#Blue Stone Sapphire and Diamond Jewelry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

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beautyofaphrodite · 4 months ago

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Aphrodite-The Basics

Who is Lady Aphrodite?

Greek: Αφροδιτη (sea foam)

Goddess of

🐚 Love

🐚 Beauty

🐚 Sex

🐚 Pleasure

🐚 Happiness

🐚 War

Family

🐚 Parents: either Ouranos, or Zeus and Dione

🐚 Lovers: Hephestus, Ares, many more

🐚 Immortal Children: Eros, Harmonia, Deimos, Phobos, the Erotes, Himeros, Anteros, Hermaphroditos, Peitho, Priapos, Rhodos, Herophilos, Iakkhos, Beroe

🐚 Mortal Children: Aeneas

Associations:

🐚 Animals: Doves, Dolphins, Geese, Sparrows, Hares, Shellfish, Bees, Butterflies (UPG), Cats (UPG)

🐚 Colors: Red, pink, white, gold, salmon, light blue, seafoam green, purple (UPG)

🐚 Element: Water

🐚 Plants: Roses, Lettuce, Myrtle, Apple, Anemone, Pomegranate, Lime, Daffodil, Myrrh, Dandelions (UPG)

🐚 Stones: Pearls, rose quartz, aquamarine, jade, rubellite, morganite, emerald, garnet, diamond, sapphire

🐚 Tarot: The Lovers, The Empress, The Star

🐚 Scents: Rose, the Ocean, Frankincense, Myrrh, Cinnamon, Vanilla, Cyprus, Jasmine, apple, strawberry, any sweet smells (UPG)

🐚 Other: The Ocean, Makeup, Jewelry, Friday, Venus, Number 5, Seashells, Sea Water, Perfume

Sources:

theoi.com

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mawidixon · 6 months ago

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"I will be your light in this cruel world"

Daryl x fem!reader

one-shot

Genre: fluff

Setting: Season 5 - Alexandria

Warnings: Twd violance (killing walkers and other stuff), swearing

Summary: Daryl never thought about marriage until he stumbled upon a beautiful ring in an abandoned jewelry store. From that moment, he put all his effort into making the engagement special.

A/N: I love that one-shot! I wanted to write Ink and Ashes first, but I just needed to write this!

@mawi22 I don't want my work to be modified, copied, or any of this kind of stuff without my consent!!!

It was one of those days when nothing seemed to happen and all the time was wasted. Daryl was on the run, alone because you were assisting Carol in cooking a meal for the rest of the people. To make matters worse, you had accidentally cut your leg while in the woods and you could not run in case of anything. Daryl, the hunter that he is, was now walking on a street that looked as if it had been abandoned. Attached to his belt were several rabbits that he had killed during the day.

The street was deserted; the closed shops bore testimony to what they used to be some time back. Cracked wooden panels and peeled paint spoke of a different reality that no longer existed. Daryl’s eyes shifted from one store to the other, the archer was ever vigilant. He was not only hunting for food but he was looking for anything that could be of use back in Alexandria.

He walked around each shop with purpose, looking for groceries, food tins, medicine, utensils, clothes, and other items. The rabbits followed the movements of the man, a small sign that he was successful in hunting. With every twist of the handle of a door and every crunch of his boots on the floor littered with debris, his senses were heightened. Daryl was determined; Alexandria required much more than food, and he aimed to make the people there as ready as they could be.

Soon, Daryl approached a destroyed jewelry store, its windows shattered and the door barely hanging on its hinges. With a cautious glance around, he pushed the door open, the jingle of a broken bell echoing eerily in the silence. Inside, the store was a chaotic mess, but remarkably, the displays of rings, necklaces, and other jewelry remained largely untouched. As he stepped further in, Daryl's eyes scanned the glittering pieces. Gold, silver, and other precious metals lay scattered about, some adorned with diamonds, others with various gemstones. The price tags, still attached, revealed their former value—these items had been incredibly expensive. In the old world, Daryl wouldn't have given them a second look, their opulence far removed from his everyday concerns. But now, in this new world where rules no longer applied, he could take whatever he wanted without consequence. Yet, the question lingered: what was the point?

Daryl continued his search, moving from display to display, his mind occupied with thoughts of Alexandria and the group. He checked behind counters, opened drawers, and scanned the room for anything useful. He was about to leave, dismissing the jewelry as unnecessary, when something caught his eye.

In a dusty display case near the back, a beautiful gold ring with a shiny sapphire gleamed faintly. The deep blue stone seemed to capture the dim light perfectly, drawing him closer. Daryl's thoughts immediately turned to you. He remembered the welcome party in Alexandria, how stunning you looked in that blue dress, the way it brought out the color in your eyes. The sapphire reminded him of that exact shade. He stood there for a moment, the ring in his hand, feeling an unexpected wave of sentimentality. In the chaos of their current lives, moments of normalcy and beauty were rare. This ring, this small token, could bring a bit of that back. He imagined your face lighting up when he gave it to you, a symbol of something good amidst the turmoil.

With a newfound resolve, Daryl slipped the ring into his pocket and left the store. The day, which had started as long and monotonous, had suddenly gained a new purpose. He continued his search of the abandoned street, but now with a hint of a smile, knowing he had found something special for you.

"I dun' know when to give 'er this ring," Daryl said, his rough voice barely a murmur as he twirled the sapphire ring between his fingers. The deep blue gem caught the light, casting small reflections on the walls of the dimly lit room.

Rick, leaning against the doorframe, glanced at the ring and then back at Daryl. "You've been together for a long time," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Maybe it's time to propose to her." Daryl shook his head, a mix of uncertainty and self-doubt clouding his usually stoic expression. "Nah, she gonna say no," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ring. Rick stepped closer, his brows furrowing in concern. "Why do you think like that?" he asked. "She loves you, man. And you love her. What's the problem?"

Daryl let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's jus'... things ain't never been normal for me, Rick. I ain't used to all this," he gestured vaguely with the ring, indicating the weight of emotions and commitments it represented. "What if I ain't good enough for 'er?" Rick's expression softened. He placed a reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Listen, we've all been through hell and back. None of us are the same as we were before all this. But what you have with her, that's real."

Daryl glanced up, meeting Rick's eyes. There was a flicker of hope in his otherwise guarded expression. "Ya really think she'd say yes?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Rick nodded firmly. "I do. She's stuck by you through everything, Daryl. That means something. She sees the good in you, even when you don't see it in yourself."

...

After that talk with Rick, Daryl began seriously thinking about how to propose. He knew it had to be perfect, something truly special. Unsure of how to go about it, he sought advice from Carol and a few others. Carol, always insightful and supportive, offered him some ideas and shared stories of heartfelt proposals she had witnessed.

With their guidance, Daryl finally crafted a plan. He remembered how much you loved daisy flowers, and he knew of a meadow not too far from Alexandria where plenty of daisies grew. It was a place you often spoke about with fondness, a reminder of simpler, happier times. He also knew the perfect spot to propose—a secluded lake nestled in the middle of the forest. This location held a special place in his heart, reminding him of your gentle touch and the soft kisses you often placed on his forehead. The tranquility and beauty of the lake made it the ideal setting for such an important moment.

Determined, Daryl set his plan into motion. He decided to tell you he had arranged a special date, something to brighten your spirits and provide a brief escape from the harsh realities of their world. On the day of the proposal, he rose early and made his way to the meadow. There, amidst the tall grass and wildflowers, he carefully picked a bouquet of the freshest, most beautiful daisies, picturing the delight on your face when you saw them.

"Y/N! You really dun' have to do make-up. Remember we're goin' to the forest," Daryl called out from behind the door, his voice carrying a mix of impatience and affectionate concern.

Inside the room, you were transforming yourself into a vision of beauty. With careful precision, you applied your makeup, enhancing your features with subtle touches. Your eyes sparkled with a hint of eyeliner, your lips a soft shade of pink. As you finished, you turned to the beautiful long white dress that Jessie had given you. The fabric was soft and flowed gracefully around you, hugging your figure perfectly and making you feel elegant and radiant.

You slipped into the dress, smoothing it down and twirling slightly to see how it moved. The dress was more than just clothing; it was a piece of the old world, a reminder of times when dressing up was a regular part of life. In this dress, you felt a connection to those memories, a sense of normalcy that was rare in these harsh times. True, you were heading into the forest where walkers could be lurking, but you felt confident. Your experiences had honed your survival skills, and you knew you could fight and run if necessary, even in a long dress. The dress might be unconventional for such an outing, but it made you feel special, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling.

You took a final look in the mirror, admiring the transformation. The long white dress accentuated your grace and poise, and the makeup highlighted your natural beauty. With a deep breath, you turned towards the door and opened it. Daryl stood there, his rugged features softening as he took in your appearance. His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and admiration flickering across his face. He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit flustered.

"You look...amazing," he said, his voice sincere and a bit husky. "But you sure 'bout that dress? We might have to run."

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. "I'm sure, Daryl."

Daryl chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, jus' stay close to me."

You nodded, and together you stepped outside. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over Alexandria, and the path to the forest beckoned. As you walked beside Daryl, the dress swaying with your movements, you felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Whatever the day held, you were ready to face it, with Daryl by your side and a touch of elegance to remind you of the beauty still left in the world.

You had been walking for about ten minutes when you finally reached the place by the lake. The forest seemed to part just for you, revealing the serene expanse of water nestled among the trees. The wind gently swayed the leaves, creating a soothing rustling sound, and the lake's surface was calm, reflecting the late afternoon sky like a mirror. You and Daryl found a spot by the water's edge, where the grass was soft and inviting. As you sat down, you couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had scouted and cleaned up this area beforehand. There were no walkers in sight, save for maybe two or three in the far distance, making you feel surprisingly safe and at ease.

Settling onto the grass, you let out a contented sigh. The tranquility of the place was mesmerizing, and you felt a rare sense of peace wash over you. Daryl sat beside you, his presence warm and comforting. As you talked and laughed together, he reached out and rested his hand on your thigh, a simple gesture that always made you blush. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent reassurance of his affection. You glanced at him, catching the way he was looking at you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness that made your heart flutter. The intensity of his gaze left no doubt in your mind-Daryl adored you. Each look, each touch, spoke volumes of his love and devotion.

The conversation flowed easily between you, interspersed with moments of comfortable silence. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the lake and the surrounding trees. You leaned back on your hands, your dress spreading out around you like a halo, and took in the beauty of the scene. The soft hum of nature, the warmth of Daryl's hand on your thigh, and the serene ambiance of the lake combined to create a perfect moment. Daryl shifted slightly, and you turned to look at him again. He seemed a bit nervous, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something else. He took a deep breath, and you felt a sense of anticipation build.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and earnest. "There's somethin' I wanna ask" Your heart skipped a beat as you saw him reach into his pocket. The world seemed to slow down as he pulled out a small box and opened it to reveal a beautiful gold ring with a sparkling sapphire.

"Will ya marry me?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and love.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the ring and then back at Daryl. This moment, in this beautiful place, was everything you had ever dreamed of. With a joyous smile and a heart full of love, you answered him.

"Yes!" you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and you both leaned in for a kiss, sealing the promise of a future together. The lake and the forest stood as silent witnesses to your love.

As you admired your new ring, you noticed Daryl seemed a bit uneasy. "You okay?" you asked, your voice filled with concern.

"Yeah...jus' I forgot 'bout..." he muttered, sighing heavily. You gave him a look that immediately coaxed the rest of his words out. "I wanted to give ya daisy flowers but I fuckin' forgot. 'M sorry," he admitted, his eyes dropping with a hint of regret.

Your face softened, and you laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You can give me them at home. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Just then, you both heard a cracking sound. Daryl immediately stood up, crossbow in hand, ready for action. Emerging from the trees were six walkers, their movements slow but menacing. Without hesitation, Daryl shot four of them with swift precision. You sprang to your feet, adrenaline coursing through you, and with swift, practiced movements, you took down the remaining two, leaving your dress and pretty face splattered with blood. Despite the gore, you smiled triumphantly. Daryl looked at your blood-stained dress and shook his head. "I could've shot them all, darlin'. No blood on your dress was needed."

You glanced at the lake and chuckled. "Maybe a quick bath?" you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eye. Looking at your future husband, you smirked and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him towards the water. "Come on!" With a playful laugh, you both stumbled into the lake, the cool water washing away the blood and grime. The sudden chill took your breath away, but the laughter and the joy of the moment kept you warm. You felt the weight of the world lift as you splashed around with Daryl, the man you loved.

The atmosphere was perfect, filled with laughter and light. You looked at Daryl, his hair wet and his eyes twinkling with happiness, and felt a surge of love and gratitude. This man, who had been through so much, was your friend, your partner, and soon, your husband.

As you floated together in the lake, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the water, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The feeling that you would soon be married to the man you loved filled you with joy. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

You are his light and hope for a better tomorrow.

#Spotify #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x oc #x reader #daryl fanfiction #fem reader #one shot

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tiaramania · 11 months ago

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Wedding of Prince Mateen of Brunei

The wedding celebrations of Prince Abdul Mateen Bolkiah and Anisha Rosnah Isa binti Adam Kalebic have started in Brunei. I still haven't gotten a very clear picture of her engagement ring yet but it is a very large diamond.

Here is the full schedule. The events on the 14th and 15th should be when the bride wears a tiara. I'm going to put links to videos and articles inline with each event even if they don't include the bride and groom. The ceremonies are still interesting to watch.

3 - Majlis Khatam Quran

7 - Majlis Istiadat Bersuruh Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)

8 - Majlis Istiadat Membuka Gendang Jaga-Jaga (x)(x)(x)

9 - Majlis Istiadat Menghantar Tanda Diraja dan Pertunangan Diraja and Majlis Istiadat Menerima Tanda Diraja dan Pertunangan Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

10 - Majlis Istiadat Berbedak Pengantin Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

11 - Majlis Istiadat Akad Nikah Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)

14 - Majlis Bersanding Pengantin Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

15 - Majlis Persantapan Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

16 - Majlis Istiadat Membaca Doa Selamat dan Menutup Gendang Jaga-Jaga (x)(x)(x)

The first event was the Majlis Khatam Al-Quran where Anisha read the Quran. It's wasn't broadcast like some of the later events will be but someone in attendance posted a clip if you want to watch. Her dress is a Baju Kurung made of Tenunan Brunei fabric by Teh Firdaus.

Then Anisha wore another dress by Teh Firdaus for the Berbedak Mandi after the public ceremonial events on the 9th. The bride and groom weren't seen during the first two parts where the official betrothal gifts were presented but she is looking at the gifts in the photos. I noticed diamond earrings, a ring that looks like it's from Chaumet's Josephine Aigrette collection, a necklace with a large colored stone (maybe sapphire) pendant, a Patek Philippe watch, and a big diamond feather amongst the gifts.

On the 10th was the Majlis Istiadat Berbedak Pengantin Diraja or Royal Powdering Ceremony when the couples' family applies colored paste and scented oils to their hands. It's my favorite part of Bruneian royal weddings because of the beautiful outfit worn by the bride. It looks like Anisha used the same gold jewelry as Mateen's sisters except for the belt. She also wore the same diamond earrings that Princess Fadzillah and Princess Azemah wore for their powdering ceremonies.

The Akad Nikah was next which is when the couple are officially married. On the left is Prince Mateen at the Berbedak and on the right is him at the Akad Nikah.

The Majlis Bersanding Pengantin Diraja and parade on the 14th finally brings us the first tiara! The now Princess Anisha wore some major diamonds and a simple dress made of a beautiful woven patterned fabric. We got new information about the tiara that was first worn last year by Princess Azemah. It was made by Singapore based jeweler, Flower Diamond, and features over 132 carats of diamonds.

The Majlis Persantapan Diraja on the 15th is the last big event. It's a massive banquet at Istana Nurul Iman with around 5,000 guests. Princess Anisha wore Queen Saleha's Diamond Tiara which has been worn by several of her new sisters-in-law for their wedding celebrations. She did not use the optional heart diamond center but did use the blue and pink diamond toppers.

#Prince Mateen #Princess Anisha #Anisha Isa Kalebic #Brunei #Bruneian Royal Family #royal wedding

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muiitoloko · 5 months ago

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Diamond Shadows

Summary: In a world where his life of crime clashes with his deepest affections, Hans Gruber navigates the perilous balance between heists and heartfelt romance.

Pairing: Hans Gruber × Fem! Reader

Warning: Smut, Theft, deception.

Author's Notes: I put a ton of effort into this one, so fingers crossed you guys enjoy it as much as I do! As always, your feedback is super appreciated!

Also read on Ao3

Hans Gruber chuckled darkly as he leaned back against the leather seat of the getaway car, the mask he had worn during the heist now discarded on the floor. The exhilaration of their recent robbery coursed through him, a heady mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction. Around him, his comrades examined the various bags of jewelry they had pilfered, the precious stones glinting in the dim light of the vehicle. The heist had gone off without a hitch, and the police were none the wiser, left chasing shadows as Hans and his crew made their escape.

“Look at this beauty,” one of the men, Dieter, exclaimed, holding up a necklace encrusted with diamonds. He let out a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “My girl’s going to love this.”

Hans raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips as he considered Dieter’s request. “Ja, just one,” he replied smoothly, his accent a polished German that rolled off his tongue with a natural ease. “But make sure it’s something that won’t be missed. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention, understood?”

Dieter nodded eagerly, tucking the necklace into his jacket with a grin. “Got it, boss,” he said, his voice laced with excitement. “She’ll never know where it came from.”

Another of the crew, Karl, laughed as he examined a pair of sapphire earrings, their deep blue stones catching the light. “Hey, Hans,” he called out, his voice teasing. “What about you? Shouldn’t you take something for your girl too? Bet she’d love a bit of sparkle.”

Hans’s expression softened slightly at the mention of you. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he considered Karl’s suggestion. You were blissfully unaware of his true profession, believing him to be a successful investor who made his money through savvy dealings and market acumen. It was a carefully crafted facade, one that Hans maintained with meticulous precision. The idea of giving you a gift—a tangible reminder of his affection—held a certain appeal, even if it came from ill-gotten gains.

“Perhaps,” Hans mused, his voice a low, contemplative murmur. He picked up a delicate bracelet from the pile, its slender chain adorned with small, glimmering diamonds. The piece was exquisite, subtle enough to avoid suspicion yet elegant enough to reflect your taste. He turned it over in his hand, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She would appreciate something like this.”

Karl grinned, nudging another member of the crew with his elbow. “See? Even Hans has a soft spot,” he said with a chuckle. “Guess everyone likes to spoil their ladies a bit.”

Hans shot Karl a warning glance, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Enough,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Remember, discretion is key. We cannot afford to be reckless with our spoils.”

The crew nodded in agreement, their laughter fading into a more subdued appreciation of their haul. Hans leaned back again, his thoughts drifting to you as he considered the bracelet in his hand. You were the one person who brought a touch of normalcy to his otherwise tumultuous life, a beacon of light in the shadows he navigated so deftly. The idea of you wearing a piece of jewelry from this heist, oblivious to its true origins, was both ironic and oddly fitting.

Later that evening, after the crew had dispersed and the spoils were safely hidden away, Hans returned to his luxurious penthouse apartment. The city lights glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a shimmering glow over the sleek, modern furnishings. Hans moved with a practiced grace, pouring himself a glass of fine cognac as he waited for you to arrive.

You had called earlier, excited to spend time with your busy boyfriend. The anticipation in your voice had been palpable, and Hans had smiled at the thought of surprising you with the bracelet.

When you finally arrived, your eyes lit up at the sight of him, your smile warm and genuine as you crossed the room to greet him. “Hans,” you murmured, your voice soft with affection as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Hans’s expression softened, a genuine warmth in his eyes as he held you close, his fingers brushing lightly over your back. “And I, you,” he replied, his voice a smooth, cultured purr. He pulled back slightly, his gaze lingering on your face before he reached into his jacket pocket, producing the bracelet with a flourish. “I have something for you, meine Liebe. A little token of my affection.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you took in the delicate piece of jewelry, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to take it. “Hans, it’s beautiful,” you breathed, your voice tinged with awe as you turned the bracelet over in your hands. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Hans interrupted gently, his eyes locking with yours as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist. The sight of it against your skin sent a thrill of satisfaction through him, the symbol of his affection blending seamlessly with the facade he had so carefully constructed. “It suits you perfectly.”

You examined the bracelet Hans had given you, its slender chain adorned with glimmering diamonds. Your breath caught in your throat as the reality of the gift sank in. These were real diamonds, not the imitation jewelry you might find in a typical store. The thought of how much it must have cost sent a shiver of disbelief through you.

“Hans,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you met his gaze, “this is… it’s real, isn’t it? Real diamonds?”

Hans’s smile faltered slightly as he watched you, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he replied smoothly, his German accent lending a cultured elegance to his words. “Only the best for you, meine Liebe.”

You shook your head, your fingers trembling as you unclasped the bracelet and handed it back to him. “I can’t accept this,” you murmured, your voice filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “It must have cost a fortune. I could never afford something like this, and I don’t want you to spend so much on me. It’s too much.”

Hans’s brow furrowed as he took the bracelet, his eyes narrowing in a blend of confusion and mild frustration. “Nonsense,” he said firmly, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours. “It’s just a token of my affection. The cost is irrelevant. What matters is that it brings you joy.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the delicate piece of jewelry in his hands. The idea of wearing something so extravagant, knowing how much it must have cost, felt overwhelming. “But Hans,” you protested softly, looking up to meet his gaze, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to buy me expensive things. I love you for who you are, not for what you can give me. This… it’s just too much.”

Hans’s expression softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a tender, reassuring whisper, “you worry too much. This is nothing compared to the joy you bring into my life. I want to see you adorned in beauty because that’s how I see you—every day, every moment.”

You felt your resolve waver, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Still, the thought of accepting such an expensive gift left you feeling uneasy. “But it’s so expensive,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you glanced back at the bracelet. “I could never repay you for something like this.”

Hans chuckled softly, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver of warmth through you. “Repay me?” he echoed, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, my darling, you’ve already given me more than you can imagine. Your presence, your love… those are priceless to me. This bracelet is a mere trinket in comparison.”

His lips brushed against your ear, sending a delicious thrill through you as he murmured, “Let me spoil you, just this once. Wear it for me. Show me how beautiful you can be, adorned in diamonds.”

Your breath hitched at the seductive tone in his voice, the warmth of his breath against your skin igniting a spark of desire deep within you. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark with a mix of affection and barely restrained passion, made it hard to refuse him. “Hans,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of reluctance and longing, “I… I don’t know.”

Hans’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his fingers trailing down your side in a slow, deliberate caress that sent a shiver of anticipation through you. “Trust me, meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Let me adorn you with this gift. Let me see you wearing it, and nothing else.”

You gasped softly, the raw intensity in his eyes sending a rush of heat through your body. The thought of wearing the bracelet, and only the bracelet, while Hans’s gaze devoured you, was both thrilling and intimidating. Your heart raced as you nodded slowly, your breath catching in your throat. “Alright,” you whispered, your voice a breathless murmur as you met his gaze. “But only because you want me to.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Hans’s lips as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist once more, the cool metal resting against your skin. His fingers brushed over your pulse, sending a delicious tingle up your arm as he stepped back to admire you. “Perfect,” he murmured, his voice a rough, appreciative growl as his eyes roamed over your body. “You’re breathtaking.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his words, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure warming your skin. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark with a fierce, unyielding desire, made you feel both vulnerable and incredibly powerful. You shifted slightly, the cool metal of the bracelet a tangible reminder of his affection as you met his gaze with a tentative smile. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “For everything.”

Hans’s smile softened, a flicker of genuine warmth in his eyes as he stepped closer, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “You’re welcome, meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a low, tender whisper as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck in a gentle kiss. “Now, let me show you just how much you mean to me.”

His hands slid down your sides, his touch firm and possessive as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your skin. The intensity in his eyes, the raw hunger that burned in his gaze, sent a shiver of anticipation through you as he whispered, “Tonight, you’re mine. Every inch of you, adorned in diamonds, belongs to me.”

You gasped softly, the heat of his words sending a delicious thrill through your body as you melted into his embrace, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and longing. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice a soft, breathless murmur as you looked up at him. “I’m yours, Hans. All yours.”

But Hans suddenly released you, a playful glint in his eyes as he stepped back, the warmth of his embrace lingering on your skin. His smile turned mischievous, a sharp contrast to the intensity of his previous words. “Patience, meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a soft, teasing purr. “All in good time. For now, I must prepare dinner.”

You blinked in surprise, a pout forming on your lips as you looked up at him. “Hans, you can’t just leave me hanging like this,” you protested, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and longing.

Hans chuckled, the sound a rich, velvety caress as he ran a hand through his dark hair, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I enjoy playing with you,” he replied smoothly, his German accent lending a cultured elegance to his words. “And anticipation, my dear, can be its own kind of pleasure. Now, be a good girl and wait for me in the living room.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you met his gaze with a look of playful exasperation. “Do I at least get to help? Or am I just supposed to sit there and look pretty?”

Hans’s smile widened, a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he stepped closer, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “Tonight, your only task is to look pretty and relax,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur as he brushed a kiss against your forehead. “Let me take care of everything else. It’s my way of spoiling you, remember?”

You sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips as you nodded. “Alright, fine,” you conceded, your tone tinged with a hint of playfulness. “But don’t keep me waiting too long, Hans.”

Hans’s eyes darkened with a promise of later delights as he took a step back, rolling up his sleeves to reveal the intricate tattoo on his forearm—a design that held personal significance for him, though he had never shared its meaning with you. “I won’t,” he assured you, his voice a low, seductive growl as he turned towards the open kitchen. “Now, go on. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

You watched as he tied an apron around his waist, the sight of him preparing to cook adding a touch of domesticity to the otherwise sophisticated atmosphere of the penthouse. With a soft sigh, you turned and made your way to the living room, settling onto the plush sofa as you reached for the remote, flicking on the TV.

The evening news filled the screen, the anchor’s voice a steady drone as they recounted the day’s events. You barely paid attention, your thoughts drifting back to Hans and the promise of what was to come. But a particular story caught your ear, drawing your gaze to the screen.

“Tonight’s top story: A daring robbery at a high-end jewelry store leaves authorities baffled,” the anchor reported, her tone grave as she described the heist. “Masked men made off with a significant haul of valuable items, including rare diamonds and precious gemstones. The police are investigating, but so far, no leads on the identity of the perpetrators.”

Your eyes widened slightly at the mention of the robbery, a flicker of unease stirring in your chest as you glanced down at the bracelet Hans had given you. The delicate chain, the glimmering diamonds… They were exquisite, certainly, but you had never considered their origin. The connection between the news report and the bracelet on your wrist didn’t quite register, your thoughts too focused on the evening with Hans to draw any conclusions.

Shaking off the unease, you turned your attention back to the TV, trying to immerse yourself in the light chatter of the evening program. The sound of Hans moving in the kitchen, the clink of dishes and the soft hum of his voice as he prepared dinner, was a comforting backdrop, grounding you in the moment.

After what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only a short while, Hans called from the kitchen, his voice rich with a teasing lilt. “Dinner is served, meine Liebe. Join me, won’t you?”

You smiled, the anticipation that had been simmering within you reigniting as you rose from the sofa and made your way to the dining area. The table was set with elegant simplicity, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm, intimate light over the polished wood. Hans stood by the stove, his sleeves still rolled up, a satisfied smile on his lips as he turned to greet you.

“Everything smells wonderful,” you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation as you took in the sight of the carefully prepared dishes. “You’ve outdone yourself, Hans.”

Hans’s smile widened, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he set the final dish on the table, gesturing for you to take a seat. “Only the best for you,” he replied smoothly, his accent a soft, cultured murmur as he poured you a glass of wine, the rich, ruby liquid catching the candlelight. “I hope you enjoy it.”

You settled into your chair, your gaze lingering on Hans as he took his place across from you, his eyes dark and warm as he watched you. The meal was exquisite, each bite a testament to Hans’s culinary skill and his dedication to making the evening special for you.

As you savored the flavors, the earlier news report faded from your mind, replaced by the warmth of Hans’s presence and the promise of the night ahead. The bracelet on your wrist glinted in the candlelight, a silent testament to Hans’s affection, its true origins still a mystery you were blissfully unaware of.

Hans raised his glass, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of affection and intensity. “To us,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent a shiver of anticipation through you. “And to many more evenings like this.”

You smiled, lifting your glass to clink it against his, the warmth of his gaze and the richness of his voice filling you with a deep, abiding contentment. “To us,” you echoed softly, your voice filled with a genuine affection as you met his gaze. “And to the wonderful surprises you always bring into my life.”

Later that night, after the plates were cleared and the last of the wine was sipped, Hans led you to the bedroom with a palpable air of anticipation. The candlelight flickered, casting playful shadows on the walls, creating an intimate ambiance that contrasted starkly with the intensity of Hans's touch. The elegance of the evening was about to give way to the raw, unrestrained passion that simmered beneath his refined exterior.

Hans’s hands were firm as he gripped your hips, his eyes dark with desire as he guided you to the bed. The delicate bracelet still glinted on your wrist, a symbol of the duality of the man who now loomed over you. “Meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl thick with his German accent, “it’s time for the main course.”

He pulled you into a fierce, hungry kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. His hands roamed over your body, rough and insistent, as he pushed you down onto the bed. You felt the cool air against your skin as he stripped away your clothing, each piece discarded with a careless ease that spoke of his impatience.

With one hand, Hans gripped your hip, holding you in place as he positioned himself between your legs. The other hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back to arch against him, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, “You’re mine tonight, every inch of you. Do you understand?”

You nodded, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you felt the hard length of him pressing against your entrance. “Yes, Hans,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I’m yours. All yours.”

A dark, satisfied smile spread across his lips as he thrust into you, his cock filling you with a powerful, claiming motion that left you gasping. “Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick with a primal, unyielding desire. “Take me. Take every inch of me.”

Hans was relentless, his thrusts hard and deep, each movement a fierce, demanding claim on your body. His hand on your hip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drove into you with a rough, unrestrained passion. The pain mingled with pleasure, sending shivers of sensation through your body as you arched against him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Scheiße,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a rough, guttural whisper as he watched you. “You feel so good, meine Liebe. So tight around me.”

His hand in your hair tugged harder, pulling your head back to expose your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin with a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. “You like this, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “You like it when I’m rough with you. When I fuck you hard and make you scream my name.”

You could only moan in response, the intensity of his thrusts driving coherent thought from your mind. The feel of his cock stretching you, filling you completely, was overwhelming, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. “Yes, Hans,” you gasped, your voice a desperate, breathless plea. “Please, don’t stop. Fuck me harder.”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as he obliged, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing more urgent. “That’s it, meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Take it. Take all of me. You’re mine. Only mine.”

The room was filled with the sounds of your combined pleasure, the raw, primal rhythm of his body against yours driving you both towards release. Hans’s growls of satisfaction, your gasps and moans, the slap of skin against skin—all merged into a symphony of unrestrained desire.

You felt the pressure building within you, each thrust pushing you closer to the brink. Your body trembled, your fingers clenching the sheets as you teetered on the edge of climax. “Hans,” you sobbed, your voice a desperate, pleading cry. “I’m going to—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a rough, primal growl as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust. “Come for me now, meine Liebe.”

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the intensity of your release. You screamed his name, the sound echoing in the room as pleasure rippled through you in overwhelming waves.

Hans's grip on your hips tightened as you rode the waves of your climax, the intensity of your release leaving you gasping and trembling beneath him. His dark eyes gleamed with a fierce, possessive hunger as he watched you, his expression a blend of satisfaction and unrestrained desire. The rough cadence of his breath and the flush of heat on his skin mirrored the primal urgency of the moment, a raw testament to the depth of his need for you.

As your body convulsed with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Hans’s hands slid down to grasp your thighs, his touch firm and demanding. He pulled your legs up, positioning them over his shoulders with a deft, practiced motion. The shift in angle sent a jolt of fresh sensation through you, your overstimulated body responding with a renewed burst of pleasure.

"Look at you," Hans growled, his voice a rough, seductive whisper thick with his German accent, the rich tones rolling off his tongue like dark honey. "So pliant, so ready for me. Do you know how much I love seeing you like this? Completely at my mercy."

You could only moan in response, your limbs limp and flexible from the intensity of your climax, the sensation of his cock buried deep within you pushing you to the brink of another orgasm. Your body arched instinctively towards him, your fingers curling into the sheets as he began to move, each thrust a powerful, demanding claim on your pleasure.

Hans's lips curled into a wicked smile as he watched you, the fierce, unyielding hunger in his gaze sending shivers of anticipation through you. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr as he adjusted his grip on your legs, holding you open for him. "Take me. Take every inch of me. You belong to me, and tonight, I’m going to show you just how much."

With a growl of satisfaction, he drove into you with a force that left you gasping, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your already sensitive body. The angle, the intensity, the roughness of his movements—all combined to create a symphony of sensation that had you crying out in ecstasy, your voice a breathless plea as you clung to the sheets.

“Scheiße,” Hans muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening with a fierce, unrestrained desire as he watched you. “You feel so good, meine Liebe. So tight and wet. Every time I’m inside you, it feels like I’m losing control. Like I’m drowning in you.”

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, each thrust driving you closer to the edge once more. The rough friction of his cock against your inner walls, the feel of his hands gripping your thighs, the raw intensity in his gaze—all combined to push you to the brink of another climax. “Hans,” you sobbed, your voice a desperate, breathless cry. “Please… I can’t… I’m going to—”

“Come for me,” Hans commanded, his voice a rough, primal growl as he drove into you with a renewed urgency, his movements growing more frantic, more demanding. “Come for me again, meine Liebe. Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Hans pushed you over the edge once more, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your body convulsed, your cries of ecstasy filling the room as you clung to the sheets, the intensity of your release leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

Hans’s growl of satisfaction was a low, primal sound as he felt you clenching around him, the sensation driving him to the brink of his own climax. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice a rough, guttural whisper as he buried himself deep inside you, his movements growing more urgent, more insistent with each passing moment. “You’re mine, meine Liebe. All mine.”

The feel of his cock pulsing inside you, the raw intensity of his thrusts, the way his hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force—it was all too much. Your body arched instinctively towards him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teetered on the edge of yet another climax.

Hans’s gaze darkened, a fierce, unyielding hunger burning in his eyes as he watched you, his breath hot against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust. “So beautiful, so perfect. You belong to me, meine Liebe. Only to me.”

With a growl of satisfaction, Hans reached his own climax, his body tensing as he buried himself deep inside you, his release a powerful, overwhelming surge that left him gasping and trembling with the intensity of his pleasure. The feel of his cock pulsing inside you, the way his hands gripped your thighs with a bruising force, the raw, unrestrained passion in his gaze—it was all too much, driving you to the brink of yet another orgasm.

Your cries of ecstasy mingled with his growls of satisfaction, the room filled with the sounds of your combined pleasure as you clung to each other, the intensity of the moment binding you together in a raw, primal dance of unrestrained desire.

In the aftermath, as the echoes of your release faded and the room fell into a hushed, intimate silence, Hans’s hands slid down to cradle your legs, his touch gentle and soothing as he lowered them from his shoulders. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his eyes dark with a lingering hunger as he watched you, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his lips.

“Meine Liebe,” he murmured, his voice a low, tender whisper as he leaned in to brush a kiss against your forehead. “You were incredible. Absolutely breathtaking.”

You could only nod, your breath still coming in short, ragged gasps as you clung to him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against yours. “Hans,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering desire. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Hans’s smile softened, a flicker of genuine warmth in his eyes as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice a gentle, reassuring murmur. “Just rest, meine Liebe. Tonight, you’re mine. All mine.”

As you lay there in his arms, the warmth of his embrace a comforting balm to your exhausted body, you couldn’t help but feel a deep, abiding contentment. The intensity of the evening, the raw, unrestrained passion you had shared—it was a testament to the depth of your connection, a reminder of the fierce, unyielding bond that bound you together.

And as you drifted into a deep, restful sleep, the last thing you felt was the gentle brush of Hans’s lips against your forehead, a silent promise of his unwavering affection and the raw, unrestrained desire that burned between you.

Hans lay beside you, his chest rising and falling with each measured breath as he tried to calm down from his own powerful climax. The room was filled with the lingering scent of sweat and sex, the heat of your bodies mingling in the intimate aftermath of your lovemaking. One arm rested behind his head, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he savored the contentment that settled over him, the raw, unrestrained passion of the evening still thrumming in his veins.

For a moment, Hans allowed himself the luxury of stillness, the steady rhythm of your breathing a soothing counterpoint to his own rapid heartbeat. His eyes softened as he looked at you, your features relaxed in sleep, the delicate bracelet still gleaming on your wrist—a silent reminder of the world outside this intimate sanctuary.

The serenity was short-lived, however, as the sharp trill of his cell phone pierced the quiet. Hans’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as he reached over to the nightstand, fishing out the cigarette and lighter he had stashed away earlier. With practiced ease, he lit the cigarette, the flare of the flame casting brief, dancing shadows on the walls. The phone’s persistent ring continued, a reminder of the world that demanded his attention.

Exhaling a stream of smoke, Hans picked up the phone, his expression shifting to one of focused intensity as he glanced at the caller ID. This was the call he had been waiting for. Rising from the bed with a fluid grace that belied the weight of his actions, Hans moved towards the porch, the cool night air brushing against his bare skin as he stepped outside. The cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness, a solitary beacon in the muted light of the cityscape that stretched out below.

Ignoring his naked state, Hans answered the call, his voice slipping effortlessly into a polished French accent as he spoke. “Bonsoir,” he greeted smoothly, the German undertones of his natural voice masked by the refined lilt of his chosen guise. “I trust everything is in order?”

The voice on the other end was clipped, efficient, tinged with a barely concealed eagerness. “Monsieur Lacroix,” the buyer replied, using the alias Hans had provided. “Everything is set. We have the funds ready, but we need to confirm the authenticity of the items before we proceed.”

Hans’s lips curled into a knowing smile, the cigarette held between his fingers as he leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the glittering expanse of the city below. “But of course,” he purred, his tone one of practiced reassurance. “You will find everything to be in perfect order. The pieces are exquisite, and I assure you, they are worth every penny of your investment.”

The buyer hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his voice. “You understand, Monsieur Lacroix, that our associates are quite… particular about such transactions. Any discrepancy could be costly.”

Hans’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning sharp as he took another drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the night air. “Rest assured, there will be no discrepancies,” he replied, his voice carrying a quiet, dangerous authority that brooked no argument. “The items are authentic, and the transaction will proceed as planned. You will have your jewels, and I will have my payment. Agreed?”

There was a brief pause, the weight of Hans’s words hanging heavy in the air before the buyer responded, his tone one of reluctant acquiescence. “Agreed. We will finalize the details tomorrow. Ensure the items are ready for inspection.”

Hans’s smile widened, a flicker of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he exhaled a final stream of smoke, crushing the cigarette underfoot. “Très bien,” he said softly, his voice a silken caress as he ended the call. “I look forward to our continued partnership.”

With a casual flick of his wrist, Hans tossed the phone onto the nearby table, his thoughts already shifting to the logistics of the exchange. The jewelry, currently hidden away in a secure location, would be laundered through a series of carefully orchestrated transactions, each layer adding to the complexity of the web he had woven. The buyer, an intermediary for a network of high-end collectors, would provide the necessary funds, which Hans would then channel through his intricate network, transforming the illicit profits into clean, untraceable assets.

Returning to the bedroom, Hans’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of you, still sleeping peacefully amidst the rumpled sheets. The contrast between the ruthless efficiency of his dealings and the tender warmth he felt for you was stark, a reminder of the duality that defined his existence. He moved silently, his bare feet making no sound on the polished wood floor as he approached the bed, his eyes lingering on the delicate bracelet that adorned your wrist.

Carefully, Hans slid back into the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he pulled you into his arms, his touch gentle and possessive. The cool metal of the bracelet brushed against his skin, a tangible connection between the world of shadows he navigated and the light you brought into his life.

“Meine Liebe,” he murmured softly, his voice a low, tender whisper as he pressed a kiss to your temple, the warmth of your body a comforting presence against his. “Sleep well. Tomorrow, we face the world together.”

As you nestled closer, your breathing steady and even in the embrace of sleep, Hans allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. The path he walked was fraught with danger, each step a careful balance between the persona he presented to the world and the ruthless ambition that drove him. But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your shared bed, he found a measure of peace, a fleeting glimpse of the man he might have been, had circumstances been different.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a pale glow over the city that lay beneath him, Hans tightened his hold on you, his thoughts already turning to the challenges of the day ahead. The heist, the buyer, the intricate dance of deception and strategy—it was all part of the game he played, a game where the stakes were high and the rewards even higher.

But for now, in this moment, he allowed himself the luxury of simply holding you, the warmth of your body a balm to the shadows that lingered at the edges of his mind.

Translations:

1. Ja – Yes (German)

2. Meine Liebe – My love (German)

3. Bonsoir – Good evening (French)

4. Monsieur Lacroix – Mr. Lacroix (French)

5. Mais bien sûr – But of course (French)

6. Très bien – Very well (French)

7. Scheiße – Shit (German)

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #hans gruber x reader #hans gruber #die hard

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lethalchiralium · 2 years ago

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Caring | John Price x F!Reader

a/n: literally just john taking care of you. man is a worshipper, you can’t tell me shit

warnings: none, just caring and loving captain john price :D

summary: After a night out, John always follows through on his rituals.

Pushing aside your hair, John’s calloused fingertips brushed against the back of your neck as he undid your necklace. The heavy necklace full of beautiful stones now settled in his hand, he carefully placed it upon your dresser. He moved around to your front, his hands finding your ears and carefully taking out the matching earrings - the earrings and necklace a set he had just bought you. Forest green sapphires with glittering moissanites, a set he thought would look beautiful on you - and he was right. He was always right, because everything he bought for you looked divine on your skin.

He settled the earrings on the dresser as well, kneeling in front of you. His hand swooped behind one of your calves, grazing the skin to pull your foot towards him. His focus was on the clasp of your heels, gently pulling them off and setting them down next to the dresser with care.

These were the things John Price always did. for you, no matter the amount of protesting you did. He’d shrug off the, “You’re tired, honey, I can do it myself” and still kneel in front of you, taking off your jewelry and shoes after a night out. He’d help you shower if you wanted, and helped you into your pajamas before letting himself lay halfway on top of you, face in your neck and leg hooked over your legs.

Both shoes were set beside your dresser, he reached out for your hands - you set them in his grasp, allowing him to undo the clasps of your bracelets, sliding them off and onto the dresser before his hands found your stacks of rings, gently sliding them off your fingers. The only one that stayed on your hand was the glittering diamond engagement ring, he made sure it still fit without hurting you.

“John,” You whispered, his blue eyes flickered up to your face from your hands, he looked concerned. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

He chuckled a little, pulling both of your knuckles to his lips, kissing them. “Of course I do. I’m going to marry you and never stop doing this for you.” Another kiss to your hands, he settled them back in your lap. “No matter how much you protest or get tired of it, I love taking care of you.”

You reached forwards for him, he stilled as your hands reached his tie. Loosening it, you began to undo it - slipping it off of his collar yet his hands take it from you. Your eyes flickered to his.

“Let me do it, darling.” He tossed the tie aside without a care, hands moving to your knees to which he kneeled in front of. He sighed, gently settling his cheek on your thigh, eyes gazing up at you.

Your hand settled on his jaw, gently swiping your thumb over his well-groomed beard, a smile on your face.

“I would do anything for you.”

———

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x f!reader #john price x f!reader #captain john price x fem!reader #john price x fem!reader #john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price cod #captain price cod #captain john price call of duty #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium

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the-jewel-catalogue · 1 day ago

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Queen Camilla's past jewels at the Royal Variety Performance

2006: She wore earrings featuring large amethysts in slim diamond clusters, as well as a delicate necklace with amethyst and diamond drops. The necklace has been in Camilla’s jewelry box since the early years of her marriage, and it’s thought to be an antique piece dating to the nineteenth century. A final touch of sparkle was added with a gorgeous diamond bracelet, worn on her left wrist.

2008: This diamond demi-parure, with its pear-shaped stones, has been in Camilla’s collection since at least 2005. That November, she debuted the diamond earrings and necklace at a dinner in San Francisco. Since then, she’s worn the jewels for a whole variety of evening occasions.

2010: Camilla wore green with her diamond and emerald demi-parure, thought to have been a gift from the Saudi royal family, to watch performances by Adele, Kylie Minogue, the Royal Ballet, and the cast of Les Miserables.

2013: This time around, Camilla wore sapphires and diamonds with the blue evening gown. The spotlight piece was a modern diamond floral pendant with an enormous sapphire centerpiece, worn suspended from a diamond necklace. Camilla also wore coordinating sapphire and diamond earrings.

2016: Along with the sparkling embellishments on the gown itself, Camilla added even more glitz by wearing serious diamonds: the necklace and matching earrings from her pear-shaped diamond demi-parure.

~ The Court Jeweller

#british royal family #thejewelcatalogue #queen camilla #jewel;earrings #jewel;necklace #source;thecourtjeweller

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justanotherbirdbrain-blog · 10 months ago

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Writing about Mines in your Fictional Universe: A Geology Introduction

Hello! I'm Bird, and I am here to guide you on a journey about different mines that exist, what materials are being mined, what those materials might be mined for, and what rocks/what processes might make these areas mineable. I will also touch briefly on the idea of gem quality, the commonness of the material, and what these things might look like fresh out of the dirt!

First things first, lets talk about the what types of things we might want to mine for in a fictional universe! There are a lot of things that are used daily that require mining, but there are a few that I see written about the most: Gold, Gemstones, Iron, and Coal. I personally would love to see this idea expanded on a bit, so lets talk about some mines that would definitely be necessary but overlooked! First one is pretty easy, glass! those beautiful stained glass windows are useless if no one is mining quartz to be made to glass, and I imagine it would be quite a profitable business seeing as glass, in general, was a luxury in ye olden times. The next thing we need to address is Abrasives! want to sand and polish stone and metal? Want to sharpen your blades for battle? May I introduce you to abrasive minerals! garnet, corundum (Ruby and Sapphire), and yes, diamond! Why are we using such beautiful gemstones to polish other things? Simple, even if you are to find a deposit of these gemstones (garnet being one of the more common ones) most of the time they are inclusion rich, ridiculously small, an undesirable color, or all three of these.

Finding gemstones that are good quality is hard, your character will not stumble upon it, pick up the rock and immediately know if the location is good enough to mine gemstones. If you are determined to make it a gemstone mine, have your character hold the mineral up to the sun/a light source and let them be able to see light coming through, though it is considerably thick.

Moving into metal mining! Metal mining is both easier and more complicated to write! Why is it complicated? Because unless it is gold or silver you are unlikely to see the desired metal itself. Why is it easy? welllll, I am going to try to make it easy. First things first, a lot of metals are chromaphores, this means that when the element is present, it will influence the color! Copper is an excellent example of this, old pennies oxidize and turn blue/teal/green, so do most rocks bearing copper! Looking for iron? It will probably stain the rocks dingy and brownish red. Things to note: copper and iron can be found in mineable amounts together! If you do this, iron will be present in the form of pyrite, or fool's gold, this has a nice cubic shape and can be described as such, the copper will typically leave a teal residue or veining across the rock, which in this case will almost exclusively be black to dark gray (Its basalt) but it can be found as the mineral chalcopyrite also (looks like fool's gold but it doesn't make cute crystals). Malachite is also a copper ore, in my experience I have never seen malachite from a mine that has looked like some of the stuff I have seen in gem shops, azurite (A darker blue mineral) can be present also, but again, these are usually very fine grained and would not be able to be used as jewelry, but obviously, in some places it must happen, just much less frequently.

Another thing I will briefly mention is that, if you are writing about metals remember that these metals will require a smelting process to extract a pure metal, this usually requires some other material (For iron, it is charcoal). Also remember alloys! Most useable metals are a mix of different metals to make them harder. This even includes gold jewelry. Last comment about metals, a very interesting plot for a fictional universe would be the use of lead. Lead ore was a hot commodity before we knew it was toxic, the side effects (Being nuts) could really create some tension.

Lastly in terms of mined material, I will briefly mention coal and stone in general just to say, coal is a sedimentary rock, distinctly different from the typical environments necessary to form most gemstones and heavy metal deposits (Yes, there are exceptions). Coal is dark black/gray, which is quite uncommon for sedimentary rocks which tend to range from reds/tans/browns/grays. When coal is lifted it will feel much lighter than you anticipate, which is the polar opposite of what happens when you lift a metal rich rock, which will feel immensely heavy. Finally, Coal will not turn into diamonds in nature, diamonds need mantle pressures and temperatures to form, there will be no diamonds under a coal mine unless there was a mantle derived eruption that got covered in a swamp, that became coal and as they dug they exposed the kimberlite pipe (I mention this because I just read this in a story and it hurt my feelings). Finally, If you want to write about a mine that is definitely necessary but want the content to be pretty low-maintenance, but profitable for whoever owns it, owning a granite/marble/ or really any desirable stone quarry would be perfect.

Now I will move onto what kind of mining exists today, I will not talk about every exclusive mine, but I will talk about ones that are common that are on my radar. First up, the one everyone talks about in books, underground mining. Underground mining is used when you are getting the material from the 'primary'/original source. The rock is rich in copper? Lets mine said rock. However, mining underground is the most dangerous form of mining, there can easily be a lack of oxygen because of insufficient ventilation (That's why people will carry something with an open flame when going into abandoned mines; if the flame goes out there is not enough oxygen and you have to turn back). There can also be lots of collapses due to overhead rocks, enough said. Cave mining is primarily done when the amount of rock above the deposit is too great to strip mine.

Now lets talk about strip mining! Strip mining is when you just mine on the surface, and dig deeper and deeper into the ground to obtain your desired resource whether it be stone, coal, gemstones, or anything else. It truly is less glamorous, but it is safer than digging a tunnel. That said it has its own issues, sure the oxygen is good, and you don't have to worry about the rocks collapsing over your head, but oh wait, the rocks can collapse over your head. Landslides can occur due to the over steepening of sides, excessive rainfall, and most importantly, old faults or planes of weakness that happen to be facing towards the mine (the diagram will help this make sense). Both of these types of mines can also create ecological damage, which can be mitigated nowadays, but then maybe not so much. Namely acid mine drainage, I will not talk much on the effects but a quick google search will give you plenty of information that might be useful for writing.

Now both of these are trying to mine a targeted rock, but sometimes its best to let nature do the work so we can do less. Diamonds, gold, corundum (rubies/sapphires), and garnets all have one thing in common. They are dense! So when erosion happens, and that sediment makes its way into a river, everything will separate based on its density. This is just because faster moving water can hold heavier sediments, and slower moving water will drop those heavy sediments leaving only the lighter sediments within the water. Lots of places that mine the things listed above will pan/sieve in active rivers and streams, or they can surface mine where rivers and streams used to be! These are called placer deposits. There is one setback though, the gemstones will not be perfect crystal shaped, they will be rounded due to being thrown around in a river (like beach glass). These are sapphires, but they have been rounded over time in the river.

Final thoughts, writing about a mine can seem nerve-racking, intimidating, or just something that you want to briefly mention and move on from, but truly I think going into the weeds could really add something to a story! Even if stories are slightly inaccurate about information, I am still 100x more excited to see it mentioned in more detail than to see it as a sentence. Besides it is fantasy, it doesn't always have to be exactly like earth.

#geology #rocks #stem #science #creative writing #dnd #dnd worldbuilding #fictional world #worldbuilding #worldbuilding stuff #crystals #gemstone #writing resources #writing #fictional writing

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