposefully leaving the left untied, and fix your hair before grabbing your cane and a shawl. You head out of your house only to see Charlie waiting for you, leaned up against a tree across from your home.

“Did Amos put you up to this?” you ask him as you walk towards him. He takes your shawl from your hands, wrapping it around your shoulders snugly.

“He ran into me, asked me to escort you over to the Gem,” Charlie replies. As always, he’s a complete gentleman, and takes your free arm in his as you begin to walk. Not having the most affectionate father figure growing up (to put it lightly), you imagine having a loving father might be something like your friendship with Charlie. He’s loyal to a fault, caring, protective. You love the man, and you hope he knows it.

“Why don’t you come over for breakfast tomorrow Charlie? Or dinner? Or both!” you ask him with a smile. “You know our door is always open.”

“I might just do that (Y/N),” he tells you, smiling back. You reach the door to the Gem, and now in better lighting than in the dimly lit thoroughfare, Charlie’s eyes zero in on your neck. “I hesitate to ask... did someone hurt you? Did Doc Coc-“ Charlie begins to speak, but you stop him, talking over him.

“I’m going to confide something in you Charlie, as a friend, in the hope of putting your mind at ease,” you pause for a moment taking a deep breath, your eyes falling to your feet. “I enjoy when the doc chokes me. I-I know it may sound strange to you but in the throws of passionate lovemaking my body finds it very agreeable, and god only knows why I enjoy it, with all the men who have choked me out in my lifetime, without my consent. Now, you know the doc could never hurt me, he could never hurt anyone for gods sake,” you look up to your friend, your cheeks reddening when you see him looking to you with shock every so subtly written on his face. This is a conversation neither of you are particularly comfortable having with one another. “So please don’t worry yourself over me Charlie. Please don’t. Now, I’d better find the doc. He may need my help,” your take his hands in yours, letting your cane hang off your left wrist. Lucky for you the lace on the end of the sleeves of your dress cover the marks on your wrists, for you’d hesitate even more to explain your proclivity for being bound, or how much you enjoy having all control and autonomy stripped from you. “Thank you for being my escort, and I hope I’ll see you tomorrow, even after my little confession,” you say with a shy smile and a nervous laugh. Charlie nods his head, an intense look of understanding on his face. He knows better than to pry any further, and he gives your hands a firm and affectionate squeeze before letting them go.

“Goodnight (Y/N),” he says, gentlemanly as always, and tips his hat before leaving you in the doorway of the Gem, a building you’d spent more time in than you ever imagined you would.

Walking in now you make a bee line to the whores recreation room, past the bar. You pause once you get to the hallway, spotting your husband attending to one of the whores in the closest room to your right. She’s alive, thank god, and getting her wound closed by the doc. You love watching him work, and in a strange way his care and concentration turns you on, wetting your cunt all over again. As much as you want his concentration to continue, you can’t shake the thought of doing something slightly provocative, of catching his attention despite the chaos of the saloon. There’s a wooden bench where you’re standing, just as you had planned. It’s now time to enact your rather devious idea. You lift your left leg, letting your foot rest on it languidly, and lean your cane up against the wall. Reaching down you begin to move your flowing skirt from between your legs, lifting it up to give you better access to your boots, and revealing your unclothed cunt. Lucky for you there are no Johns in the hallway, otherwise god only knows how many men would have gotten a glimpse of your snatch, for free no less! You clear your throat, finally drawing the docs attention to you. He looks up over his glasses, then moves them up with the back of his left hand, needle in his right. He lets out a flustered cough, face turning red. This reaction may have been a remnant of his sickness from consumption, which thank the lord he was able to overcome, but you’re almost sure it isn’t. Your husband can’t take his eyes off of you, and he squirms in place a little, trying to make his painful and straining erection more comfortable no doubt. Lucky for the two of you that the poor whore, Sara you’re almost sure her name is, is in too much pain to notice the doc has even stopped attending to her, let alone notice the bulge in his pants. You finally tie the laces of your boot and pull your skirt back down again, just in time for Al to come between the two of you. Amos clears his throat, turning his attention back to the injured whore. He takes a moment to compose himself before tying off his suturing thread.

“You come here to help the doc or are you just looking for new employment?” Al asks, taking no time to start shit stirring you. You take your leg down from the bench, getting your balance again with a little help from your cane.

“The doc seems to be handling the situation well on his own, so I guess you’d better find me a few eager men to fuck,” you reply playfully. The doc, in his transparentness, can’t help but look to you when he hears you say the word ‘fuck’.

“I can think of someone,” Al comments, looking in on the doc. You hit Al’s arm, only half playfully.

“Watch it mister,” you warn. “So what happened to the guy who shot her?”

“You don’t want to know,” he tells you, looking over to the bloodstain on his hardwood floor. Your breath hitches slightly. Despite knowing the reality of Al, and this town, and all the goddamn wrongdoing people in it, murder sometimes still shocks you. You keep your eyes on the blood, almost captivated by its morbidity as you begin to speak again.

“Make sure you let Amos look at the man before you feed him to the pigs,” you say absentmindedly. You’re brought out of your stupor by Amos entering the hallway, medical bag in hand. “How is she?” you ask him, almost in a whisper. She’s lying down now, passed out.

“Just a flesh wound, she’ll survive,” he replies, his eyes never leaving yours. They beam with love and adoration for you.

“Good,” you say, breath hitching. In moments like this you truly believe that his gaze, and his gaze alone, could make you climax. The pulling in your stomach is becoming unbearable now. You’re barely able to stop yourself from touching yourself, right there for all the towns men to see.

Al begins to speak again, a slightly annoyed and teasing shit eating grin on his face at the sight of your obvious romanticism.

“Would you two like to accompany me to my office?” his voice is sarcastically inviting.

“We can’t tonight Al. Another time-“ your husband begins to make excuses, which you thank god for, but Al is adamant.

“Tonight. Now,” he states firmly. “I need to talk to the fucking both of you.”

So the two of you concede with a disappointed sigh, and Al makes his way up the stairs in front of you, the doc walking next to you, a supportive hand on your lower back. As you ascend the doc lets his hand stray lower and lower, earning an amused warning look from you. Once in Al’s office the three of you sit, but you can hardly sit still, and the doc is fidgeting a little too.

“Drink?” Al asks. “If anyone needs it it’s the two of you.” “Will you just get on with the goddamn business Al?” Amos demands, rocking in his seat, hands rubbing his knees. You place a hand on his thigh in an effort to placate him, but it only makes his cock twitch.

“Jesus Christ! I’ve never seen you two so fucking antsy,” Al comments as he pours the drinks. As you both down your shots Johnny bursts into the room.

“Tolliver’s just walked through the door Al. Looks mad as all hell,” he relays, urgency evident.

“Alright then. Fucking stay here and wait for me, and don’t think of thieving. I know what’s in this room.”

You roll your eyes at Al’s tired fucking joke, and he walks out, closing the door behind him. Turning to your husband now, you see such urgency in his eyes. He’s bouncing his leg up and down, and eyeing you like an animal. You know what’s about to come, and you couldn’t be happier about it. You stand, and suddenly the doc is pushed up behind you. He bends you over Al’s desk, and begins to fiddle with his belt eagerly as you rush to pull up your skirt, letting the plumes of fabric gather around your waist.

“I’m ‘onna fuck you (Y/N), okay?” he asks, now with his bare cock readying itself at your entrance. You’re absolutely sopping, dripping, and he half thinks he may not be able to wait for your reply.

Even through your daze of arousal it still amazes you how commanding and unsure he can sound in one breath. A walking paradox, your husband could sometimes be, and any man would find it evident how much you need to be fucked... nevertheless you reply.

“Amos, please. I need you! I need you! I need,” and he enters you, eliciting a relieved and pronounced moan from your lips. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut as he begins to thrust. Neither of you are going to last long, but with the two of you fucking in Al’s office and all that’s probably for the best. The doc moves your hair to one side and leans over you, laying lustful kisses on the back on your neck, and you push your ass further back into him, trying to get him to penetrate you deeper. The doc takes the hint, and bottoms out inside of you. He hits your cervix and exhales deeply, pausing there for a moment, savouring the sensation. He loves to fill you.

“God Amos! Don’t stop don’t fucking stop!” you yell, sounding almost angry in your desperation. Your husband hushes you and starts up again, giving your bare ass an affectionate tap. He holds onto your hips firmly as he fucks himself into you, good and fast. You know that people in the saloon must be able to hear your screams and moans, and you’re just hoping that with all the other sounds of debauchery coming from all the other rooms no one will be able to say for certain it was you and the doc making those noises. Amos begins to grunt breathlessly, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Honey... honey, god! Fuck!” he exclaims, and you can feel from his rhythm that he’s just about ready to burst. “I’m ‘onna cum in you, I’m ‘onna cum so deep!”

“Oh god Amos!” you yell his name before you can even stop yourself. Your climax is approaching quickly now, and his thrust are becoming erratic. He’s losing control of himself, fucking you as hard as his body physically can after a long day. The way he fucks you is goddamn euphoric. So deep, so skilled, with such care for you. His stomach is pushed up against your back now as he tries desperately to stay upright whilst his climax plummets towards him.

“Gonna cum... gonna cum in you, gonna cum,” he whispers to you in that rough gravely voice of his that you find so arousing. He puts his arm underneath your right shoulder and grips onto it, his left hand grasping onto your waist, and within seconds he explodes into you, plumes of steaming potent cum entering your pulsing cunt. This sensation, coupled with your husbands irresistible moans, and his desperate moans of your name, sends you climaxing. You scream out, trying to grip onto anything you can, your hand landing on the docs hand on your shoulder. Your body shudders, every part of you shaking, and your walls clenching around your husbands cock, milking all of his cum from him. Your ears begin to ring and your sight darkens. For a moment you truly believe that coming this hard is going to make you pass out. He fills you, god he fills you so fucking good. The doc begins to kiss the back of your neck again, leaving little red marks where he bites and sucks on it. Between kisses he begins to speak again. “You like feeling my cum in you, don’t you?”

“I love it,” you reply breathlessly whilst he’s still speaking. “I goddamn love it, I love it. I love you.”

Your body begins to relax now, and your legs turn to jelly. The doc slowly pulls out of you, standing up straight as he does, and you almost fall to the floor, but he catches you, lowering you down carefully onto your chair. When you turn to him, and sitting in his chair now, you notice that his glasses have fogged up. You’re both sweaty and red in the face, panting feverishly. The doc takes his glasses off, then points to your chest with an amused smile on his face. You look down, noticing that both your tits are now situated outside of your dress. You laugh lightly, looking to your husband in sweet euphoric adoration as you begin to tuck them back into the bust of your dress.

Suddenly Al walks back in, swinging the door to his office open. You jump, and fix yourself quickly, but you realise hiding your sinful deed is futile once you begin to look around the room. Al’s desk has been pushed back, and is crooked, and his whiskey bottle has toppled over and is rolling around on his desk (no whiskey spilt though, thank god). You look from the desk to Al, then to your husband.

“Jesus Christ!” Al says in a sing song voice. He’s beyond amused.

“Shut the fuck up Al,” you say deadpan, your voice slightly horse. You clear your throat, and the doc tries to smooth your ‘just been fucked’ hair a little. Al begins to fix his desk up, moving it to its previous position. This is a grace he has decided to afford you (most others he would make fix the room up themselves), because despite your teasing and shit talking you are good friends, and he is friends with your husband also. He pours all three of you another shot, which you all drink, and within moments it’s back to business.

“You need to stop visiting my whores,” he tells you, and your mouth opens, shocked.

“Sorry?” you ask obstinately.

“When the doc comes for his weekly visit stop fucking accompanying him. You’re filling their minds with stories of ancient societies run by fucking women and ideas to leave my fucking employ,” he explains further.

“I’m trying to enrich their lives Al. All they do is fuck and get high on dope! They know nothing of the outside world! I can’t see why it’s such a bad thing to educate them a little on arts and culture.”

“That’s my girl,” the doc chimes in, winking at you.

“Oh so you agree with her doc? I’d remind you that without my whores you’d be out of a job.” “And have any of them left Al?” Amos points out. Besides Trixie none of them have, and her leaving was a turn of events you had no part in.

“With the girls living conditions to boot I would have thought my accompanying the doc would be a welcome change. Surely high spirited women fuck better Al... that has certainly been my experience. Until the end of goddamn time there will always be women willing to fuck for money. It’s called the oldest profession for a goddamn reason. They like me Al, and they like the stories I tell them! I’m not gonna stop accompanying my husband to his weekly visits, and that’s fucking that!” you end the argument.

“Staunch fucking cunt,” Al says under his breath, and the doc glares at him.

“You know I’m fucking right Al. You know I am,” you begin to tease him again, the mood lightening. Al thinks for a moment, before reluctantly conceding your point.

“Well no fucking tales of women leaving their pimps or the like, or I will murder you where you sleep,” he threatens, but you know his threats are hollow. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

“You’re a sore looser Al,” you say and stand with a grunt. You look down, and see a small puddle of fluids forming between your legs. “I think I just leaked cum on your floor Al,” you tell him, and your husband stands also, passing you your cane.

“You’re not the first,” Al replies, leading the both of you to the door.

“What did Tolliver want to see you about anyway?” the doc asks Al, and you both pass him by.

“That, doc, is not a story that should grace a woman’s ears.”

Walking out of the saloon you smile to the whores and Jewell, then you and your husband enter into the cool night air, finally relieved of your fiery arousal, and wonderfully satisfied. Your arms are linked, and as you look both ways down the thoroughfare you spot Charlie, leaning up against a building with a whiskey bottle in hand. He tips his hat to the two of you, and somehow you just know he had waited for you, to make sure you made it out of the saloon okay. You smile to him, and think of what a loyal friend he is. Walking off leisurely towards your house, you begin to speak again.

“Well that was my first time fucking in a brothel Amos. Was it yours?” you ask, amused, and in reply all you receive is a coy smile from your husband. His silence speaks volumes. “A story for another time I gather...” you laugh, and pause for a moment, your satisfied smile growing even larger on your face. Your voice turns to a whisper. “And don’t ask me how I know this doc, but I think you may have just impregnated me again.”

The docs smile grows also, and you finally reach your home.

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anarchy-n-glitter · 5 months

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𝕸𝖆𝖉 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊

Summary: Dr. Heather Winters is hired by CHAANK to give her professional opinion on a mystery patient. The kicker? She has two months to determine whether or not he's sane enough to be let out of the vault in the basement of the building - if he's determined unsafe he would be left to die. Even worse, what happens when she begins to fall in love with her mystery patient? (So, this is very Batman inspired. Does the plot make sense, no not really? Do I care, also no. Jack just reminded me so much of Joker I had to do this, sorry.)

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1

“He’s in there? My patient is in there?” The blonde woman breathed, absolutely flabbergasted after being led all that way down to the tenth vault in the basement of CHAANK headquarters. She wasn’t even entirely sure what she was doing there, why she even accepted the job. She was a criminal psychologist, someone who could be helping others in the prison system or even helping in court cases (or, at least, that’s what she assumed - she was still new to this psychologist thing). Instead she was there, walking through dark hallways following the brunette CEO of the company.

“It’s a long story, Dr. Winters.” The CEO, who went by Ms. Cale, as far as she knew, turned to face the doctor. “But you have a few months to learn everything about it.” She sounded irritated, and the doctor couldn’t help but ask questions - after all that was her job.

“You don’t sound pleased about me being here, why is that?” Dr. Winters asked, tucking her notebook under her arm. Cale rolled her dark eyes, though the doctor was sure it wasn’t at her, moreso at the situation.

“Some people on the board wanted him alive, said we could fire him but we needed to let him out. I wanted him to rot after what he did. The board was split on the matter until someone mentioned getting a psychiatrist in here to make sure he wouldn’t kill us all. No offense, Dr. Winters but-”

“Please just call me Heather for now.” The blonde, Heather, breathed. The conversation was already rubbing her the wrong way. They really expected her to be judge, jury, and executioner.

Cale smiled a tight lipped smile. “Heather, I don’t have faith in this. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, I’ve read his file. To me, he’s better off in there.” It had only been a few days since the carnage he wreaked on CHAANK, and this was to be Cale’s last impact on the company. She had hoped everyone would agree with her when she said he should die in that vault. Heather looked up at the large, steel door under the blue lighting of the basement. Everything down there was a cool grey tone, mostly thanks to the blue lighting, but it set Heather on edge. She could easily lose track of time down there, and lose track of where she was. Not many people seemed to go down there, and she feared that if she did get lost no one would be able to help her find her way out. She wondered for a moment if the man behind the vault door knew his way around the basement, she wondered if he himself had gotten lost down there and they just closed the door on him.

“If my patient is behind this door how exactly am I supposed to interact with him? I find better results when I’m face to face with my patients.” Heather remarked, unable to hide her discontent with the situation. If there was one thing Heather and Cale could agree on it was their displeasure with the whole situation they found themselves in.

“We have a way of letting you see and talk to him but you’re not permitted inside. He’ll be able to hear your voice, though.” Heather huffed at this. “Did you look over his file?” Cale continued. Heather shook her head.

“I haven’t been given access yet. Will I have an office? I’ll look over it as soon as I can get settled in and given access.” She promised, a bit more sincere this time. She wanted to help him, she really did, but so far the company was making it hard for her. She would try her best.

“They’re putting you in his old office.” That was a shock. Heather hardly had a chance to respond before Cale started walking in the opposite direction. She followed aimlessly, like a lost puppy. She followed her down the twists and turns, up an elevator, right to the engineering department. It was just as dark - if not darker - on that level. Heather looked around uneasily, wondering how the hell Cale seemed so calm and collected. Perhaps the events of the last few days hardened her in ways Heather couldn’t understand.

Men stood to the side, working silently while some stopped to leer at the duo. Heather scoffed, wondering how long it had been since they had last seen a woman, everyone down there seemed like they lived there. Sparks flew on either side of them, making Heather jump ever so slightly. She wasn’t a fan of things she felt could set her on fire. But hey, at least it seemed like they were hard at work.

Cale stopped before a wall covered in colorful graffiti, taking a deep breath and glancing at the smaller blonde beside her. Just to the side was a red, sliding door, which Cale pulled open to reveal a large, cluttered room. TVs were stacked along the wall and towering shelves were lined up around the room, making a sort of pseudo labyrinth of this mad man’s design. It’s not right to think that way just yet, Heather scolded herself. She knew nothing of Jack Dante, but from what she could see, her task was already quite daunting.

“All his shit is still there, hopefully it’s enough for you to get a good idea of the man before you get his file.” Cale turned on her heel, ready to get the hell out of there and go home for the rest of the day. Ever since submitting her resignation letter she had been counting the days before she could get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, she knew she couldn’t leave until Dr. Winters made her decision regarding one Jack Dante, who was still locked in Vault Ten, likely still thinking he was fighting for his life. She didn’t turn to look at the doctor as she spoke. “Knock yourself out.”

Two months. Heather had two months to get some sort of idea of who Jack Dante was - what his psyche was like. So far, she had a sinking feeling. If he wasn’t deemed safe and sane enough to be let out they would simply let him die - or at least that was the vibe Cale gave off. Heather knew they would leave him to die - but somewhere deep down she hoped they would instead send him to a facility that could help him. She picked up an action figure from one of his many cluttered desks. She recognized the figure - it was one of the only characters she recognized - Batman. Clad in his black batsuit with his yellow emblem, he held his grapple gun. She found herself amazed that such a small accessory was preserved, despite the mess around the figure. Heather looked around, wondering if he had a Joker lying around somewhere too.

She walked along the isles, looking at his various drawings and scribblings that were plastered along the shelves while still holding onto the little Batman, playing with the cloth cape between her fingers anxiously. The longer she looked at one drawing the worse her sinking feeling got. All fuzzy feelings she felt - any endearing qualities she might have picked up on - from looking at his action figures were washed away the longer she stared at his drawings. They were done with dark, almost violent, strokes scribbled all over the page, depicting naked women and other taboo subjects. Turning around, Heather caught sight of a wall full of pornagraphic photos of women in various poses and in various states of undress.

A porn addict, clearly. Heather thought to herself as she stared in wonder and a sick sense of awe. On the table below the wall sat a pair of lacy panties, which she wished she never saw. She wondered if he had a girlfriend at some point or another, hoping for this hypothetical woman’s sake that he didn’t. She also hoped, that if there was never a girlfriend, that those were just panties he bought and were never stolen from some poor, unsuspecting woman.

Moving on from there, she made her way to the stack of TVs along the back wall, and cautiously turned one on. It crackled and a white line flashed before the picture came on, and on its display was an old Tom and Jerry cartoon. She thought she learned her lesson the first time, but she found herself fighting the urge to smile again. It was endearing, even if this space reminded her of a teenage boy.

Maybe he’s emotionally stunted? She wondered to herself as she moved to the next TV, pressing the power button to see if he had the same thing playing on each individual display. She let out a shocked gasp and jumped back as a video of a woman getting railed from behind came up on the TV, covering her eyes out of embarrassment and surprise. She quickly hit the power button, shutting off the TV as she shook off her discomfort. Note to self, stop smiling at things.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Heather’s hand shook as she set up her notebook, setting her pen (a pink glitter pen - she wanted to have a bit of fun despite how nerve wracking this experience had been so far) down beside the spirals binding her notebook together. She straightened her pen yet again, trying her best to make everything perfect - a nervous habit she picked up from her mother. She worried that if her pen wasn’t perfect something would go wrong and she would be responsible for a man’s death. As she went through school she began to suspect it was some form of OCD or anxiety tick.

She worked much later than she had expected the night before, trying her best to clean up a corner of his “office” so she could keep her things there and sit at a table without feeling the urge to burn everything that came in contact with the surface. She went a little above and beyond though, even making her way to the old, stained mattress in the corner and trying her best to get the stink of sweat out of it, even putting on the fresh sheets she bought from the store when she stopped to get cleaning supplies. She was lucky she did, because after all she did that day she ended up accidentally spending the night when she passed out from exhaustion. When she woke up she realized he had no pillows and mentally wondered how often he actually slept - wondering if he had a home outside of that building.

One of the engineers, Lou, had come down to help her with the video feed from Vault Ten, showing her how to speak to Jack and explaining each piece of equipment she needed to worry about. Lou was a large man standing at about six foot two with a muscular body and a bit of a gut - as if he needed to be any more intimidating. His hair was red and thinning, with a large bald spot in the middle of his head and stray grey hairs all throughout. He had kind green eyes that shone when she showed appreciation for his help. In some ways, he was reminiscent of Homer Simpson.

Lou took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Need more help or do you think you’ve got it?” He asked in a thick Brooklyn accent. Heather shook her head, looking up at the man with a smile on her face.

“Nope, I think I’ve got it. I press this button to turn on the security feed from vault ten, then I just press this button to speak to him right?” She wanted to make sure she had it, but she was almost certain she did. Lou nodded.

“Yep, you’ve got it.” He chuckled, but there was something underneath his jovial facade. He seemed worried about something. “Do you need anyone to stay here and wait for you? I can wait right outside if you want.” Heather pondered his offer for a moment.

“Do you think you need to stand guard like that?” She asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake as much as her hands were. His words worried her more than anything.

“I don’t know, all I know is this guy gave me the creeps when he worked up here with us. He was just bad news…” That wasn’t promising. “I have a daughter your age, I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t want him to have this place boobytrapped and have you stuck here with no one out there to help.”

Heather smiled.

“Then yes, please stick around.” She laughed. “You seem to have one up on me since you actually worked with this guy.” She watched as Lou’s expression changed, it grew more somber.

“He was not a nice guy.” Was all Lou could muster. Jack Dante was not a nice man, he was closed off and short when speaking to others. He hardly offered help and was more concerned with whatever it was he did in his office all day and night. He hardly showered, and he seemed to think he was smarter than everyone else. He insulted people, and there were times when he got violent. Lou didn’t like Jack, but he didn’t think that was a good enough reason to sentence the man to death. He didn’t know enough about him to say he was pure evil, hell, he didn’t even really know why he was locked in that vault in the first place.

Heather pressed her lips into a thin line as she stared at the blank monitor before her. In its reflection, she could see Lou brush past toward the door.

“I’ll be right outside. If you need anything give a shout and I’ll be there.” He reassured her, to which she could only nod in acknowledgement, before he shut the red door.

She took a shaking, deep breath, and held it as she pressed the button on the remote beside her to turn on the monitor. It crackled and static filled the screen before focusing into the blue image of the man she presumed to be Jack Dante.

He seemed exhausted, sitting on the floor leaning against the concrete wall. He had long black hair that came down below his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages. His eyes were closed and she watched his chest rise and fall as he took deep breaths. Was he hurt? She knew he was tired - he had to be - she was sure they weren’t giving him food or water while he was down there, and from what she understood it might have been actively dangerous to do so.

Her hand shook as she reached for the intercom microphone and controls. She wasn’t even sure where to begin. Her words got caught in her throat and they felt as if they were choking her. All she could do was stare at the screen wide eyed. It was slightly easier to come to terms with having someone’s life in her hands when she couldn’t put a face to the name, but now…

He looked scared, even when trying to rest he looked terrified. She knew CHAANK was bad, everyone did after their war machine went haywire and killed a bunch of people, but she didn’t expect this. It looked like he had went through days of literal torture. She couldn’t do this.

“Jack Dante?” His name felt like the easiest thing to start with, they were the only words that would come out. She prayed her voice sounded steady. His head jerked in the direction of the camera, as if he knew people had been watching him. His look of surprise morphed into one of dismay and confusion.

“Who the fuck are you?” Charming, she thought to herself and she opened her notebook, flipping to a page filled with basic bullet points and notes. She had gone over his file while she took a break from cleaning that one corner of his office, and she took as many notes as possible. The more she read from his file the more daunting the task of trying to save him became.

Why are we trying to save him? She asked herself. After everything he’s done it seems like a lost cause.

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” She reminded herself, muttering under her breath as she brought the mic closer to her again. “Mr. Dante, I’m Dr. Heather Winters, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He scoffed.

“They sent a shrink…” He murmured, though it was loud enough for the security feed to pick up on. “Hey, at least they didn’t send the cops.” He laughed darkly, and she found herself agreeing with him. From what she knew and could see, she was almost glad the cops weren’t called to come get him - he probably would have been shot and killed. Something about that thought made her feel uneasy.

Jack stood up and brought his fingers to his mouth, chewing on the nail and cuticle in focus as he began to pace. “If you’re talking to me that means the War Beast isn’t on anymore, right?” There was something urgent in his tone. Heather didn’t even know what the War Beast was.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about how you ended up here, Jack.” She changed the subject. Jack took a step forward, looking directly at the camera this time.

“No, no. You’re gonna tell me if that thing is still after me.” He was starting to get aggressive, but she knew there was more to it than that. Something was after him and he was scared… he was alone…

“What thing?” She asked genuinely, and he scoffed in response. “No, they really didn’t tell me what was going on. Is something after you, Mr. Dante?” He paused for a moment.

“You really don’t know?” She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. He snickered to himself, putting his hands on his hips as he began to pace. “I created the thing… it was…” He laughed again, this time sounding more proud than before. “It was beautiful. A perfect killing machine. I worked so hard to make sure I got everything right…” He spoke so passionately about his project. Each word felt carefully picked, and she couldn’t help but notice the large smile that came to his face the longer he talked about it.

“That bitch took the controls from me and locked me in here with it.” He finished, his expression growing dark at the memory. That was a good tangent to follow, she determined.

“Who locked you in there with it?” He looked up at the camera again.

“Who do you think? The bitch, the one that hired you! Cale!”

“I’m sorry.” Heather stated in a voice barely above a whisper. She watched as his demeanor changed from that of a caged animal to something more human. He relaxed, and in turn so did she. He smiled at the camera and she smiled back knowing the look was meant for her.

“Hey, it’s alright, babe - sorry, doctor. I didn’t expect her to tell you how much of a fucking hypocrite she was. She’s been trying to kill me for two days straight now.” Jack snorted. He moved closer to the camera, staring up at it with gleaming eyes filled to the brim with curiosity and mischief. If only you knew Jack, the doctor thought solemnly. She wanted to tell him why she was really there - wanted to tell him the whole truth - but she feared what he would do if she did.

Jack stopped for a moment, looking around for something to stand on. He wanted to be closer to this mystery woman, give her a good idea of who he was. He felt he was doing a good enough job already. He wished he could see her - she sounded hot. He loved how gently she spoke to him, sounding almost shy, but she still had that professional tone that most doctors had… it drove him nuts.

In the corner there was a crate full of various mechanical parts (which he had ordered and never used). He dragged it over to the security camera and stepped on top, getting uncomfortably close to the lens. Heather jumped back slightly.

“I wanna see you.” He whined.

“If you cooperate with me I can try and convince them to let you come to my office.” She offered, which brought a large smile to his face. He hopped off of the crate, pumping his fist excitedly.

“Yes! Sick! Awesome, I promise you won’t regret it dude. I’ll be good.” He stepped onto the crate again, and this time she felt like he was staring directly into her soul. “What do you want to know?”

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

He was volatile, full of anger directed at a world he couldn’t control. He was passionate, but certainly seemed to have an affinity for the dangerous and deadly. His file had described him as having acute violent psychosis, and I could see some truth to that. Yet, the longer he spoke the more I realized he was nothing more than a lonely soul crying out for love and acceptance. He was a lost, injured child trying to make the world laugh at his antics - and much to my dismay he had succeeded quite a few times at making me laugh at his crude jokes. I still don’t think I’m the best person to have on this case, I am, unfortunately, a bleeding heart, and I’m human. He told me about his past, growing up lonely and without much guidance, and deep down I felt there was something in him that was worth saving. He made me want to reach through the screen and comfort him, to pull him into some sort of embrace to let him know he wasn’t alone.

#jack dante x reader #jack dante x original character #jack dante #death machine #death machine fanfic #brad dourif

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yourcoolistjennifertillyfan · 9 days

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I think the only time I was genuinely scared of tiffany is at the end of chucky season 1 ep 8 and nica wakes up to her limbs missing.and tiffany is bein all creepy and stuff 😭😭

#tiffany valentine #chucky #childs play #tiffany valentine x reader #jennifer tilly #nica pierce #fiona dourif #brad dourif #horror

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streets-in-paradise · 2 years

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Untill Death Tear Us Apart - Andy Barclay (fem)Reader/Chucky (fem)Reader - Part 2

Masterlist

Word Count 1.5 K

Warnings: Same warnings of part 1

Summary: Exposure forces Chucky to come up with excuses as he tries to keep your family on his side. Thinking on your children as the kid he once was, Andy needs to set the twins free from his manipulations before finishing him off.

Notes: I wasn’t planning on doing a part two when I came up with this, but it happened because I kept thinking of the concept. To continue I had to name the boys and i kept my old habit of using horror names. They were named after Sam Winchester from Supernatural and Danny from The Shinning.

Tags: @losersclubisms

The situation imploded quicker than expected, Andy was relatively pleased with how fast Chucky’s anger overcame his need of playing the fool for you. Unfortunately, the doll wasn’t going to give up quickly and, knowing that his life depended on it, he still tried to get you on his side. The kids were crying, scared of the people keeping their beloved friend at gunpoint and seeing your state of horrified confusion was making Andy hesitate. Like your sons, he used to be a kid manipulated through the hole in his life left by the absence of his father. If he would proceed to kill the doll wordlessly and quickly as usual, they would never get the answers they would need later in life. He gesturally warned Kyle about the switch of tactic, then proceeded into it.

Killing Chucky wasn’t enough, he had to be exposed. Those children deserved to know that he was never their friend, that he played them the whole time and that he was the killer of their dad. Unlike in other houses, the doll got to cause too much harm there and he couldn’t get away with it for free. He didn’t deserve a victimizing death, one that would leave him to be remembered as a loving friend by two naive boys that would be crying for him. The lack of explanations could result in more unaware collaboration on their part if Chucky would ever decide to make a comeback on another body.

That was how you ended up stuck in the most unbelievable of arguments: a talking toy against a man were aggressively fighting for credibility and you were the judge whose approbation they were seeking.

“ We can still be together, this all ain’t plastic.” Chucky told you, as if the proposition would be a completely normal thing. “ You gotta admit I have been a great husband to you and beneath this I am a real man, you know? “

It repulsed you, weirded you even more than not knowing exactly what the hell he was.

“ A serial killer ” Andy quickly replicated. “ His real name is Charles Lee Ray, he got his soul transferred into a doll after being shot by police.”

“ I know, the doll body creeps you, but back in the day I used to be way better looking than this dumbass. Just google me and you will find out I am really hot. “

The insane answer got on his rival’s nerves.

“ That body has been decomposing in a graveyard since 1988 … and how is that a valid point?”

“ She will trust me more if she gets to know what she is missing.” Chucky teased back. “ Nobody needs you to point out the obvious, Andy.”

“ So, you are not Alex” You briefly interrupted, pointing at the man over the name he introduced himself by when he arrived at your house. You weren’t trying to make it an actual act of questioning, it was confusion talking for you.

“ See? He has lied about his name. Who knows what else he is hiding?”

“ YOU ARE A SUPERNATURALLY POSSESSED DOLL!” Andy defended himself. “ ISN’T THAT BIG FUCKING LYING?”

The doll didn’t answer him, directing his speech once more to you.

“ I never lied to you about that, (y/n). Told your kids I am Chucky and that is my actual name. Nickname for Charles, actually. “

“ All this time you have been a man? “ In your tone of voice when delivering the question it was noticeable that you were feeling sick. “ When I held you, in all that marriage playing… On my BED?”

“ Imagine it’s like Princess and the Frog, but instead it is Pinocchio. Inside the doll you get the prince” He justified himself. “ I was here with you every fucking moment of the godamn day. I have spent more time at your side than any guy you have ever met. I know your likes and habits, your worries and fears. I heard you cry, vent your frustration out: I stood up by your side at the most horrible moments and loved to be there. No one will ever bring you the same dedication and I trust you will see that now. “

Kyle was honestly shocked witnessing the reach of Chucky’s ability to manipulate facts in his favor. She didn’t get as much of that as Andy once did, but it was horribly disgusting to see anyways.

“ He played the same game on another woman back in that year, her husband was found in the river. Did yours die in an accident too?”

Your eyes started to fill with falling tears, desperation overwhelming you as you were trying to make the math and remember if Chucky was already there at the time of the accident.

“ Of you and me… Who are the ones holding guns, Kyle?”

“ We are protecting her from YOU!” Andy insisted, trying to visually reach out to you and see if you were beginning to understand the situation.

“ I never hurt her, or the boys. They know I am their friend.”

“ YOU KILLED THEIR FATHER!”

Hugging you as if their lives depended on it, they were one with your pain and fear. Danny acted the bravest, looking at the doll in the eye while daring to ask the question so his brother wouldn’t have to.

“ Is that true, Chucky? Did you kill daddy?”

He was trapped, exposed to his own lies, but still tried one last attempt to keep control over the boy.

“ I was playing hide the soul with him, but he was a real asshole and got against it… Just like Andy, he is an asshole who wants to separate us. Are you gonna trust him, or me? I am your friend, Danny. I’m always for you and Sammy, whenever you feel lonely you come to play with me.”

Andy couldn’t stand it anymore, it was like staring at his childhood self in a magical mirror. He could be shooting Chucky right there, skipping the traumatic experience, but he knew that both of those kids needed it.

“ You are not our friend.” Sammy added, releasing you to hold his brother. “ Friends don’t do that. “

“ You are not dad, you will never be. I want MY DAD back, CHUCKY!”

That was the sign Andy was waiting for, turned into a subtle gesture that the boys made at him in order to indicate that they were ready for what had to happen. It made him remember of the determination he showed as a little boy setting Chucky on fire, how clear it was for him that last manipulation he tried when locked in the chimney.

A mess of bloody doll remains put the end after he and his sister emptied the loads of their guns over Chucky. Your little broken family had a lot to process, but at least you would be able to do it in peace. However, it had to be explained to you that when it was about him all ends were circumstantial. He showed a singular obsession with you and that was always bad news. it was most likely he would attempt a comeback to get revenge or a kidnap.

Andy felt the personal need of being the one doing the warning to you, along with some other important explanations.

“ My real name is Andy Barclay, I once was the first child he terrorized. “ He later confessed to you while Kyle distracted the boys so they wouldn’t get to hear more traumatizing information. “ He has chased me my whole childhood and I have dedicated the rest of my life to make sure he would never hurt anyone else. The woman you have met as Christine is Kyle, my sister. We both wish we could have arrived on time, but the fucker has made tons of clones on dolls and those are not always easy to track.”

“ But you killed him, you saved our lives…. How can he still be out there?”

“ We don’t know for sure how, but what truly matters is that he can come back anytime and you need to be ready. Yours isn’t a disposable family, he has some psycho attachment to you and that means he is not going to stop easily.”

A knot in your throat formed to the mere mention of that.

“ Do you know how to shoot?” He asked you, seeking to help you despite the anxious shock. “ It is the safest way to stop him, he has advantage on closer combat. Your highest chances to win are with a gun on hand.”

“ I have never held one, those have always terrified me…”

You were feeling the world collapsing, but he held you as if he was attaching you to reality itself through that kind gesture. At that moment, his embrace was the safest place for you.

“ It’s alright, we will figure that out. I’m going to stay in town as much as you need and teach you all what needs to be learned to keep your kids safe. I’m not doing this for all the families, I usually hit the road as soon as the doll is dead but you were an exception to him and that makes you an exception to me.”

#andy barclay #chucky #charles lee ray #andy barclay x reader #chucky x reader #alex vincent #brad dourif #chucky 2021 #cult of chucky #curse of chucky #child's play #chucky fanfiction #chucky 2021 fanfiction

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haddonfieldwhore · 2 years

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charles lee ray x oc (part 3/3? maybe)

warnings: language, smoking, small age gap (7yrs), drinking, implied/borderline smut, kinda nsfw basically the whole time 💀, not edited haha

@psychohorrorbitch because they asked for it 🖤

remember what i said about maybe never seeing charles again? well that didn’t go exactly as planned, as a few nights a week he’d show up at my door and end up in my bed. i was surprised at how much i found myself enjoying his company, and missing it when he wasn’t around. he never called, he would just show up, usually late at night and he’d leave sometime during the day, only to return later that night or the next. i didn’t mind, but i had indeed been finding myself in a bit of a downward spiral- in regards to both my job and social life; i found myself thinking of him more than i care to admit.

“charles-“ i moaned as his lips ghosted kisses down my throat, my back against the wall as he pushed his body against mine.

i had arrived home from work to find him waiting outside my apartment, smoking a cigarette as he leant against the brick building. a smile crossed his lips as i walked up to him, his arm slinging over my shoulder.

“how was work, doll?” he asked, still hanging off me as i unlocked the building front door and went inside, dragging him along with me towards the elevator and pushing the button.

“just like any other day- how long were you waiting out there this time? i thought i told you i was at work till 9 when you were over last night.” i stepped into the elevator as it dinged, the doors opening with a metal scraping sound. charles backed me into the corner of the elevator, his arms caging me in as he stared down at me, his eyes gleaming.

“not that i wasn’t listening, toots- but i remember other things from last night-“ his lips met mine roughly and my hands wove into his long messy hair, tugging it gently but with enough force to get a reaction from him. “to answer your question…” he groaned, his hands trailing down to my ass and lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he held me up, the cold metal wall of the elevator supporting the rest of my weight. “too damn long.”

we stumbled into my apartment, after i ungracefully unlocked the door after finally convincing charles to put me back on my feet. i was barely able to set my bag down before charles’ slender fingers found the buttons of my work shirt, undoing them with ease and sliding the shirt off my shoulders.

“what’s got you so worked up?” i teased. charles, not in the mood to be teased, wrapped a hand around my throat, squeezing gently but enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

“mmm you really don’t wanna know.” he growled in my ear, before pushing me towards the bedroom.

•

i don’t know what inspired charles to be so brutally honest with me at this moment, but as i found myself in the now oh so familiar state of coming down next to him, he spoke up.

“hey doll, ya wanna know what i did today?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling. i could tell by the way he asked that it wasn’t really a question. i rolled over, crossing my arms on his chest and resting my chin on them, looking at him expectantly.

“what?” i asked.

“i killed a girl,” he said, his tone serious, but with charles it was hard to tell, and the smile on his face made me a little uneasy. i giggled a little, but he spoke again. “i ain’t joking doll.” his tone was less serious, but his face gave it away- he wasn’t lying. i sat up, the sheets looking around my waist as i straddled his lap, causing him to groan and shift underneath me a bit.

“yeah?” i asked, trying not to be distracted by the feeling of his fingertips trailing up my hips to rest on my waist just below my ribcage. charles sat up a little, leaning against the pillows at the head of the bed.

“yeah.” he moaned as i moved my hips against his, his grip on me surely leaving bruises with how his fingertips dig into my sides.

“i think i must be crazy….. because that’s kinda turning me on.” i admitted, causing charles to let out a genuine laugh.

“i think that’s about the best response i could hope for, doll.” his fingers grabbed my hair and pulled my face down until our lips met roughly, his teeth biting at my bottom lip. i wrapped my arms around his neck as charles kissed down my chest, stopping when we heard someone knock on the door to my apartment. charles looked at me quizzically. “you order pizza or something?” he questioned. i shook my head, crawling out of his lap and throwing on some clothes, fixing my hair in the mirror in the bathroom. my eyes stopped on the purple marks all over my throat and shoulders , a mix of bite marks and fingerprints around my neck. i shook my head at charles, who smiled smugly as he did his belt up, his unbuttoned dress shirt the only clothing on his top half.

deciding there was no way whoever was at the door wouldn’t be able to tell what we had been doing, i decided trying to look presentable was a lost case and headed to the door where someone was persistently knocking.

“alright alright you better be on fire!” i called, a chuckle coming from charles in the other room and i realized how much it sounded like something he would say. i reached the door, my hand turning the knob and opening the door to reveal gina, a shocked look on her face when she was the state i was in.

“lindsey what the hell happened to you?! and where have you been you haven’t answered my called for weeks!” she ranted, barging past me and into my apartment.

“i’ve been… busy.” i said. well it wasn’t a lie. “and you weren’t exactly nice to me last time we spoke. ya know? when you stood me up for some guy?” i wasn’t even mad about it anymore honestly, but the way she barged in here mad at me was pissing me off.

“busy with what?” she asked, looking around my apartment, which admittedly was a mess. there were empty beer bottles scattered around, the couch cushions and pillows were messed up from certain… activities-

“with me,” i heard charles’ speak behind me and i jumped as his arms wrapped around my waist. smoke swirled in the air next to my head from the cigarette in his mouth and he rested his chin on top of my head. oh gina is gonna love this i thought.

“lindsey… who’s your- friend?” she asked, clearly uncomfortable with his presence and after connecting the dots between the marks on my body to the man looming over me, matching love bites down his exposed torso to the waistband of his pants.

“gina, this is charles. charles this is gina.” i kept the introductions brief, since i had never really planned on introducing gina to charles for more than one reason. i knew she wouldn’t like him, but i also didn’t really care to be her friend anymore in the first place.

“pleasure,” charles taunted, and i elbowed him lightly. he passed me the cigarette which i took without thinking, before he kissed the side of my head, probably as a possessive thing for than an affection thing but i didn’t mind.

“i thought you quit?” gina snapped.

“for a bit but i picked it back up again-“

“when you picked him up? god lindsey what are you doing with him?” she scoffed. i was annoyed with her to say the least. i always knew she was a bitch but she seemed every worse lately.

“oh fuck off gina, he’s better than half the guys you’ve dated. and we’re just fucking around-“

“no no i can see it in your eyes, linds, you like him. im telling you, a guy like that is just gonna use you and then leave you,” she said, pointing towards the bedroom where charles snuck off to.

“god have you always been such a cunt? or did you catch it in a bar somewhere when you told me you had to work and couldn’t hang out with me?”

“whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “clearly you’ve decided to let your life go to shit and i don’t want any part of it. don’t call me when he knocks you up and then disappears!” gina spat, before leaving, slamming the door behind her. i shook my head, putting the finished cigarette out in a beer bottle before walking back to the bedroom. charles was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a knife from the kitchen, and looked up at me when i entered the room.

“when did you take that?” i asked, straddling his lap again.

“a while ago. i hid it under the nightstand.”

“hmm.” i tapped the blade with my finger gently.

“your friend- can i kill her?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. as tempting as that sounded, i shook my head.

“not yet.” i replied. “i have other plans for right now.” my lips found his jaw as i pulled the skin between my teeth. i heard the knife get thrown to the floor a ways away from the bed before charles wrapped his arms around me and flipped us over, crawling on top of me on the bed.

“i think i’m gonna keep you.” he laughed, and i smiled up at him before his lips met mine again.

#chucky imagine #charles lee ray imagine #chucky x reader #chucky #brad dourif #child’s play

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gvalue · 1 year

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Hello!!!

The third chapter of Against all Odds is out! Chapter four is already written and I will be posting it soon. Remember that you are always welcome to give feedback, comment, leave kudos or share 💗🦋

Chapter's summary:

Five years later since their first interaction, Y/N has a change of plans in her working life. A challenging project will be leading her to new places and people she thought she would never see again.

You can find the first chapter of Against all Odds here.

#bradley rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #brad dourif #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster imagine #rooster x y/n #rooster bradshaw fic

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writing-good-vibes · 2 years

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greetings, friends and readers !! 💓📚 i hope you're all making the most of spooky whore autumn !! 😈💓

and as it is that time of year again, i welcome you all to my second annual HALLOWEEN PROMPT FILL !! 👻💀🎃

i'll be accepting prompts from THIS PROMPT LIST from NOW until 24th OCTOBER, so plenty of time for you guys to think and for me to write !! multiple asks are more than welcome, as well as multiple prompts in one !!

*PLEASE REMEMBER TO ADD WHICH CATEGORY YOUR NUMBERED PROMPT IS FROM, THERE ARE BOTH CUTE AND SPOOKY PROMPTS ON THE LIST !!*

CHARACTER LISTS:

the usual brad dourif rogues: charles, jack, tommy, sheriff, doc, grima, billy and tucker.

misc. horror: bo sinclair, vincent sinclair, lester sinclair, otis driftwood and chop top sawyer.

*[if requesting any of the sinclair brothers, please specify is you would like a reader-insert or my usual domestic sibling slices-of-life, the choice is yours !!]*

#brad dourif #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #charles lee ray #house of wax 2005 #jack dante #grima wormtongue #sheriff brackett #doc cochran #tucker cleveland #billy bibbit #lester sinclair #otis driftwood #chop top sawyer #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #charles lee ray x reader

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samsshitfics · 1 year

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REQUESTS OPEN!!

This is a mlm blog fem/fem aligned dni. Dom!Male Reader only.

Current favorite song(s):

Anons:

-🦈

Blog recs:@trianglesimp @pastelclovds @luvrbucks

What I don't write:

-Rape, nonconsensual acts, sexual abuse (if it's a comfort fic then these are okay)

-Underage smut

-Character x Female/fem aligned DNI, you have more than enough.

What I do write:

-Angst, comfort, fluff, and smut

-i do headcanons, drabbles, blurbs, one shots, and if I have enough motivation I might write multi-part fics

-i do gender neutral readers too!

Fandoms I write for

-The Rookie

-Supernatural(I haven't seen the whole show yet)

-ASOUE

-Numb3rs

-TWD

-Celebrities, actors, musicians

-Gotham

-many more fandoms that I can't remember I'm in

-Criminal Minds

-To Kill a mockingbird (Atticus is the only romantic option!! Jem and Scout are familial and platonic only!!)

-Diary Of A Wimpy Kid (Rodrick only)

-Spiderverse(I have not seen ATSV yet)

-Avatar(WOW as well when I watch it and do more research about the Na'vi and Pandora)

-MCU

-The 100(I haven't seen the whole show yet)

-The Princess Bride

-Hocus Pocus

-The Mighty Ducks

-The Crow

-House of Wax

-The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Chucky(only his human form because I am weak in my little gay knees for brad dourif)

-Top Gun

Barbie(Ken<3)

-More to come

Enjoy yourselves!

#fem aligned dni #male reader

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lovelyyy-luna · 3 years

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baby play

pairing: (charles lee ray x fem!reader)

fandom: child's play

type: fluff

prompt(s):

46. here I have an extra weapon

134. Shit you're freezing let's get you warmed up alright

word count: 517

date: march 3, 2021

masterlist

You couldn’t believe it. The storm knocked out the power.

You tried to call your boyfriend but the landline wasn’t working.

You had just moved in with your boyfriend Chucky and he didn’t live in the safest part of town.

The storm shook the windows and the doors around the house. The wind was howling and you were just hoping that your boyfriend would get home quickly and safely.

Normally you wouldn’t worry that much but add in a scary neighborhood, a wild storm, and the fact that you are 8 and a half months pregnant you had a right to be worried.

You huddled around the front window by the door. A huge gust of wind rustled the trees and you hear the back door slam.

Your heart is pounding out your ears. A wave of fear crashes over you. You only have the light from the candles you lit to guide you to your doom.

You think to yourself this is what happens in a horror movie to anyone that wants to check out the sound in the scary part of the house. They get murdered.

You walk in front of the kitchen doorway and see nothing. It was probably just the wind shaking the back door.

You let your shoulders drop and calm down just a little bit.

Hands emerge from the darkness behind you grabbing your shoulders causing you to scream.

You turn around and it’s your boyfriend, “Charles Lee Ray! You scared me half to death!” you yell as you slap his chest with your hands.

“Oh baby did I scare you that bad?” he laughs

“Yes!” you chuckle. “What took you so long?”

“It’s like the end of the world out there babe.”

“Do you have any weapons or anything we can defend ourselves with?”

He looked at you confused, “Well like you said it’s like the end of the world out there, and with that comes some crazies.”

“Of course I have weapons and here I have an extra weapon just for you,” he says as he grabs his crotch.

You laugh and shove him away, “last time I used that weapon this came into our lives.” you say as you point to your belly.

“And how is baby Charles doing?”

“It could be Charlotte. But the baby is doing good” you look down and rub your belly, he comes behind you and caresses your belly.

This is a moment you want to cherish forever. You were madly in love and very happy.

His hand trialed up your arms, “Shit you're freezing let's get you warmed up alright?”

He takes you into the living room and leads you to the couch. He starts the fire and sits on the couch next to you.

Your hands tangle with his. You look over at him and he kisses the top of your forehead.

You sigh deeply and he says, “this moment is perfect. Nothing can ruin it.”

“Um Chucky?” he looks at you. “I think my water just broke.”

His eyes lit up and a smile was plastered on his face.

♡please like and/or reblog♡

wanna be tagged? (X)

#lovelybean #childs play #charles lee ray #charles lee ray x reader #charles lee ray x you #charles lee ray x y/n #chucky #chucky x reader #chucky x you #chucky x y/n #brad dourif #brad dourif x reader #brad dourif x you #brad dourif x y/n

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myveryownfanfiction · 6 months

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @salemwitch96, @eclecticwildflowers, @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing, mention of blood

part one

The door opened and I heard keys on the end table. I ventured out from the bedroom to see chucky leaning against the door, a haunted look in his eyes.

“everything ok?” I asked, slowly making my way over to him. Chuckys eyes jumped up from the floor. He let me wrap my arms around his waist, his settling around me as he continued to stare into oblivion.

“Covers fucking blown.” He whispered. Chucky closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. “Two teens came in…” I nodded slowly and pulled him flush against me. Burying my hand in his hair, I breathed out a sigh.

“need to watch your language this weekend.” I whispered. Chucky pulled back and narrowed his eyes at me. “Talk a little louder and you’ll see.” I whispered back with a smile.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his voice going back to normal. I pulled away from him at the sound of little feet running down the hallway. Chucky took his eyes off me long enough to see Beverly running towards him. His face completely changed and he knelt down in time to hug her. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes kiddo!” He exclaimed as he stood up, holding her tight to him.

“she’s staying here this weekend while her mom takes care of some things.” Chucky smiled as Beverly pulled back and put her hands on his cheeks.

“hi chucky!” Beverly exclaimed. “We’re carving pumpkins!” Chucky put her down and took her hand as Beverly tried to pull him to the kitchen.

“you left her in the kitchen alone with a knife?” Chucky asked me, a smirk on his face. I laughed and shook my hand.

“you got a little paint on your cheek chuck.” I laughed again and chucky looked down at Beverly’s hands.

“bev, you’re covered in paint!” He laughed.

“I was painting a pumpkin.” She explained. “(Y/N/N) wouldn’t let me carve one.” Beverly pouted and chucky laughed.

“rightly so.” He agreed, smiling down at her. “Show me what you painted.” I leaned against the door as chucky sat down with Beverly in his lap. As they worked on the pumpkin together, I set about getting our pumpkins ready. Chucky would look at me from time to time, clearly feeling better than from when he walked in the door. “I think you’re done kid.” Chucky laughed, gently prying the paintbrush away from Beverly when the pumpkin had been coated in paint.

“but chucky.” Beverly whined as chucky slipped his hands under her armpits and carried her to the sink. Setting her on the counter, chucky pulled her hands under the water to wash off the paint. “Can I help carve the pumpkins?” Beverly stuck her bottom lip out and tried to make her eyes look as big as possible. Chucky kept his focus on the running water in front of him. I started to giggle, knowing he’d cave if he took one look at her.

“nope.” He said, voice wavering. “Not going to let you do that. Or look at you for that matter.” Beverly stuck her lip out further and chucky closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. Picking Beverly up, he set her on the floor and patted her head. “Now run off and watch some tv.” Beverly looked at me and I shrugged.

“I have Charlie Brown if you want to watch that.” I offered, knowing how close chucky was to caving. Beverly’s face lit up and I nodded. “Go turn on the tv and I’ll be there in a minute.” Beverly nodded before running out of the room.

“ok now spill. What’s Beverly doing here?” Chucky asked, opening his eyes when he heard the tv turn on. “And why the whole weekend? Not that I’m complaining. I love her here. It’s just…” I nodded as I leaned out of the door to check on her quickly before hugging chucky.

“Sidney’s dad is in the hospital. She doesn’t think he’ll make it. After last year, Sidney didn’t want Beverly up there. Asked if we’d watch her for a bit.” I explained and chucky sighed. He nodded as he squeezed my waist. “I didn’t ask you since I figured you’d be ok with it. She couldn’t get a sitter on such short notice for an indefinite amount of time so…”

“She knew we’d be more than happy to do it. Yeah.” Chucky finished. “Beverly doesn’t know?” I shook my head. “Then we keep it that way.” Chucky kissed my forehead. “You know this is the one thing you never have to ask me about first. I’m always happy to spend time with her.” We stood there for a second before I heard Beverly call for me. “Better go set it up before she comes back and I let her wield a knife.” He teased as he gently patted me on the ass. I smirked at him before going and setting up the special for Beverly. “What’s the plan for Halloween then? Isn’t that tomorrow?” I nodded when I came back into the kitchen.

“I can take her out. It’s no big deal.” I shrugged as we started to carve the pumpkins. Chucky gave me a look and I started laughing. “Our we can take her.”

“we’ll take her.” He said with a smile. “She have a costume?” I nodded.

“Yeah some cartoon character she’s really into right now. And we’ve got the costumes from last year still. We can double up.” I suggested.

“that sounds fine.” He agreed. We fell into a comfortable silence as we continued to work on our pumpkins. “Feels awfully domestic doesn’t it?” Chucky looked up at me and smiled softly.

“Yeah it does.” I agreed. “Will feel even more so tomorrow.” Chucky nodded.

“probably will be the best Halloween we’ve had in a while.” Chucky smiled at me before we went about finishing the pumpkins.

#charles lee ray fanfic #charles lee ray x reader #charles lee ray fanfiction #charles lee ray imagine #charles lee ray #Chucky #chucky fanfiction #chucky x reader #chucky imagine #chucky fanfic #Brad dourif #brad dourif fanfic #brad dourif x reader #brad dourif fanfiction #Brad dourif imagine

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arosebyanyother-name · 2 years

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Sometimes When I Get to Thinking pt 6

3907 words

cw: talk of pregnancy, miscarriage, violence, brief aleblist language and MAJOR season 3 spoilers

Second part of part 5

Hope everyone enjoys!!!

Over the next week your and the docs routines go back to relative normalcy, with the doc tending to his patients and the whores in town, to their relief, and you helping him as much as you can, making ointments, and accompanying him on his rounds. You find you never want to be away from him, now more than ever. The two of you spend nights together reading from his medical journals anything they say about pregnancy so you have a sound understanding of what’s to come, and the doc finally has his day in front of Mrs Bullock’s students. He wows them with his knowledge, and he wows you also. As you watch you can’t help hoping that you carry the baby growing inside of you to term, because it’s become crystal clear to you what a wonderful father Amos will be. You turn to Mrs Bullock, whom you’re standing next to behind the children’s desks.

“I’m with child,” you whisper to her, unable to hold the news in any longer. You just needed to tell one of your female companions, and Mrs Bullock seems the best choice seeing as she’s your only friend who has given birth. “And I’m sorry if I overstep any boundaries by telling you so.”

“You certainly do not overstep any boundaries. I’m delighted to hear you’re expecting,” she replies earnestly, taking your hand in hers.

“Amos and I aren’t sure I’ll carry to term, but we’ll take whatever happens in our stride. I’m just happy we’ve gotten this far,” you say, and turn back to watch the doc. Mrs Bullock continues to look to you as tears prick at your eyes. A smile grows on your face. “I apologise for my emotions, seeing my husband teaching all these wonderful children just makes me so endlessly happy.”

“I understand completely (Y/N). Mr Bullock and I will be with you no matter what happens, I can promise you that... and if you don’t mind me saying, you’ll both make such wonderful parents,” she says, and you squeeze at her hand, unable to speak for the moment. Amos pauses his lesson for a few seconds when he notices your glistening teary eyes. You smile to him and mouth to him that you’re okay, so he continues. After his lesson Amos joins you at the back of the schoolhouse, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he pulls you close to him.

“Why were you crying?” he whispers.

“Because you make me so happy, and because you’re going to make the most wonderful father,” you whisper back. When you look up into his eyes you can see tears starting to form. “You’ll make me cry again if you start crying.”

“We’d better get out of here then,” he says as you exit from the back of the school. You sit on the back steps with Amos, letting your legs rest, and tears begin to fall from his eyes.

“Oh Amos, tell me what you’re thinking,” you say, wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb. He takes your hand.

“You have any good memories from your childhood? I mean real good ones,” he asks, and you nod.

“I remember sitting on my mothers lap, and she’d be knitting and she’d sing to me, and I couldn’t have been more than four years old, yet I remember it like it were yesterday. It’s a golden memory, that’s what I call it, bathed in golden light,” you say pensively, smiling at the thought.

“I have this memory of my father, sitting in his lap also, out on the grass underneath this big maple tree, and he was reading to me... don’t these golden memories, as you call them, make you want to give the same to our child?”

“They do Amos. I want to see you reading to our child, I want to sing to our child... I want to make our child as happy as these memories make me,” you reply, taking his hands in yours. “You know, Sofia told me,” you say.

“Told you what?” the doc asks, confused.

“When I was seeing to her for her mother she told me about when her family died and you took care of her. She told me that you sat in your cabin, shotgun in your lap, willing to defend her with your life if you had to... she didn’t say it in so many words, but I understood. I admire you so much for that, for protecting that vulnerable little girl, and I’m contented knowing you’ll do the same for our child.”

“During the war,” he begins, ignoring your flattery as he always does. “I saw a great number of atrocities; men with their limbs shot off screaming for their mothers, in unfathomable pain. I never thought I’d live through the war, I hoped I would, but I was almost sure I would not, then, coming here, I never thought for a minute I’d fall in love, or get married, have a wife, be a husband. I thought it would be me and my medicine for the rest of my life. Being a parent is something I could have only dreamed of, but never dared to for fear of disappointment... However this turns out, I’m just glad we tried, and that we have the chance to dream of our parenthood,” he tells you passionately, then leans over, kissing you through his tears, and laying a hand on your belly. He pulls away suddenly as Jane stomps out from the nearby restroom, making you jump.

“What the fuck are you two perverts doing kissing outside the schoolhouse!?” she yells.

“Jesus Jane, keep your voice down! You’ll scare the kids!” you tell her in a harsh whisper. The doc wipes his tears and collects himself before turning to Jane.

“I just got done teaching a lesson,” the doc tells her levelheadedly.

“Well, is Mrs Bullock just inviting anyone to give lessons now!?” she exclaims, more quietly now.

“We’re going to go now Jane,” you say, and the doc helps you to stand. “But you should come visit us for a meal or coffee when you feel like it, and when you’re less drunk... and bring Joanie too if you’d like,” you add.

“And why, in the fuck, would I bring Joanie!?” she asks as you begin to walk.

“We can get into that another time. Nice to see you Jane.”

As the two of you begin your slow walk home, your arm interlaced with his, a big man walks up to you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Mr Hearst would like to see you,” he says to the doc, then walks off again. You look to your husband, your eyes full of worry.

“I’m coming with you,” you say, already walking towards Farnum’s inn. Most everyone in town knows where Hearst lives.

“No you’re goddamn not, you’re going home,” he replies.

“I’ve heard some real bad things about him Amos, I mean he hacked one of Al’s fingers off for gods sake! I’m sure it will be better if I go with you, at least so you won’t be outnumbered.”

“Honey, it will be better if you go home. Men don’t tend to hurt doctors, but they may hurt their wives,” he tells you, his face and tone scarily serious.

“But he may be less likely to hurt anyone in a woman’s presence. I’m not leaving your side Amos, and you can’t persuade me otherwise,” you say as you come to the inn. The doc nods, seeing there’s no use in arguing with you, and just before you walk into the hotel lobby you spot Dan walking in the opposite direction towards the Gem. You grab him by his arm, getting his attention. “Tell Al the doc has been called to see Hearst, tell him we don’t know why, and that I’m with him.”

“And tell him not to do anything rash, just let him know,” the doc adds, and Dan rushes off, understanding the danger the two of you may or may not be in. Amos helps you up those goddamn awful stairs before knocking on Mr Hearst’s door.

“It’s open!” he yells, and when the doc opens the door you’re greeted by the large man who had called you there, whom you assume to be Mr Hearst’s muscle, and by Mr Hearst himself, who is lying on his back on the hard wooden floor. He turns his head to look at the two of you, and winces, looking from you to the doc a few times before letting his eyes linger on you.

“I’m Mrs Cochran,” you say, explaining yourself before a question has even been asked. “Don’t mind me, just get done what you need to get done.”

The doc kneels down beside Hearst, placing his medical bag down.

“What seems to be the problem?” Amos asks, pushing his glasses up.

“My back. Can’t seem to get up,” Hearst says.

“Alright,” the doc replies and begins to feel around the man. You notice Hearst’s muscle’s hand reach for his gun, and you give him a warning look. Surely he wouldn’t shoot a doctor you think... surely. The doc helps to turn him on his side, and feel around his back rather vigorously. Hearst begins to yell out and the doc just tells him to be quiet. You love watching him work, to see his concentration and his care, or in this case his deliberate lack of it. “How long have you had this pain?” he asks Hearst.

“Long time, but it’s worse now,” Hearst replies, and the doc nods, rummaging through his medical bag.

“Alright, it seems to me you have a herniated disk,” the doc explains, pulling out a balm and a tincture from his bag. “I’m gonna rub this into your lower back to help with the inflammation, and then I’ll get you to take some of this for some quick relief,” the doc explains, holding both of the containers up for Hearst to see. “And I’m instructing you to start hot compresses made of hot grains wrapped in cloth from now on, not cold as I assume you’ve been told.”

“How long you been married?” Hearst asks, to no one in particular as the doc begins applying the ointment.

“Couple months,” you both reply in unison, keeping your answers short. Your twin act makes Hearst smile despite the pain. It’s an extremely unsettling smile.

“Do you find it emasculating, doctor, to have your woman follow you around, like a dog? To have your woman speak over you, as a dog would bark over you?” he asks, and the doc looks back to you, eyebrows furrowed, before replying. He knows your temper has been more explosive than usual since you became pregnant, and he wants to allay any outbursts.

“My wife does not emasculate me, quite the opposite,” the doc replies, readying the tincture for Hearst, mixing it with water.

“You have such archaic views on marriage Mr Hearst,” you speak up, smiling. Keeping quiet, in your mind, would only prove that you are a submissive wife, something that you are almost never mistaken for.

“Do I offend you, Mrs Cochran?” Hearst asks before drinking the drug.

“What offends me is the thought of you thinking such an ordinary boring insult would offend me,” you reply. His words make you think back to your father, but Hearst doesn’t hold a candle to his verbal berating. “It usually, from my experience, works better when you at least address the person you are endeavouring to insult, for example, Mr Hearst, your widely circulated nickname, I guess we shall call it, the boy the earth talks to, takes on another meaning completely upon meeting you sir. It seems to me that dirt would be the only thing worthy of conversing with you.... Also, I might add, your thinking my being here would emasculate my husband says more about you, Mr Hearst, than anyone else in this room, and certainly tells me much more about you than I’m sure you’d wish it too. Who could have imagined that you, who has been boasted as being such a powerful bruit of a man, a Cesar, or a Napoleon of sorts, great dictator over all gold finds, could be emasculated so easily, by a little crippled thing like me,” you make fun of him as you speak, saying his name ironically, changing the pitch of your voice to mock him. Barely a moment has passed from when you stop speaking to you being shoved up against a wall by the large man, forearm to your neck. At least you’ve struck a nerve, you think, although you’re afraid again, the same as you were at the Bella Union. The doc jumps, turning to you again. If only you could keep your goddamn mouth shut.

“Unhand her, right now,” the doc demands, voice deep and authoritative, and you can see he’s shaking from rage, and probably fear also. He stands, taking his medical bag in hand. “We’re leaving,” the doc tells the two men.

“You, girl, are too big for your goddamn boots. There are many things I can think to do with you, to you,” Hearst says, standing with a grunt. Your eyes begin to water, the pressure on your neck becoming stronger. You grab the mans clenched fist, digging your nails into him. Suddenly you hear a call from downstairs, and you recognise Dan’s voice immediately.

“Doc! You’re needed at the Gem! There is a critical situation with one of the whores!” Dan yells, and the doc grabs your hand from the mans fist, nails bloodied. The man turns to Hearst and Hearst nods, so the man promptly releases you, and the doc drags you quickly to and out the door.

“Hearst you fuck! You fucking bastard! Can’t even hurt me your goddamn fucking self you fucking coward!” You yell in a rasp, breathing heavy as you stumble down the stairs and out of the inn, Dan following in step. The two men help you up the stairs of the Gem, practically carrying you into Al’s office, where they sit you down. The doc immediately begins to inspect your reddened neck, and you unbutton your dress, engorged breasts inadvertently spilling out. “Fuck,” you comment under your breath, and place an arm over your breasts to cover yourself before the doc removes his jacket, placing it over you. You’ll most definitely need to buy yourself some new dresses soon, if the pregnancy holds, but that’s the last thing you need to worry about right now.

“I can never seem to keep my goddamn mouth shut,” you say in a whisper.

“And what exactly did you fucking say?” Al asks, pouring a drink for him and the doc. The doc answers, explains how the altercation unfolded.

“He’s a fucking pig of a man,” you say, and both Al and the doc down their shots.

“And he deserved everything you said to him, but you shouldn’t have goddamn said it, you... you put yourself in fucking danger,” the doc says, and Al hands you a handkerchief that you use to wipe your bloody hand.

“What a phoney fucking bastard, but good on you for standing up to him. Seems you really got to the cocksucker,” Al comments. You nod to him in reply as a kind of thank you for his words, wiping away a few stale tears that had escaped against your will as a result of the strangling.

“You fucking okay Amos?” you ask, taking his hand and turning to him from your seated position.

“You’re the one who was just fucking assaulted, how do you fucking feel?” he asks, his anxiety palpable.

“Murderous, and sick to my fucking stomach,” you reply, and the doc places an affectionate hand on your abdomen. “Good thing you fucking called for us when you did. Thank you Al, truly,” you finally say as you begin to calm down.

“You may like yours hot (Y/N), but I like mine cold. We’re waiting to retaliate till we have enough fucking men, otherwise it’ll be a bloodbath, and one sided too,” Al comments pensively.

“Should we get Sheriff Bullock?” the doc asks you, and you nod.

“If only to keep him in the loop,” you reply, and Al walks to the door, yelling at Johnny to go get Bullock. You move from your seat into the docs lap and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, and the doc runs his fingers through your hair affectionately.

“Don’t be goddamn sorry,” he tells you, and kisses your head. Suddenly Trixie bursts in, making you both jump. Your head shoots up to look at her.

“What the fuck happened!?” she asks, slamming the door behind her.

“What?” you asked, shocked that news can travel so fast.

“What!? Did I not just see you being dragged out of Hearst’s, previously fucking Farnum’s inn, hollering and the like!? Jesus Christ your fucking neck!” she yells, rushing over to you.

“I’m okay, I’ll be okay,” you tell her, standing again. You know the doc doesn’t enjoy you being so affectionate to him in front of so many people. It makes him shy. A moment later Bullock walks in, Charlie Utter trailing behind him, and you take your seat again. “Some kind of party in here,” you say, trying to make a joke and lighten the mood, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Is it Hearst?” Bullock asks you and the doc. You nod in reply. “What would you have me do?”

“Well I did provoke him,” you say.

“He provoked you,” the doc replies.

“And I provoked him back, unfortunately,” you explain, and then there is another knock on the door.

“What!?” Al yells, and when the door opens you see both Merrick and Blazanov. “Could we fit any more people in this fucking room? Come in out of the fucking doorway then!” Al exclaims. You put a hand to your belly and close your eyes, trying to calm your nerves and endure a burst of pain that’s come over you.

“I have a telegram for Mr Hearst you should see Mr Swearengen,” Blazanov explains as Dan and Johnny enter the room also, closing the door behind them. Al begins to read the telegram, and as he finishes, looking up to the room Jewel walks in, tray of food in her hands.

“I brought you toast and eggs and bacon,” she announces, walking over to you. “Gee, you don’t look so good,” she comments, and when the doc turns back to you he notices how pale you’ve become.

“Probably do need to eat something. Thank you Jewel, I fucking appreciate it,” you tell her, taking her hand in yours.

“Hearst is bringing in reinforcements,” Al comments, looking up from the telegram. “It’s in my mind to just ambush the cocksucker tonight, feed him to Wu’s fucking pigs. I mean to attack a pregnant woman! What kind of-“

“Al!” you yell to him suddenly, reaching out for your husbands hand instinctually.

“What? Oh...” he replies, placing a finger over his mouth once he realises what he’s said.

“You didn’t have to goddamn tell everyone Al,” you say, your voice quieter now.

“Wait a goddamn minute, how the hell do you know (Y/N)’s pregnant?” the doc asks Al, glaring at him.

“I let it slip the night I came to the town meeting Amos, and in my defence Al promised to keep it to his fucking self,” you reply, also glaring at Al now. The doc reaches over to stroke your cheek, giving you a reassuring smile. Everyone in the room watches you and Amos in silence for a moment, noticing the way you lovingly gaze into each others eyes. For the two of you it’s a private moment, the others in the room temporarily transported out of it, but to everyone else it’s a moment of awkwardness or longing, possibly both.

“Anyways,” Bullock pipes up, pulling the two of you out of your trance.

“Some of you need to get the fuck out of here, and I’m not talking about (Y/N) or the doc,” Al says, handing the telegram back to Blazanov. “Take it to Hearst,” he commands. Blazanov, Merrick, Jewel, Trixie, Dan and Johnny leave. “We’re gonna wait till we have enough men to make our move. I’ll send Dan to hire some guns, but until then Johnny’ll keep a lookout from your place,” he tells the doc.

“I’ll take tonights shift,” Charlie says, suddenly alerting you to his presence in the room. “And congratulations, to both of you.”

“Thank you Charlie,” you tell him, and Amos turns, nodding his thanks to him.

“We’d better go,” Amos says, standing, then helps you to your feet. With your cane in one hand and his in the other, your husband, yourself and Charlie walk out of the Gem and towards your house. “You’re shaking,” Amos says once you’re home, Charlie staying outside on his watch.

“Just... just cold I think, o-or it’s the adrenaline,” you reply as you sit at your dining table, dropping your cane down.

“Just sit there for a moment,” he says, walking off into his cabin.

“Not like I can go anywhere fast,” you reply in jest. The doc locks all his doors so no one can get in, and grabs his shotgun and a blanket, laying the blanket over you once he’s back. You hold it over your chest, teeth chattering.

“Would you like to leave here? Charlie could have a carriage ready in half an hour,” he asks, sitting beside you, and you shake your head quickly.

“I could never ask that of you,” you reply.

“I’m asking it of you,” he rebuts. “Do you want to go away? Do you want us to live somewhere safer?”

“No Amos. No. I’m a woman, and I’m a cripple, and anywhere I go men will find it extremely easy to take advantage of me... they always do... besides you’re needed here. We have friends here, we have a home. I don’t want to go anywhere, I want to stay here with you.”

“Alright honey,” he says, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Once this is over though, before the baby comes, I’d like to visit New York, see the opera, buy you some medical books, stay in a fancy hotel and be waited on. Can we do that Amos?” you ask, and he reaches out for your hand, which is shaking.

“Course we can honey. Some leisure time away from here’ll be good for you,” he replies, and you stand, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and walking to him before sitting across his lap.

“I really am sorry I spoke up today Amos. The last thing I want to do is cause you any more stress,” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and looking into his eyes.

“You need to stop goddamn apologising. You said what needed to be said! Hearst it the one at fault, not you!” he tells you sternly, taking your face in his hands. “Eventually he’ll leave, and everything will go back to normal.”

“And we’ll be a family,” you add, and he kisses you good and hard.

“We’re already a family,” he tells you, pulling away with one of those shy genuine smiles you love so much.

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anarchy-n-glitter · 3 months

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Blood of the Dragon

Another long chapter just a heads up. I don't think I have any warnings this time, maybe just for Viseryon's previous behavior being mentioned.

Chapter Summary: A mystery begins to unfold in Edoras as the city erupts into chaos. What better time is there to sew the seeds of doubt into the king's mind and embed yourself within the king's court?

(Chapter 1 HERE, Chapter 2 HERE)

(Song inspo: Me and The Devil - Soap&Skin, The Green Dress - HOTD soundtrack)

CHAPTER 3:

Lady Aelora Dressed in Red

It was dawn. The sky was clear and painted with different shades of orange and lavender as the sun rose slowly over the snowy peaks of the mountains on the horizon. The air was as frigid as the day before, the winds whipping harshly for so early in the morning. In the distance, just beyond the grand Starkhorn, grey clouds gathered and grew darker. A storm was coming, and it was likely to bring the first snow of the season.

Rohan had not seen a snowy winter since the Long Winter, and with each morning that grew colder and colder, and as the clouds grew darker and darker, the people of Rohan worked harder to prepare.

If the next cold, unforgiving winter was not to come that year it certainly would come the next, bearing its ugly teeth through icicles that clung to the sodden rooftops and frostbite that killed their livestock, young, and the sickly.

Hilda stifled a yawn, pressing the back of her hand hard against her mouth to hide the slight way it opened as she was given her morning assignment. The lead housemaid, an older woman named Godiva, handed Hilda clean linen and fresh water for the Lord Draecyr. The look of disappointment in the older woman’s wrinkled eyes did not go unnoticed by Hilda. The younger woman had been late; her dress was wrinkled and her strawberry blonde hair was still tousled from when she woke up, and the wind certainly didn’t help straighten out her appearance. It seemed as if Hilda hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, but in truth she overslept.

The young woman was surprised when the dawn came so quickly, for it never felt like she fell asleep at all. She slept so soundly through the night, yet that morning she hardly felt rested. She stifled another yawn.

Godiva huffed and ran her hands along Hilda’s skirt, aggressively trying to straighten out the wrinkles before sending the younger maid to Lord Viseryon’s room. “You better hope he isn’t awake.” The lead housemaid grumbled. “Don’t let him see you like this.”

The older woman’s instructions and warning sent shivers down her back. Hilda was well aware of Lord Viseryon’s awful temper; she'd watched him snap at her fellow maids on multiple occasions, raising a hand to them even if he never did strike them. He would apologize immediately, of course, running a hand across his face and flashing his large, grey eyes. He would smile bashfully as if he hadn’t been acting like a toddler moments before.

Most of the women feared him, the men hated him and avoided him, and most recognized what a nuisance he truly was. Hilda noticed how people would rather stand beside Wormtongue than be near the Lord Draecyr and it was all due to his sour attitude. I would much rather be made uncomfortable by Wormtongue’s quiet, creeping presence than be snapped at and nearly hit by Lord Viseryon, thought Hilda. She had noticed even his own creation thought the same. Lady Aelora had been spotted alone with Wormtongue quite a few times, and Hilda heard from a few of the wash maidens that they saw the two in a loving embrace.

She had been walking along the banks of Snowbourn, carrying a basket full of cloth that she had washed thoroughly. Hilda had been on laundry duty that day, as much as she hated the job, and she was on her way to report back to Godiva when the conversation of two other wash women caught her attention.

The wash women giggled at the scandalousness of it all, making jokes about the advisor and his new dragon blooded mistress as they washed their clothes and linen in the river.

“I can’t believe she lets him get that close to her!” One exclaimed in a hushed tone. “He looks like he smells of fish.”

“I saw him following her around when she first got here, then, last night, I saw him enter her chambers! He’s so creepy… why she would ever entertain his presence I have no idea.” The other answered before going back to scrubbing the garment in her hand.

“She is a dragon blood, maybe he’s the first man to give her attention. He seems desperate enough.” The other maiden gasped and lightly slapped her friend’s shoulder.

“You say that like Lady Aelora is ugly.”

“Well…” The first maid trailed off, prompting the other to roll her eyes.

“It’s alright to say you’re jealous because no man in Rohan would look at you the way he does her.” Hilda arched a brow at that. Certainly they hadn’t been close enough to see how they looked at each other. She left the girls alone, their shrill laughter fading as she rushed to find Godiva in Meduseld… and then she saw them.

Just behind the hall, partially obscured by the grand walls of Meduseld, she saw Lady Aelora and Wormtongue. Indeed, they were kissing, and from the looks of it the lady didn’t seem to mind where the grotesque advisor’s hands wandered. Hilda let out a gasp and dropped her basket before hurrying behind a rocky formation, laying flat against the ground so as to not be seen by the lovers. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. The maid let out another, quieter gasp, for her eyes did not deceive her.

When the duo pulled away she saw how tenderly Wormtongue caressed the lady’s cheek. She saw the bright smile that grazed Lady Aelora’s face. She was almost taken by the breathtaking beauty that Aelora was, with her silver hair and otherworldly smile. The dragon blood was nearly elf-like in grace and looks. She wondered, just like the maids before, why Aelora would entertain Wormtongue’s presence like she had been. Certainly she could have anyone she wanted. For a moment, Hilda could have been fooled into thinking the two had been in love the whole time and had known each other for years. Wormtongue led Aelora slightly further behind Meduseld and sat in the grass, his form nearly disappearing completely in the sea of green. She heard Lady Aelora let out a small giggle as she lifted her skirt and joined him in the grass, straddling his hips.

Hilda determined she’d seen enough, hoping to get out of there before seeing parts of either party she’d rather not, and since she felt like a dirty voyeur as it was. The noises Lady Aelora made were embarrassing enough to have to listen to. The maid hopped to her feet, collecting the now soiled laundry back into the basket before finding the established path to Meduseld. Her feet found the stone steps and it felt like she’d found sanctuary.

She wondered what she’d do with this newfound information. Would it be wise of her to forget what she saw, or would she engage in gossip alongside her fellow maids? Hilda was shocked by how little discretion they had about this dirty little secret. She would have thought the king’s advisor would be more careful to not expose a potential affair, and with a dragon blood nonetheless.

Hilda had rushed inside the Great Hall that day, shutting the doors as quickly as possible. She let out a small squeak and pressed her back onto the heavy, wooden doors, as if she were hiding the advisor’s secret herself. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darker atmosphere of the hall, at the moment she was only able to see silhouettes of people in the distance. When her eyes did adjust she noticed just how crowded it was. A number of noble women were lounging about the space, some were seated at tables, while some laid across the steps by the throne. They were all accompanied by handmaidens, some of which the maid recognized. Hilda’s eye was caught by a woman wearing lavender whose golden hair was being braided by the maiden Cwenhilde.

This woman, with fair skin and dark eyes, was Lady Beolyn. Her father, Beonræd, had served the court of Edoras for decades before his service was determined to be no longer needed. Her family was well respected and still lived in the lap of luxury. Beolyn was seated on the steps closest to the center of the room. The little sunlight that filtered through the roof fell upon her, casting a cool white light on her, as if even the heavens above favored her. Her focus was taken by the larger than life man before her.

He was seated on top of a table in the middle of the hall, practically lounging on it with one foot on the wooden top with the other resting on the bench below. Surrounded by women, he strummed at his lute and sang softly and sweetly a ballad about love and longing. His sapphire eyes were glued to the lady in lavender, and with how passionately he sang it could be assumed he was singing about Beolyn. The small smile on his face told Hilda it would be hard to get him alone.

The man, Kenric, was a musician who traveled with other musicians across Middle Earth, performing in different courts and cities for the noble men and women. Kenric especially loved performing for the women. He was a very flirtatious man whose only weakness is a pretty face, and to him it was clear Beolyn was the prettiest of all. He enjoyed having the freedom of moving from place to place, yet he seemed to love lingering in Rohan, and Hilda knew he lingered for Lady Beolyn. His carefree, womanizing nature could never hide how he looked at the Lilac Lady of Edoras.

The way Kenric looked at Beolyn hurt.

“Oh Hilda, you’re all dirty!” Cwenhilde exclaimed from behind Beolyn, drawing everyone’s attention to the maid. Cwenhilde was right, Hilda was truly a mess. Mud clung to the muted green of her skirt and corset and soiled the sleeves of her turquoise blouse. Every time she shifted she could feel the dirt grind uncomfortably against her skin, and she felt the way it clung to her cheek. The maid smiled sheepishly and tucked a strand of reddish blonde hair behind her ear. She would not spill the advisor’s secrets in front of - what used to be - half of the king’s court.

“I fell outside.” She lied, much to the amusement of some of the ladies there. Kenric’s sky colored gaze fell upon the basket of dark colored linen in Hilda’s grasp. He could see splotches of mud and clumps of grass clinging to the drenched heap. Drops of water leaked through the straw and dripped onto the stone floor. There was a puddle.

“Looks like Wormtongue will be without bedding tonight.” Kenric smirked. The women all giggled amongst themselves at his observation. His eyes met hers and she felt her throat tighten. “Godiva might actually kill you for this one after she rushes you back out to fix that. Or she’ll give you a worse assignment than this one was as punishment.” Washing Wormtongue’s sheets was supposed to be a punishment for tripping and breaking an entire table’s worth of dishware the day before. She couldn’t possibly imagine what worse fate Godiva would sentence her to for this blunder. Hilda grimaced at the thought.

“I am not reporting to Godiva like this.” Hilda stated firmly before waltzing up to Kenric. The women around them began to whisper amongst themselves, most likely making fun of Hilda for her appearance. Beolyn still stared at the musician. “I was actually coming here to ask you to walk me home so I can change.” The blond man arched his brow.

“I think you’d be perfectly safe walking home in broad daylight, Hilda.” Kenric began before gesturing grandly to the women who surrounded him. “And as you can see, I am still entertaining an audience.” He winked at Beolyn which prompted a cacophony of giggles from the other ladies and handmaidens.

Hilda found it hard to watch as red dusted along Beolyn’s porcelain cheeks. The display was almost sickening.

“Remember that guard I told you about?” Kenric frowned.

“The one who kept petitioning your father to let him marry you? The one who trapped you in awkward conversations by that very door? That guard?” Kenric asked, stifling an uncomfortable laugh. He did, however, remember this guard as being the reason Hilda asked him to accompany her home, hoping the sight of another man would ward him off. Kenric had been under the impression it worked.

“Yes, that one.” Hilda answered in an impatient tone. Kenric stood in an instant, hopping off of the table’s bench seat with his lute firmly grasped in his right hand. He turned back to the women with a small bow.

“Excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid a man must go teach a boy a lesson.” Hilda rolled her eyes as the women giggled at the theatrics.

Kenric rushed to Hilda’s side, opening the doors of the hall for her before slipping outside behind her. He’d almost forgotten the chill that lingered in the air and he shivered. The sun’s powerful rays still fought to break through the dull blanket of clouds in the sky, and the brightness of the outdoors made Kenric squint. It certainly didn’t help that Meduseld’s great hall was so much darker during the day and empty than it was outside. He had spent all day performing for and chatting with the ladies of the court, something he knew he would never tire of.

He linked arms with Hilda just as he had many times before and began to walk down the steps of Meduseld, but she refused to budge.

“Hilda?” There was a sudden look of mischief in her eye. “Oh Hilda, what are you up to?” Kenric sighed as his grip loosened on her arm.

“I saw Wormtongue and the dragon blood behind Meduseld.” She said finally, amusement present in her voice. Kenric’s eyes widened.

“What?” Kenric had talked to the dragon blooded Lady a few days prior, nearly swayed by her beauty. She seemed quiet and polite, and she laughed at his usual antics. He considered writing a song about her to sing amongst the other courts, for Kenric didn’t consider Lady Aelora to be monstrous like many did about dragon bloods, in fact, he didn’t consider dragon bloods monstrous at all. He used to be fascinated by the creatures, despite the horrific tales his mother weaved about them as he drifted off to sleep as a child.

He had witnessed Wormtongue lurking in Lady Aelora’s shadow, constantly watching her throughout the week and even lurking beside Meduseld when he had stopped to speak to Aelora. It was he who pointed out to her that Wormtongue had been watching her. He did think it odd that she simply laughed. She didn’t react how the other women would - she didn’t show she was alarmed or disgusted. Instead she simply thanked him and went back to writing in her journal. He thought that was odd, but he never expected her to seek out Wormtongue herself.

“It’s true! They had been standing in the fields in an embrace, kissing!” Hilda exclaimed. She loved gossiping with Kenric, it was something they did rather often, but nothing had ever been as juicy and scandalous as this.

“You lie!” He gasped with a large smile on his face.

“That’s why I’m covered in dirt! I had to hide behind that ledge over there.” She gestured as much as she could with Kenric still holding her other arm. The ledge was a bit further from the path they stood on, nearly hidden in the grass but gave a perfect view of the meadow behind Meduseld. The blond man smirked. “Do you think they’re still there?” He asked. Hilda slapped his chest lightly.

“I am not interested in finding out.” She giggled. “Besides, the noises I heard coming from Lady Aelora were enough to send me away, I’d rather not learn what Wormtongue sounds like when he’s being pleasured.”

“I beg your pardon?” A regal voice sounded from behind the two causing them to jump. Lord Viseryon stood behind them, a look of bewilderment upon his face and madness present in his eyes. Hilda felt her stomach drop at the sight of him, recounting the many horror stories her fellow maids had told about him over his short time in Edoras. He seemed to be masking his anger about their choice of topic, and she thought of the maids he physically threatened.

“Lord Viseryon!” Hilda bowed, elbowing her ditzy companion to do the same. Kenric halfheartedly bowed, rolling his eyes when his head was down. “To what do we owe the pleasure? It’s not often we’re graced by the presence-”

“Quit your pathetic groveling, what was it you were just talking about?” Hilda felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck despite the chilling weather. Viseryon’s scolding silver gaze was focused solely on her, and she feared her gossiping had awoken some beast that lay within the lord.

“It was nothing-”

“It was not nothing, you spoke of Aelora and the king’s advisor, a grave accusation at that. What was it you said?” The lord demanded. Hilda was frozen with fear, unsure of whether it was safe to report to him what she saw. She glanced at Kenric from the corner of her eye. The blond man was not afraid of the lord, he’d bore witness to Viseryon’s fits quite a few times and realized the man before him was all bark and no bite. He even wondered why Lord Viseryon cared who Lady Aelora was seeing in the first place, his concern didn’t seem to come from a place of fatherly caring.

Kenric would understand if Lord Viseryon saw Aelora as his child and was more concerned with finding a suitor for her, thus caring about her purity, but the look on Viseryon’s face was one of jealousy and possessiveness. The musician, as privy as he was to emotion, figured Viseryon viewed Aelora as property - his property to use in whatever way he saw fit. Kenric wanted to spit at the nobleman’s feet.

“We saw Lady Aelora and Wormtongue making love in the field just now behind Meduseld. We think they saw us and stopped but we aren’t sure.” Kenric stated, embellishing the original story in order to get a rise out of Viseryon. The lord’s face grew red out of embarrassment and anger. “They’re there now?” The silver lord asked. Kenric shrugged.

“I’d assume they’ve made their way indoors by now. Lady Aelora certainly saw us for she gasped quite loudly-” The lord turned on his heel and marched back indoors, already calling for Aelora in his usual shrill, annoying way. Hilda glanced at her friend and bit back the urge to shout at him.

“Well, that took care of that.” Kenric stated nonchalantly as if he didn’t start a nasty rumor about the king’s advisor. It was rooted in truth, that much she knew, but to say they were openly making love…

“He seemed furious.” The maid muttered. She sounded guilty. Kenric shrugged.

“It’s no longer our problem.” The musician sighed as he walked down the stone steps. He looked back at her. “Well? Don’t you have to get changed?”

That had been a day ago, and now Hilda stood before the ornate door to the room Lord Viseryon had been staying in for the last five days. She always thought the intricate carvings on the doors of Meduseld were breathtaking, even if she knew they were reserved for the noble men and women who stayed there. That number had dwindled in recent years to just the immediate family of Théoden king and Wormtongue. The Lord and Lady Draecyr were a welcome addition at first, seemingly livening up the halls with the excitement of new people walking around, but that feeling quickly soured with Lord Viseryon’s behavior.

Her legs and arms were shaking. She was still quite nervous to be face to face with Viseryon after what happened the day before. She wondered if he would still be mad at her, especially after Kenric decided to spin what she had seen into his own lie to make the lord angrier. If Lady Aelora denied Lord Viseryon’s accusation, which she most likely would, would he lash out at her today? Would Hilda be the first maid he’d actually hit?

The halls were eerily quiet that morning. Hilda knew it was still very early but she was used to guards and other remaining members of the king’s court wandering about, preparing for their days. Usually on the fifth day of the week the maid would even see the king’s nephew, Éomer, up bright and early. She had seen absolutely no one on her journey to Lord Viseryon’s quarters aside from Godiva. She could feel something was terribly wrong, and that feeling chilled her to the bone.

Her hand hesitated as she raised it to knock on the door.

She knocked three times and waited.

There was not so much as the rustling of sheets or the familiar whiny groan to tell her there was someone inside. Hilda let out a sigh of relief, hoping this meant Lord Viseryon woke up early that day to harass some other poor soul and she could do her job without worry. Yet, when she opened the door and was met by the darkness of his room, she could see his bed was still made. The curtain was still down over his window, and the door to his bathroom was slightly ajar. Hilda rushed inside and drew the curtain, letting the white light of the outdoors brighten the room enough for her to see. It let in the chill. The plush furs were still on the end of his bed and the jade green blankets were still tucked tightly under the mattress. She placed the new pitcher of water on his nightstand and collected the old one, only to realize it was still heavy with water from the night before.

Hilda placed the new sheets and the old pitcher of water down on the desk in the corner of the room and looked around, still not finding a single thing wrong with the room. The fresh candles that were brought the day before had not been lit and still were in their pristine condition. It was as if Lord Viseryon never stayed there in the first place, as if he never even stepped foot in the room. The only sign of life was a maroon tunic draped over the back of the lounging chair in the corner by his bed.

The maid chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. Was she to change the sheets now, or just leave them for the lord if he felt the need to change them. It was clear he hadn’t touched the bed all night. That unnerved feeling returned and crept up her spine. Without a second thought, she collected the clean bedding and left the room in a hurry, holding the linen close to her chest as she slammed the door.

She rushed down the hall, lost in her thoughts as she silently hoped Lord Viseryon decided to leave with his companion in the middle of the night. Perhaps he felt the need to keep her away from Wormtongue, perhaps he-

Her train of thought was interrupted as she ran into someone and fell to the floor. The bedding fell into her lap and unfolded slightly. Hilda glanced up to see the cold, dark gaze of Godiva as she stood over her with her arms crossed over her chest. She seemed angry.

“What has been taking you so long, Hilda? We have other things to do and you can’t just be wandering about and…” She trailed off at the sight of the white sheets in the younger maid’s lap. “Did you change Lord Viseryon’s sheets?” She asked, her voice growing angrier and more bewildered by the moment. Hilda quickly shook her head.

“His bed was still made when I went into his room, it was like he was never even there! The water was still full, too, I swear it!” The older woman cocked a brow, contemplating the younger maid’s words before offering a hand to help her up. Hilda gathered the unfolded sheets in her arms and took Godiva’s help.

“Perhaps he spent the night elsewhere? Well, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, we’ll leave the blankets be. For now, use those sheets for Lady Aelora’s bed. She’s on the other side of Meduseld.” Godiva commanded, and Hilda abided.

The walk to Lady Aelora’s room was much less stressful. Along the way she even saw a few people, obviously having just roused from their slumber, getting ready for their days. Guards who stood tightening their armor and ladies of the court yawned as they awaited their handmaidens with hair still down and unbrushed. They all looked just as exhausted as she did that morning, sleep still present in their glassy eyes.

When Hilda arrived at Lady Aelora’s door she was still quite nervous. Kenric said she was a nice woman when he spoke to her alone, but Hilda still feared she would be gutted by the woman. Kenric had spoken to her in an open area where anyone could stumble upon them, and while he was not bothered by the tales told of dragon bloods, Hilda most certainly was. Her shaking hand knocked on the door.

Like before, there was no answer nor was there any stirring. With more people rushing around the hall and beginning their days she assumed Lady Aelora had risen early… or that her earlier theory was correct and Lord Viseryon had forced them to leave. She felt slightly more at ease with the fact that the dragon blood was not in her room and she opened the door confidently.

That confidence left her body in one shrill shriek that tore through the air and alerted everyone around her. Her eyes welled up with hot tears and her head became light. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her arms felt heavy. She dropped the linen to the ground and dropped to her knees, fighting the urge to throw up at the scent of copper in the cold air.

✵✵✵✵✵

When she was sure Gríma had fallen asleep Aelora slipped out of his arms, an action she was entirely too familiar with. Under the dim light of the nearly dead candles, Aelora collected her discarded clothes, managing to only find her dress in the dark. She slipped her nightgown back over her head before tiptoeing over to the bed.

Her lover, so deep in sleep, looked peaceful. His bare brow that was usually furrowed in thought was relaxed, and the frown lines around his mouth were non-existent. She felt a pang of guilt as she looked upon his sleeping face, knowing she would have to leave. She feared him waking in the night to find his bed empty and most of all she feared him assuming betrayal. With everything she told him she wouldn’t blame him for assuming the worst when she disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night.

Aelora, no matter what happened in the future, would always be grateful for Gríma. Despite his oddities, he managed to show her that her life didn’t have to be lonely. Not everyone would look at her with suspicion and fear. She was not a monster…

But she is a dragon. And a dragon is not a slave.

Her knife gleamed in the flickering soft light of the candle, almost winking at her, egging her on. Even it seemed to know what she had to do, and it thirsted for blood. Viseryon’s blood. The blood of the last true Draecyr.

Looking around the room she searched for something that could aid her in getting away with her crime. His room was quite dark, leaving her to feel around for any item that might hold magical properties. She tried to mind the clothes left on the floor and the various furniture that might block her path, trying her hardest to stay quiet so as not to wake Gríma.

She stumbled her way through a door in the farthest corner of the room, and within this new area there was a window. Cool, blue light from the large moon filtered in and cast long shadows over the walls and floor. The floor was stone and cold and had a small step down from where the wood of the main room stopped. The room was mostly empty aside from a large tub toward the back and a wooden stand that stood before her against the wall. Atop the wooden stand was a single ivory comb that seemed to be made from the bone of some sort of animal, and beside it was a handheld mirror with a silver-colored metal handle and backing. Just above the stand was a couple of shelves with various bottles of liquid lining their surfaces. She could see different flowers stuffed into the bottles, and immediately she recognized them as perfumes.

She collected the mirror and perused the selection of perfumes Gríma collected, carefully searching for a particular flower and hoping he had it lying around. Even in the moonlight, the tall stalk of the violet flower stood out to her, practically calling out to her. She took the glass bottle with the Lavender stuffed inside and pulled the cork out from the narrow opening. She waltzed to the tub and sat on its rim, placing the mirror in her lap, and she poured the liquid out into the chilly water that sat inside its basin. It was clear Gríma had been planning on bathing before their escapade.

She had no way of knowing how long the plant had been soaking in the water other than the way the sweet aroma filled the air so suddenly, and immediately she made a mental note to buy Gríma a replacement for the fragrance.

Carefully, she pinched at the narrow stem of the plant with her nails and pulled it from the bottle, eyeing its drowned form with scrutiny. No, that wouldn’t do.

She held the flower away from her face at arms length and took a deep breath. She felt the burning sensation rise in her chest and throat as she blew gently. A warm amber and copper glow rose beneath her skin, trailing up the length of her chest and neck before brilliant flames erupted from behind her lips. The heat from her fire rid the flower of any excess wetness and dried it to the bone. The formerly violet petals turned an ashen purple and curled upwards unto themselves. They became brittle and nearly baked.

With the flower now dry, Aelora stood and brought it to the window. She placed the mirror face down on the windowsill and crumbled the lavender in her hand. She spoke firmly in a hushed tone: “I invoke the power to plunge the kingdom of Edoras into a deep slumber. Let them not wake til the first light reaches above the snowy peak of Starkhorn. Let my creator be exempt, and let my Gríma be easily awoken at the sound of me calling his name when the time comes.”

And with that, she blew the broken, dry petals out of the window and into the wind. As the breeze carried the lavender out into the village, Aelora held the mirror up to the moon, and in an instant the sky became a bright turquoise color as the moon glowed violet. She watched as the aqua color melted into a mist that cascaded down onto the sleeping kingdom, and it remained heavy upon the buildings like a fog upon the water. It glided into the window and filled both the room she was standing in and the room where Gríma slept soundly. He would remain that way for a while.

The candle’s flame was finally extinguished, smothered by the fog.

There was not a sound in the world that could wake the sleeping kingdom of Edoras without Aelora’s say so, and that was exactly how she wanted it. With everyone now under her spell, she grabbed the curved hilt of her knife from the desk and exited Gríma’s room.

Her door was a mere few feet away, yet it felt like a lifetime getting to it. Each footstep felt heavy and prolonged, like she had never walked before in her life. The closer she got to the oak door the less she felt like herself. Her body felt numb and she found it hard to think about anything at all - her mind was blank. Her hand came to rest against the wooden door as she stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths as she fought off tears. She had made it.

She hated Viseryon with every fiber of her being, yet part of her still loved him like a daughter would a father. He was spoiled, and vain, and his feelings for her grew inappropriate over time, but that did not change the fact that he was all she had her entire life.

He raised her. He taught her how to speak and how to read and write. He fed her and bought her the nicest of clothes, even when they were banished to the outskirts of Erech. She admired him at one point in her life, like all dragon bloods did their creators, and she couldn’t help but mourn the bond they used to have, even if he only created her to entrap Aemma.

She was afraid more than anything. She hoped that having Gríma suggest she murder Viseryon was enough for her to get away with it. In the history of Arda, there has never been a dragon blood who killed their creator, it was thought to be inherently against their nature. She could imagine the uproar now, the frightful looks, the suspicion, the accusations. If she could kill her creator, what's stopping her from killing anyone else? What’s stopping her from killing the king?

It mattered not what her creator might have been doing to her, or what he was planning. She hoped the bruises on her neck that took the shape of his hands were enough for them to understand, even though she knew deep down they would never understand. Anger began to chip away at the sadness, slowly bubbling beneath her skin and burning in her gut. She would make them understand.

With one last shaky breath, she opened the door to her room.

It was dark inside, but after a moment she was able to see the silhouette of her sleeping creator. She quietly slipped through the door, closing it as gently as she could, before making her way to the covered window on the wall farthest from the door. She’d kept the window covered all night, unable to look out at Edoras without thinking of what happened earlier in the day and how she may never see its green beauty again. It saddened her, but she needed the light now.

She wanted to see the fear in Viseryon’s eyes, the very fear she had every night when he was around. The very fear she experienced when he wrapped his rancid hands around her throat that afternoon.

She drew up the curtain, the violet light from the moon rushed in almost instantly, despite it residing on the opposite side of the sky from where her room was. The spell made it bright.

She watched her creator silently, observing the steady rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took. Rising and falling that would cease soon enough.

Up and down.

Viseryon’s face scrunched at the new presence of light, and he stirred restlessly before silently waking, blinking the sleep from his eyes as a look of confusion came over his fair features. Aelora stood over him, a blank look in her eye and her hands behind her back. He stretched his arms out, reaching toward her side of the bed when he suddenly realized that her side of the bed was cold. She had been gone for a while. “Aelora? Where did you run off to?” Was all he could choke out. Sleep was still heavy in his voice. The question was not accusatory, or at least, not yet. There was a genuine curiosity in his tone, like how one would speak to a pet after they had been missing all day. Her stomach turned uneasily.

Aelora walked to her side of the bed and knelt on the mattress, allowing her to still tower over her creator. It was almost a display of dominance. She hoped he wouldn’t recognize the violet moon and realize that they were the only ones awake in the kingdom - she hoped he was too tired to put the pieces together. She smiled bitterly at him as she thought of answers to his question.

His silver eyes shone brightly in the moonlight, as if the supernatural occurrence served to emphasize the otherworldly nature of their people. She tucked her knife further into her sleeve and brought her other hand to his cheek. Gently, she caressed his face, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, yet the look on her face was that of a predator. She wondered if he knew how it felt now, to be leered at by something so dangerous.

“Where was I?” She repeated the question, and her creator nodded. She let out an airy laugh. Her heartbeat sped up, for she knew if she spoke she would have to kill him quicker. She licked her lips to combat the dryness that overcame them. Her hand tightened around the knife. “I was in councilman Gríma’s bed. I let him fuck me.” She repeated the very words Viseryon used against her before, though this time there was truth in them. She let the advisor fuck her and she enjoyed it.

There was sadism in the dragon blood’s smile as she watched recognition flash over Viseryon’s face, then anger, and then sadness. She wasn’t expecting sadness. He choked back a sob, which only served to confuse Aelora further.

“Oh, Aelora.” He cried. She was not moved, in fact, she was repulsed by his pathetic whining. For someone she thought so highly of as a child, she saw now that he was nothing but a pitiful worm. Instead, she readied her knife, holding it over her head as she watched the fear overcome his sorrow. She was not his, she would never be his. Aelora belonged to herself and no one else. Not Viseryon, not Gríma… her. She would make it known to Viseryon that he did not own her, and in that moment, he certainly understood her message.

His eyes were glued to the knife which shimmered a faint violet in the moonlight. He wondered if it was enchanted, he wondered what she would do to him. He looked back at her and could not recognize the beast in front of him, even if it was a beast he created. His dry, cracked lips opened and a gasp left them.

“Aelora, please.” He begged quietly, and she smiled. That was why she wanted him to be awake, she wanted to hear his pitiful cries and pleas. Her eyes were still focused on him, though it felt as if they were looking through him. He attempted to sit up but she grabbed him by his tunic, the same, dirtied white tunic he’d worn to bed for years. She pushed him back into the mattress and took the opportunity to straddle his hips, making sure he would go nowhere.

“I have asked and begged, just as you are now, for years and my pleas have fallen upon your deaf ears, Viseryon.” Aelora seethed. Her grip tightened around the knife’s handle to hide the way her hand shook.

Somehow, somewhere deep within the sneering woman he saw before him, he still managed to see the little girl he raised.

Aelora plunged the knife into his throat.

✵✵✵✵✵

A crowd gathered around Hilda, murmuring amongst themselves as they attempted to get a look into the room. The poor maid was lying on the floor unconscious, an arm over her forehead and the linen laid across her body. Most paid her no mind, finding the spectacle of the bloody body within Aelora’s room more interesting than the maid who discovered it. A guard pushed passed followed by two more, all who looked as if they had just been awoken by the commotion. They each let out a gasp and covered their mouth and nose at the scene before them.

Blood painted the wall just behind the bed near the headboard and stained the white sheets and pillows. Lord Viseryon’s cold, pale hand hung off of the side of the bed, where crimson dripped down the length of his fingers onto the cold, stone floor. His white tunic was darkened and made damp by his blood. His head laid beside his body, pointed up at the ceiling with its mouth slightly agape. His hair was tangled and frizzy, making it hard to see the way his haunting silver eyes were still wide with fear, gazing out into the unknown. The flesh of his neck was jagged and a deep red at the ends, with untrained cuts that made it clear the person who did this beheaded him with a knife instead of something like a sword or ax, meaning this was not the work of a true executioner or a careful assassin. This had gone unplanned.

“Someone get Lord Éomer!” The first guard shouted, feeling his stomach turn uneasily at the sight of the brutalized lord. He feared he would vomit.

The guard to his left took off down the hall to look for the king’s nephew, while the other shifted uneasily. They knew this would be a matter for the king after they found the culprit. Of course, they all knew he would not make a decision without Wormtongue’s say, and they all would wonder if he was the one behind this.

Kenric saw the crowd gathered at Lady Aelora’s door and quickly picked up his pace to join them. They all seemed rather upset, with some letting out quiet sobs and others whispering to the people around them. He immediately felt uneasy as he pushed through, and as he saw the traumatizing body of Viseryon he forced himself to look away, feeling his heart jump at the sight. He had never seen so much blood in his life. He was not one for violence.

Upon turning around, he kept his eyes to the ground and saw Hilda still lying there and his heart sank. Panic flooded the musician’s mind as he dropped to his knees. In a frenzy, he felt her forehead and listened carefully to make sure his friend was still breathing.

Without a second thought, Kenric scooped Hilda up into his arms and demanded everyone get out of his way. He would take her someplace to safely rest and find a healer. He hoped whoever killed Viseryon didn’t harm Hilda. He saw no blood or wounds upon her, which only slightly set his mind at ease. No one seemed to trample her, most likely too frightened to go near the horrifying scene within the room.

In his hurry, he failed to see the king’s advisor peeking from behind his own door at the commotion in the hall.

✵✵✵✵✵

When the deed was done Aelora sat numbly upon her bed. Red stained her hands and face, and it soaked her dark nightgown. The smell of blood was overwhelming, it filled the air and made her head spin. The sight of Viseryon’s metallic eyes staring blankly at her was haunting, and it did nothing but add to the surreal feeling she found herself experiencing. Her intention was not to behead him, yet the way she continued to stab his neck made that decision for her. She felt as if she couldn’t form a coherent thought. The way he choked on his own blood was burned into her mind. The gurgling sound he made as he tried to scream and breath and cry played on a loop in her head. She feared she would never be able to forget that sound.

What would happen when they found him? She slid off of the bed and felt the blood that drenched her dress drip down her legs. Her gown stuck to her skin uncomfortably and the way her thighs seamlessly glided against each other made her want to scream. She glanced back at the carnage she created, and part of her mind wandered. Her knife was still embedded in the jagged stump of his neck, surrounded by still oozing blood. She wondered how much pain he was in when he died. Her eye trailed to the red that stained the tangle of his silver hair - no part of him went unsoiled, clearly. The scene was sickening. Surely they would kill her for this. She knew she couldn’t stay there.

Aelora stumbled her way out the door, feeling her once dry mouth fill with saliva as she fought the uneasy turning of her stomach. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and feeling the cool air fill her lungs. Her stained hands spread against the wall, and she knew there would be blood left in their wake. Her tear filled eyes met Gríma’s door. The air was sobering.

She pushed herself off the wall and tumbled to the door across from her. Her hand ghosted across the wooden surface before she gently rapped on it. “Gríma…” She whispered. It was time. There was a shift in the air as the aqua haze before her faded ever so slightly, and the spell she cast on the kingdom was lifted only for her lover.

Gríma awoke with a startled gasp, looking out into the darkness of his room while he slowly remembered where he was. The violet glow poured in through the bathroom door which had been left open by just a crack, and in the low light he realized he was alone. He heard the gentle tapping at his door. He paused for a moment, trying his best to compose himself and think through his sleep-addled mind.

He slid out of bed and felt around for something to cover himself. His clothes were strewn about the room and there were far too many layers to struggle to put on, so he made his way to his desk where a long, dark tunic was draped on the back of his chair. He slipped it over his narrow shoulders and made his way to the door. He opened it slowly.

The sight before him was frightful. Aelora stood in his doorway with a blank look in her eye. Blood painted her hands and face, and it drenched her long, silver hair. He couldn’t help but take a step back out of fear. He never expected her to kill Viseryon that night, he figured she would have waited. Despite his fear, he reached out for her and caught her collapsing form in his arms.

“Aelora?” She looked up at him through half lidded eyes. “Come inside, my love. I’ll run a bath for you.” He chose not to bring up what she had done. He took one last look down the hall to make sure no one could see her, and he made sure her door was shut, before leading her inside. She seemed to be in a daze. He guided her to the bathroom and rushed around to light the coals beneath the tub, grateful that the water was still there. He couldn’t summon someone to fetch water at that time of night, especially not with Lady Aelora in his room at all, let alone covered in blood.

“It’s done.” She muttered. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder and nodded curtly. “I know, my love.” He kept calling her that, it came so naturally to him, falling from his lips with no resistance. The coals glowed a deep orange and a fire grew beneath the tub, and the smell of smoke filled the air and competed with the overbearing smell of metal that came from Aelora. He turned to face her finally, still kneeling on the ground while she watched the water silently.

“The people of Rohan will be grateful for what you’ve done… eventually.” He tried to find a silver lining in all of this, a way to make her feel better. He tried doing what he did best, and that was kissing up to people. He didn’t mind doing so to Aelora. Her red gaze flickered to him, and behind her eyes there was suspicion. “Will they?” She spoke in a harsh whisper.

“Of course they will. If you were telling the truth then Viseryon would be a traitor and a potential usurper. I think we both know he would have been unfit to wear the crown.” He rose to his feet and rubbed soothingly along her shoulders. “You made the right choice. And they may fear you now but in time they will see the way your actions served the realm.” Blood stuck to his palms.

“They’ll want me dead. They’ll have me killed.” She stated. Gríma shook his head.

“I won’t let them.” He said firmly. He would never admit it to her, but he needed her to kill Viseryon - the lord jeopardized everything he had worked to achieve. Of course, the plan had been slightly derailed with Aelora around, and as of now he was content with remaining the king’s advisor. Her crimson eyes met his and she gave him a small smile, though there was still a sadness to her.

The water in the tub began to bubble slightly and warm steam began to rise off of its surface. Gríma quickly turned around and put the flames out, but when he turned back to Aelora she was already stripping. She dropped her blood soaked gown to the ground and he could see the way the red clung to the pale skin of her thighs and stomach. Her long hair came to rest over her breasts, the length of silver stopping just below her navel. There was blood clumping parts of her hair together toward the ends.

She walked toward the tub, much to Gríma’s alarm. He reached out for her, grabbing ahold of her wrist and stopping her just before she was able to climb into the boiling water. “Aelora, wait. You’ll burn yourself.” She looked back at him with her same tired eyes. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about me.”

Gently, she pulled her hand away and turned back to the tub. She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for what may happen. He watched her closely with wide, wild eyes, unsure of what she was thinking. He desperately didn’t want her to hurt herself, but he wondered if the boiling water would snap her out of whatever trance she was under. Would the water even hurt her?

“I’ll be fine.” She sank into the water, submerging herself from head to toe. Gríma froze. There was no thrashing, she didn’t rise from the water with a scream, there were no signs to indicate she was in pain. She simply sat still. He waited quietly, holding his breath for as long as she remained underwater. The steam from the bath filled the room and chased the cold back out the window, which had remained open since Aelora cast her spell. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and beneath his tunic. He could barely hide how afraid he was for her.

It was odd. He had known Aelora for only four days now, yet he couldn’t deny he cared for her. He wondered if it was due to her being so unafraid to be near him, or if it was the way she held his gaze and touched him. In all of his life he’d only wanted one woman, the Lady Éowyn, and much like everyone else around him she would never let him near her. For years he had watched the king’s niece from afar, only dreaming of having her affection. He thought there was no one fairer than she in all of Middle Earth, and then Aelora came along. He certainly saw the parallels when he first started following Aelora around, convincing himself that he was following her out of his duty to the throne as opposed to the fact he found her attractive.

He moved slowly toward the tub, realizing she had been underwater for far too long. As he stared into the water at her white locks floating around her, he thought of how she proved the impossible was possible. Someone could love him, even if so far it seemed she was only interested in the physical. He hoped with Viseryon out of the way their affair could blossom into something more. Ah yes, the other reason he wanted the Sohnyar lord out of the way. He would never admit it aloud, and he hardly liked thinking about it, but he desperately wanted Aelora to stay. With all of Viseryon’s scheming and the way Aelora was essentially his property, he knew he could never have her with him around.

Gríma was and always would be a selfish man.

Aelora arose from the water with a gasp, pushing her hair from her face as the red tinted liquid dripped from her arms. She seemed more awake now, and she looked at Gríma with aware eyes. He dropped to his knees once more, resting his hands on the rim of the tub as he looked at her with awe. She let out an airy laugh that gradually grew into a more manic, uncontrolled laugh. Tears brimmed in her eyes and he could tell something was terribly wrong. She quieted down after a moment, sniffling and wiping her tears away.

“I’m sorry, I just… I can’t believe I did that.” She admitted, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m finally free.” He did wonder what hell Aelora had been living in for most of her life.

“Are you alright?” She looked at him again before looking over herself, and she let out another small chuckle.

“Oh, right. The water.” She stopped and smiled sweetly. She seemed much more lucid now. “The heat doesn’t hurt me, fire won’t hurt me either. Fire does not burn those born of dragons.” She explained simply. Her pale flesh turned a rosy pink in the water, and he couldn’t help but mentally cringe at the sight. She said she wasn’t hurting though, and he supposed that was all that mattered. He inched nearer.

“If I may,” he began, awkwardly clearing his throat as he struggled to word his question, “what exactly did you do to him?” Aelora froze. With how much blood covered her he was sure it was gruesome. She clearly had a lot of vitriol reserved for her creator. She let out a sigh.

“I’d rather not say.” She whispered. He understood.

“Then I’ll ask another question. Why tonight?” Gríma had several questions he needed answered, but of course that one was the most important. When he suggested Aelora kill Viseryon he didn’t expect her to act on it immediately. He hoped Aelora would wait and consult him, perhaps go about things in a more subtle way. He would have given her the poisons to do it without a second thought. The way she did it, and the suddenness of her actions, made it incredibly hard to spin a tale absolving her of the blame. She shifted in the tub, coming closer to the rim and her lover. The violet moonlight shone down on her and made her hair look like pure white. Then, as he looked a bit closer, he saw it.

Around her neck were large, blossoming bruises in the shape of Viseryon’s fingers. They seemed much more vibrant in the unnatural lighting, but that didn’t change the way Gríma’s breath hitched. He knew she mentioned that her creator had tried to kill her before they drifted to sleep, but she never mentioned how. He couldn’t believe it, and he wondered how he missed such a thing earlier in the night. His face was so close to it, his lips brushed over it, and yet he never noticed. He took her hand in his and her flesh nearly burned his.

“I told you he tried to kill me.” She began. The raven haired man nodded. “I said he couldn’t find out about us or he would kill me. Going back to him like that…”

“I’ll find a way to help you.” Gríma promised, bringing her steaming knuckles to his lips. She blushed at the action and smiled. He loved seeing her smile, especially knowing what he knows now.

The steam continued to rise from the tub and he wanted nothing more for the water to cool enough for him to slip in beside her. He reached for the stand against the wall and pulled an old rag from the drawer. It was a pale blue color and looked as if it was falling apart. It looked like it would be scratchy against her skin. He dipped it in the water, ignoring how hot it still was, and brought the cloth to Aelora’s cheek where he gently wiped away the blood that remained after her soak. The blood that still stuck to her skin was flaky and broke away easily with each pass of the cloth.

Aelora closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “You will tell them what you told me.” Gríma stated firmly. She glanced at him, hardly able to hide the uncertainty and apprehension in her eyes. “Lay low tomorrow. Leave the king and his decision to me.” She nodded. He handed her the cloth so she could finish up wiping away the evidence of her crime. She took it gingerly and began scrubbing her arms and hands.

Gríma turned and gazed at the violet moon, filled with uncertainty. He let his mind wander as he wondered why the sky looked the way it did. He looked back at Aelora, almost afraid to ask about the moon. He thought about the way he woke up so suddenly when Aelora was at his door, and the way the kingdom seemed so quiet, even for the middle of the night. The moon had not budged since he fell asleep.

“I shall fetch a bucket to clear the water before the maids find it.” He told her, rising to his feet. She let out a sigh, sinking back into the water up to her shoulders while her hands gripped the edge of the tub.

“Yes, it would be best to dump the water before everyone wakes.” She remarked calmly. “At least you won’t have to worry about sneaking around.” Gríma frowned.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked. She smirked.

“The spell invoking a violet moon puts people in a deep sleep. Nothing will wake them until the caster says so, or unless they set specific requirements that need to be met. I can assure you we’re fine for the time being.” Aelora explained as she closed her eyes. The way she constantly seemed to switch between alarmed and confidently calm was confusing, to say the least. He should have known she would have taken the precautions to make sure no one would interrupt her.

“Was I-”

“You were. I made sure you would wake when I called your name.” That explained why he woke so suddenly.

When she was done bathing they both worked to drain the tub, dumping the red tinted water out the window by the bucket full. It seeped into the ground slowly, pooling on the grassy surface and splashing mud on the wooden wall. By the morning it would be gone.

Gríma dressed Aelora in a spare tunic he had, and together they went to bed. She curled up in his arms as she did hours before, and for a moment it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

✵✵✵✵✵

Éomer stared down at Viseryon’s remains, masking his horror.

They had set up a pyre to display the carnage for the king to see, and for anyone who might have wanted to pay their respects. His head had not been reattached, but it was aligned with his neck and a single red ribbon had been draped across the split. The Sohnyar lord’s eyes had been closed, and his hands were neatly folded across his chest. They had someone dress him in the clothes he arrived in: a black overcoat embroidered with diamond patterns and a maroon tunic with black pants, and a bronze pin adorned with a snake-like dragon encircling the world was placed over his left breast. On his left forefinger was a similar bronze ring adorned with a red gem in the center of the dragon’s eye. His long hair had been carefully braided into a single braid that was laid under his body.

He looked like a proper Sohnyar for the first and last time. The last of the Draecyr line, laid to rest in a land foreign to him by his own creation. He might have been unbearable in life but Éomer couldn’t help but feel bad for the nearly forgotten family. Their last son…

It reminded him of the recent loss that plagued his uncle.

Of course, Viseryon’s situation was different. His parents had died by the time the lord turned thirteen, the year the Sohnyar boys were to cut their hair signifying that they were men. The length of Viseryon’s hair showed he kept with tradition and refused to cut it again. He seemed much more at peace now, dressed up by those who tended to the dead, than he did that morning. The image of his detached head and bloodied body would stick in Éomer’s mind for a long time, and he feared seeing it appear in his nightmares.

It would not be the last of the horrific things the young heir would witness.

Théoden king sat upon his throne, wheezing with each labored breath and staring down at the scene before him from behind white bushy brows. Beside him sat Gríma, perched in his seat in his usual gargoyle-like way, who uncharacteristically had not said a word the entire time. He hardly moved to whisper in the king’s ear. His dark aura was a plague upon Éomer’s uncle, who was already a distressed and troubled man. Ever since the death of Théodred, Théoden king’s health began to decline. The already aging man seemed to give in to the effects of time almost rapidly, and he slowly became unable to think for himself. He trusted Gríma before all of this, and he continued to trust the man now, much to the dismay of his nephew. Éomer blamed the advisor for his uncle’s failing health.

In the corner of the room stood his sister, Éowyn, who watched the room wearily. She was dressed in a deep emerald green that juxtaposed her brother’s maroon armor. The velvet dress was embroidered with golden thread. She looked similar to her brother, with golden hair and fair skin. They both had the same round face and sullen eyes. He was taller than her by a few inches, with dark facial hair and an all around rougher exterior.

She stayed close to the shadows, shrinking away in the corner of the room in hopes of staying out of Wormtongue's sight. It didn’t work as she’d hoped, for his eye found her the moment she walked into the room. She came to the great hall to see just what everyone was whispering about, much to her brother’s dismay, and was slightly relieved to see that the body had been mostly restored and made presentable.

The last person in the room was Kenric, who silently sat to the side, opposite of Lady Éowyn, where he tuned his instrument. He rushed back to Meduseld after leaving Hilda with a healer near her home. He was assured she would be alright. He watched out of curiosity, waiting to see what would happen and find out who killed Viseryon.

The front doors to the hall had been left open just enough for people to file through if they pleased, and the bright light of the sun shone through the crack. Its white light fell upon Viseryon’s body and Éomer like a spotlight, and it stretched their shadows across the floor before the king and his advisor. Despite the light, the room was somber and cold. It showed just how empty the hall was, and the contrast made the shadows appear much darker than they were.

“I’ve yet to receive word on the dragon blood’s whereabouts. We found a knife that we suspect belongs to her in his neck this morning.” Éomer’s strong voice echoed through the hall. He reached into the satchel he wore on his hip and produced Aelora’s curved blade, and Gríma felt his body tense.

Aelora was still in his chambers, most likely sleeping soundly in his bed. They discussed the plan one more time before going to sleep, and he decided then to do most of the heavy lifting. He would attempt to convince everyone she was innocent and kidnapped, and if that didn’t work then she would tell the truth of why Viseryon was there in the first place. After agreeing to this, she requested he bring some of her own clothes when it was safe to do so, and when he returned later that day with a few of her dresses she was asleep again, holding the pillow he’d laid on the night before tightly. The dire situation didn’t change the fact that the image before him was one he’d imagined a million times before - though it was always with a different woman than her.

The dark haired man was surprised the guards hadn’t ransacked his room yet, given how much he was sure Éomer suspected he was behind the killing.

Gríma turned to the king and for the first time that day he whispered, “And he suspects the dragon blood of such a crime? They’re renowned for their loyalty to their creators. I have my doubts about this accusation, my king.” Théoden’s tired eyes met Gríma’s, and he thought about the words being fed to him. It was true, dragon bloods were supposed to be loyal to a fault. The day the Draecyrs arrived in Edoras, his niece had reminded him of the tale of Naessa, the dragon blood created by usurper Queen Caecelia of the Six - also a Draecyr, who was executed for carrying out what her creator wanted - which was to kill the then king of Rohan, Alrid, who had been crowned before the first line was established with Eorl. Caecelia plunged the realm into a brief chaos before Eorl slayed Naessa and executed the Sohnyar woman. Ever since then, there had been very few Sohnyar welcome back into Rohan, especially Draecyrs.

From what his fragile mind could remember, Naessa was a pitiful creature. Aelora hardly seemed comparable to her, though.

“Dragon bloods… are… loyal.” Théoden’s voice wavered as he huffed each word out. Gríma nodded.

“Excellent observation, my liege.” He turned his attention to the king’s nephew. “What makes you think she was able to go against her own nature?”

The younger man’s expression darkened with anger. He had to tread carefully and not jump to accuse anyone just yet, given he heard the rumors about the advisor and Aelora. He knew Gríma was lying, as he usually did, but his lies couldn’t completely cover up the evidence. That was Aelora’s knife, it was a particular blade found only amongst the Sohnyar, there was no denying it.

“This is her knife, Gríma. I know it.” He stated firmly, holding the knife by its handle and the tip of its blade. The advisor narrowed his pale eyes at this and frowned.

“How are you so sure?” He asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. If he could continue to sew the seeds of doubt into the young lord then he could easily absolve Aelora of any guilt. “For all we know that was Lord Draecyr’s blade, after all, I don’t see her name branded on it. It’s simply a Sohnian blade, it easily could have been taken from Viseryon earlier in the day and used in the murder later.”

“Do you consider me a fool, Gríma?” Éomer boomed. The lord was quickly losing his patience. The pale man shifted in his seat uncomfortably, practically shrinking back into his over cloak, looking like a pile of cloth seated beside the king.

“Of course not, my lord.”

“Then do not force me to call your character into question in front of my uncle.” That had to be a threat. Gríma brought a hand up to his chest where he nervously played with the bronze chain that hung beneath his cloak.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” He seethed. The blond glared at him.

“I will not sit to the side and watch as another situation like Naessa evolves before my eyes. I will not lose my uncle.” It took everything in his power to not call Gríma out. He chose the safer route. The treacherous man before him opened his mouth to speak - to spew more lies to protect the woman he’d come to love.

Did he truly love her? Surely it was too early to decide.

“All I suggest is that we mustn’t jump to conclusions. The king is right, a dragon blood would be incapable of such violence against their creator.”

“He was found in her room.” The blond man countered in a harsh voice. Gríma was hardly affected by the outburst.

“This is true, yet we haven’t been able to find her. Who’s to say the killer didn’t kill her too. Perhaps they kidnapped her, not that they would get very far with her in that case. I’d imagine it’s very hard to capture an angry and defensive dragon blood.” Gríma suggested, to which the throne’s heir scoffed. He turned his dark gaze to his uncle, who seemed to listen less and less to his council in favor of Gríma’s as of late. He hoped, for his own sake, that Théoden would listen to him.

“Uncle, please.” He began, his face softening. “I believe she’s dangerous. We don’t know where she is and I fear for your safety.” He was never in danger, Gríma thought exhaustedly.

“We have no reason to believe she would want to kill you, my liege. Your nephew is simply playing up his usual hysterics to convince everyone his own prejudices are rational. Lady Aelora has been a rather polite guest, and I followed her around myself to be sure she and her creator weren’t planning to usurp you. She is not a threat.” Gríma whispered to the king. Théoden sat blankly, taking in the information all at once and struggling to process it. He had hardly been around Éomer as of late and could not confirm whether his nephew did have something against Lady Aelora. He supposed if Gríma had been following her around he would have witnessed this behavior. He trusted the man beside him.

“Have I ever lied to you, my king?” Gríma continued, “I have every reason to believe Aelora was not behind this, and in the unlikely case that she was, there must be a reason behind it. I don’t think a girl of her stature could even behead Viseryon in the way it was done. Look, his hair is uncut. Do you really think Lady Aelora, a woman raised so entrenched in Sohnian culture as herself, would really kill Viseryon without cutting his hair? It signifies defeat in their culture, she had every reason to do so, and yet it remains untouched. Don’t believe Éomer’s fear mongering.”

Théoden supposed they should look for her first and then go from there. He wholeheartedly believed the girl was in trouble, like Gríma suggested, and if they could find her they could get the answers they so desperately sought.

“We… must find her.” Théoden began, his voice less weak than before. “We must… ask her who… did this.”

Then, a large shadow rose over the hill, stretching along the stone floor of Meduseld and casting Éomer, Gríma, and Théoden in darkness. Between the doors now stood Aelora, dressed head to toe in a bright scarlet. Her silver locks were braided back into a single braid that cascaded down her back like the sterling waters of a waterfall. Around her neck was a large, ornate golden choker that took the shape of a dragon. The creature coiled around the length of her neck, hiding most of her skin beneath its golden scales. And on her fingers were two golden rings that connected to a bracelet on her wrist by a golden chain. She waltzed into the great hall, catching the eye of everyone inside and everyone who waited outside.

Aelora usually dressed in black. Every time Éomer saw her she wore a dark dress with red rarely showing on the garment. It was more common to see her draped in gold jewelry than to see the red underneath the sleeves of her dresses. To see her now, when she should be mourning, dressed in such a bright shade of red, was alarming. She had no shame.

Gríma couldn’t believe what he was seeing either. He was the one to bring her clothes when they woke up in the morning, after the crowd had dispersed and the guards moved Viseryon’s body from her room. He brought her three dresses like she’d asked for: two black ones and a red one. He never expected her to choose the red one. He felt his silver tongue turn to lead in his mouth.

The dragon blooded woman stopped before Viseryon’s body, staring down at him silently while everyone watched her. Éomer grit his teeth and pushed toward her, yet she did not flinch. Her hands laid on the pyre gently.

“Lady Aelora,” Éomer began, “where have you been?”

She glanced up at him. He saw nothing but calmness in her eyes. Not sadness, not anger, there was no malice, only calm. Her gaze traveled past him and to the king’s advisor. It was a subtle look, but it was all Éomer needed to confirm his suspicions. The rumors were true, and Gríma had Viseryon killed for his own selfish reasons.

“I was resting.” She answered honestly, looking back down at Viseryon.

“And where were you las-”

“I killed him.” Aelora admitted, though that much should have been obvious. Gríma’s eyes grew wide as he watched everything he worked hard to convince Éomer of burned before him. If he had a little more time he would have been able to subdue the lord. He watched everyone wearily, at a loss for words for the time being.

“So you admit it?” Éomer breathed. Aelora stood up straight and looked the lord in his dark eyes. The look set the hairs on the back of his neck on end, though he would not show it. He was a seasoned warrior and he knew that there was never a proper time to show fear. “You killed your own creator in cold blood.”

“Not everything is as it seems, Lord Éomer.” The dragon blood spoke. Her hands came up to her neck as she undid the golden clasp at the back of her choker. The dragon split and she lowered the necklace to reveal the bright purple and blue bruises that adorned her neck. She dropped the heavy necklace on the ground.

“Viseryon was a dangerous man. He was sent here to kill you, Théoden king, and dragged me along with him. I was to do the killing. He never said what would have happened to me, and I came to love this place. He made me destroy our carriage in order to stay longer, so out of fear of what he would do to me I snuck off in the middle of the night to burn it. He told me the plan, that we would kill the king by the seventh day and he would be rewarded with the throne. I thought about it, and I knew this kingdom would be doomed if he wore the crown. Then I realized I would be the one to take the fall for his actions. If I killed the king I would be blamed and executed. I refused to kill for him.” She stopped and fought back tears. “I refused to kill for him and he tried to strangle me. He said he would kill me for not obeying him… it was him or me, and I refuse to betray the crown.” She cried.

Éomer froze as his heart dropped. He had a sneaking suspicion that was what the Draecyrs were doing in Rohan, much like everyone else. The only person who seemed to think it was a good idea was Gríma himself and from the sounds of it, he didn’t entirely trust them either. Aelora brushed past the pyre and to the steps leading to the throne. Éomer was quick to jump in front of her, fearing for a moment she would attempt to assassinate the king.

“The things he tried to do to me…” Aelora trailed off, finding the new revelation of why Viseryon acted the way he did around her was too much to bear at the moment. She took a deep breath. “He treated me like property. He isolated me from anyone and everyone. When I had begun to make friends here in Rohan he accused me of terrible things and insisted on sleeping with me in my bed for the rest of our stay, as if I was the one who couldn’t be trusted. I did everything he asked me to. He was all I had, my safety, my world… until he wasn’t. The moment he wrapped his hands around my throat was the moment I realized I had to get away.” She explained. She dropped to her knees, her skirt collapsing around her legs like the flaming feathers of a phoenix.

“I beg for your forgiveness. I know what I have done is a horrible crime, but I ask you, am I not a person like you? Do I get no say in what happens to me just because I am the creation of another? Am I not allowed to fight to live, just as you would?” She couldn’t see the way Lady Éowyn’s demeanor changed. She was almost sympathetic to Aelora. Almost.

Gríma, on the other hand, was rather impressed with her display. She was telling the truth, technically. Though she left out the crucial detail of why Viseryon tried to kill her, twisting it in her own way to garner sympathy. One look at Théoden and he knew the old king was falling for her act. Hell, the way she cried about Viseryon’s controlling nature pulled at his own heartstrings, though he knew it would. It happened before.

“You can’t argue self defense with this. The man was beheaded.” Éomer argued, much to Aelora and Gríma’s dismay. The pale man quickly got to work to counter this point with the king.

“She must have been gravely upset, after all, the man did try to kill her. We don’t know if he tried again in her chambers, and in my opinion he must have, wouldn’t you agree?” The king nodded.

“And how do we know those bruises are from Viseryon? The kingdom whispers of how you lay with snakes.” Or perhaps worms would be the more accurate word, Éomer thought as he watched Aelora’s face drop. She looked betrayed, but not angry. The way she was able to camouflage her emotions was impressive. Gríma nervously pressed his thin lips into a thinner line.

“Who I’ve shared my bed with previously has no bearing on the matter, but if it concerns you so I will have you know I am still a virgin, my lord.” She lied to his face with no malice or annoyance in her voice at the accusation. “And I know the people who vie for my affection wouldn’t harm me in the way Viseryon had.” She stood up straight and made her way back to the pyre where she grabbed one of Viseryon’s cold, rigid hands.

“Here, I’ll prove to you it was him.” She bent down slightly and pulled his hand to her neck, readjusting his fingers to fit the pattern left behind from the day before. They fit perfectly, each one sliding onto its designated purple line like a puzzle piece falling into place. She felt her heart beat faster with his hand touching her neck again. The feeling brought her back to the hall the day before, and she didn’t like remembering that.

Gríma quickly turned to the king and began whispering. “His hands are a perfect match, lord, see? She must be speaking the truth.” He gestured to Aelora, and the king nodded. Gríma made plenty of sense to him, it had to have been a self defense killing, and one that preserved his own life at that.

Éomer felt slight guilt as he spoke again.

“We cannot be sure that was him, his hands are about the size of mine.” He stated somberly. Aelora let out a sigh. She wouldn’t give up just yet.

“It’s the truth.” Spoke a meek voice from behind them. Both Éomer and Aelora turned around and their eyes met the small frame of the maid Hilda. Kenric immediately sat up, overwhelmingly relieved to see his friend awake. “I saw Lord Viseryon strangling Lady Aelora in the halls yesterday. He was furious with her, for what I don’t know, but it truly seemed like he would kill her. I saw her face turn purple before he let go.” She recounted, stepping shyly into the hall.

“I wouldn’t doubt it was because she refused to kill the king.” Hilda finished, coming to a stop beside Kenric in the corner. The dark haired man turned to the king once more and whispered one last request.

“Let her stay. She’s proven herself trustworthy.”

Théoden struggled to get to his feet, reaching for a black staff with a handle made out of some sort of bone. His joints creaked and his hand wobbled as he supported himself. Gríma quickly stood, reaching out his arms in an attempt to help the king up and to make sure he didn’t fall. Théoden waved his hand, and his advisor stood to the side. Slowly, the aging king hobbled forward and down the steps. His nephew stepped out of the way, but Aelora stood still. He stopped before her and caught his breath.

“I thank you, then.” He began, “You show loyalty… to… a land that isn’t your own…” He struggled once more, moving his face away as he coughed. “You have earned your… place here.” The room fell silent, but she could tell the king’s nephew was far from pleased. A small smile formed on her lips as she curtsied.

“Thank you, your highness. I am forever in your debt.” She stated as sincerely as possible, when really she knew the person she owed the most was Gríma. She turned back to Viseryon’s body. She had one last request.

“The Sohnyar are to be burned when they die. We see it as a connection to Arien and a way of returning ourselves to her.” She stated lowly. “Viseryon deserved nothing in life, but I ask we at least grant him this.” The king nodded.

As Aelora fled the hall, and Éowyn and Éomer rushed to help their uncle back to his chambers to rest, Kenric strummed lightly on his lute. Gríma stood before the throne, listening as Kenric sang softly.

Lady Aelora, dressed in red,

Not a tear she did shed for her creator

who now lay cold and dead.

____________________________________________________ Some things of note:

This story is a mix of book canon and movie canon

I've taken some liberties with the timeline and had Theodred's death moved up by a year because this story takes place in 3017 while LOTR takes place in 3018.

The lesser born characters Hilda and Kenric will be making multiple appearances throughout this story.

The Sohnyar are a race of man that I came up with, they come from the mostly volcanic island of Sohn which was scorched when Morgoth attempted to ravage Arien. It's mentioned here that the Sohnyar are burned when they die as a means of reuniting themselves with Arien, so that's what that's referring to. Queen Caecelia of The Six is mentioned because she is a very important figure in Sohnian culture. She is the second born Draecyr and the second of The Six original Sohnyar who were created by Morgoth and Arien. The Draecyrs came from the ground and made up the first three of The Six, while the other Sohnian family, The Aeryses, came from the smoke in the air. Their island was sunk by Morgoth in an attempt to wipe his failure from the earth, but the Sohnyar fled and made their way to middle earth where they settled in Gondor. The Sohnyar have a special connection to dragons and are the only group of people on Arda to have created dragon bloods, and the creatures originated with the Aeryses. Caecelia, who married Alrid, was jealous of Tyrienne Aerys who kept her last name after marrying, and opted to create the dragon blood Naessa to obtain power. Just a bit of a lore dump. I plan on writing about this more later after I finish Aelora's story.

Also, Imma be real, I really tried to keep Grima in character but idk if I was able to do it so sorry if it's a bit ooc :)

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #grima wormtongue #grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue x oc #oc x canon #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #brad dourif #my fic: Blood of the Dragon #my OC: Aelora Draecyr

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