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minutiaewriter · 11 months ago

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Hera: To Touch the Heavens First Look - Chapter One

The release of Hera: To Touch the Heavens is right around the corner, so as a little thank you for your support I'm releasing the first chapter below the cut!

A tear slid down the old woman’s cheek, illuminated like a drop of sunshine in the light of the lanterns. Her gaze passed from Rynn to Kilderan, and that was when she had begun to weep, otherwise silent in the wooden chair she had seated herself in.

Rynn reached for Kilderan’s soft hand and felt reassured when his brother clutched his hand back.

The four of them bowed low and silent as the high priestess’ gray eyes flooded with tears. Her breathing was faint, and she never removed her gaze from Kilderan.

Rynn did not understand why she was staring so intently at Kilderan, but he felt even more confused watching them; so he instead studied her robe and the string of glinting beads around her wrist.

She muttered something Rynn did not hear, but Kilderan dipped his head further behind the boy.

Velle Deka then spread her arms and looked up at Aome.

“Mother Deka,” Aome murmured, falling into the woman’s outstretched arms.

Though she embraced the young woman, the high priestess’ gaze bore into Rynn. When Aome pulled away, Velle Deka spoke. “Daughter...Aome… We thought your mission went awry. When we didn’t hear word… Ah, well, no use dwelling on what didn’t happen. Have you come all this way with the celestial children?”

The priestess began to nod but then halted. “Well, almost.”

“Wait,” Yojackson said. “You know that Kip’s also a celestial child?”

Velle Deka nodded solemnly, dabbing at her eyes with a cream-colored handkerchief she produced from the folds of her garb. “You have united the two celestial sons.”

Aome’s lips parted. “Kilderan found his brother and brought him away from Arsteine.” She lowered her gaze. “I was the one who told them about you and encouraged them to return.”

Velle nodded in understanding. “Show me the blood,” the old woman muttered, turning to Rynn. “Let me see the luster.”

Rynn swallowed and glanced over his shoulder up at Kilderan, who pressed his lips into a firm line.

“Is that really necessary?” Kilderan asked faintly.

Velle Deka eyed him and then held out her hands towards Rynn.

The boy turned to his brother. After a few heartbeats of morose hesitation, Kilderan bent, brandishing his dagger. He gingerly clasped Rynn’s wrist and pressed the cold blade into his flesh.

“Ow,” Rynn whimpered. He looked up at Kilderan, whose eyes had flashed.

Soon the pale skin was broken, but as little as possible, and a flood of deep crimson blood, faintly glittering, gushed forth from his arm.

Rynn had forgotten that the blood of the stars flowed in excess, and once he remembered, he winced.

Kilderan’s fingers lingered on Rynn’s arm and Rynn continued to look up into the wide, pale blue eyes that stared upon him before turning to Velle Deka.

She sighed contentedly and took his arm in her ancient hands, studying the celestial blood. Her eyelashes were dotted with teardrops, minuscule diamonds twinkling in the light. She looked up at Kilderan again. “After this, never let those veins bleed again.”

Kilderan frowned, which diminished his now-soft expression.

Yojackson shoved past Kilderan and placed his hands on his hips, staring down at the seated priestess. “We need to know where the celestial spring is in order for that to happen.”

“You have the pendant?” Velle Deka asked.

Aome promptly lifted the silver chain from her neck and handed it to the elderly lady.

Rynn studied the ivory pendant that was carved with an image of the galaxy’s three suns. He wondered how the high priestess would be able to use it to disclose the location of the spring that Kilderan so desperately needed to take him to.

The high priestess turned the pendant in her hands, examining it sentimentally and almost lovingly.

“Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, read the necklace or something?” He had meant no offense, and his eyes were round in innocence. “We need to know the spring’s location as soon as possible.”

The woman used her handkerchief again before her eyes brightened and she began to chuckle at Yojackson, the cracked sound filling the small safe room.

The criminal frowned and glanced at Aome.

Velle Deka continued to laugh for a long moment and eventually she said, “The pendant has nothing to do with the location of the spring.”

Yojackson’s mouth fell open. “You mean to tell me that we just risked our necks in that blasted palace to get a worthless piece of junk?”

Aome glared at him and then said, “Mother, there has to be some explanation.”

Velle Deka blinked. “I need that pendant as much as you need me to divulge the location of the celestial spring. That pendant is the only way I can be certain that I will be safe when I reach my next destination.”

Aome’s brow creased. “You’re not staying in the hiding place? What about…about the temple?” She grew somber.

Velle tilted her chin towards the priestess. “This is only a temporary safe place. I cannot stay here forever. But there is somewhere, someone, who will allow me to take refuge with them if I show them that pendant.” She tapped a frail finger to the necklace in her palm.

“Will you tell us where the spring is? We can’t stay here either,” Kilderan said.

Velle Deka brushed her long, silver waves over her shoulder and pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing her fair skin.

Rynn squinted. Tattooed on the high priestess’ arm was a curious cluster of stars and planets. Altogether it was a brilliant, intricate masterpiece that was stitched into the old woman’s skin, but he did not comprehend its significance.

The elder ran her finger along the tattoo until she reached a constellation sitting amongst legions of ink specks, fainter than the rest of the design. “This is the constellation, Ormena, over the celestial pool. This is what you’re looking for. Reach Ormena’s lucida and you’ve reached the spring.”

Rynn turned to look upon Kilderan, whose gaze had become distant, pondering.

“The most highly guarded secret in the entire galaxy and it’s tattooed on your arm?” Yojackson asked rather curtly.

Aome made a face at him. “In plain sight,” she mused, “where no one would ever consider. This whole time…”

“How far is it?” Kilderan asked, stepping closer to the priestess, though he limped. “How far from where we’re standing right this instant?”

Velle Deka shook her head. “No one knows where it is, no one has ever been able to locate it.”

“Then how do you know it even exists?” asked Kilderan.

“Because of you and your brother.” Velle Deka’s eyes shone.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Yojackson began, milder after two glowers from Aome, “But what exactly is this spring anyway? I’ve heard the stories, but always sort of believed them to be just that. —Until I met Kip, of course,” he quickly added.

The high priestess folded her hands. “The celestial spring is a mystery I believe not even the goddesses understood. It is the gateway between the world of light and stardust and the world of flesh and blood.” She glanced at Kilderan, and then at Rynn. “It is what allowed the goddesses to assume their mortal forms and rule over the planets in the first place. By delivering Rynn to the spring, you are enabling him to pass into the realm of the stars.”

Yojackson scratched his chin and inhaled, preparing to speak, but Velle Deka silenced him, peering at the criminal as if she knew what he was about to say.

The high priestess stood and began to rummage through the charred satchel sitting against the wall. Soon she turned back to them with a small pot of ink and a slender brush. She beckoned to Kilderan, and he sidled up to her, dragging his injured leg behind him.

Rynn watched as the old woman rolled up the sleeve of Kilderan’s shirt and swirled the brush in the ink. He glimpsed the faint bruises on Kilderan’s wrist, as well as the staining bandage. Velle Deka brushed one of his bruises gingerly with the pad of her finger, and she gazed empathetically into his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

Rynn found himself pinned under the stare of his brother’s cold blue eyes, and so he stepped towards Kilderan and watched as Velle Deka painted the image of the constellation Ormena onto Kilderan’s skin with the dark ink.

After she had finished, Kilderan’s forearm bore the lines and dots of the constellation’s peculiar arrangement. “The constellation, as I said, has never been found in the sky by the priestesses, by anyone. But when you see it, it will be unmistakable. But do not go at this moment. Rest here for the night and in the morning, leave as soon as possible,” the high priestess instructed them.

Aome approached the high priestess and the celestial children. “Thank you, Mother Deka. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Honoring the goddesses’ memory is enough, Daughter. What have I been telling you your entire life?” She smiled at the young woman.

Aome lifted her head and a smile came to her lips before she dipped her head to the celestial priestess and joined Rynn, Kilderan, and Yojackson in settling into the small room.

Rynn’s eyes shot open, though he was still half asleep. His ears were filled with a furious pounding overhead that was coming from the world outside the hiding place. He believed it to be torrents of rain, but a dizzying sensation seized his head and his veins pulsed, making it seem otherworldly. Rynn swallowed and gripped the thin blanket Velle Deka’s entourage had provided for him.

The storm continued to assail the roof of the tunnel—which was really the ground—with heavy raindrops and pieces of debris that made an awful clamor when they collided with the hidden tunnel.

Rynn sat up, fearful. His veins seemed to writhe beneath his flesh. He glanced over at where Kilderan was sleeping on the floor, with Yojackson and Aome lying in their respective bedrolls a little ways away—Rynn had been given the cot. He started when a loud clang sounded overhead.

Rynn swung his legs over the edge of the cot before tearing the blanket off of them and slinking to the other side of the small room.

Quietly and carefully, he spread the bedding next to Kilderan, whose face was drowning in his long, mussed-up hair.

Rynn glanced up at the ceiling when the thunder shook the ground above them, but he felt safe sleeping closer to his companions and his brother.

“Rynn,” Kilderan whispered, though his eyes were still closed.

Rynn jumped before rolling onto his side to face Kilderan. “I can’t sleep. It’s too loud out there.” He did not want to tell Kilderan that a storm and the unfamiliar crumbling tunnel frightened him, if only slightly. Because despite the eerie phantasms that sleep twisted the shadows and the rain into, Rynn knew he was undoubtedly safe here.

“All right,” Kilderan muttered. “But try to fall back asleep. We have to leave very soon.”

Hera: To Touch the Heavens releases THIS SPRING! Reblog to spread the word and stay tuned for more updates and pre-release content <3

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sakaiyuji234 · 7 months ago

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Morning and Evening Into My Heart

Chapter 3

*MTL*

Qin Zhen didn’t know if Shen Yubai heard her call, but if he could, she hoped he didn’t.

After three years of marriage, only the "husband" that had been suppressed in my heart when he was not present could burst out.

It wasn't until there were no more blurry shadows in his sight that Qin Zhen withdrew his eyes and stood quietly at the door of the mansion.

The biting cold wind howled by, making the slender figure look extremely small. Seeing that she had no intention of returning to the courtyard, Wen Xi hesitated for a moment and called her: "Young Madam."

Wen Xi's voice was not soft. , it was a sound that could be heard by the guards five feet away, but the master, who was only three or four punches away from her, did not react at all.

If it were not the cold winter season, Wen Xi would not have reminded the young lady. The evil wind today seemed to blow the young lady away. Just when she was about to speak again, Qin Zhen turned around as if he had regained consciousness.

"The old lady should still be in Dongyuan, so I won't go over to join in the fun. Let's go back."

Qin Zhen is not a person who lacks emotion. He knows that Mrs. Ning's words are harsh, so he will not rush to scold her. He would rather have less trouble. Don't want to do anything more.

The winding cobblestone path was dotted with falling snow, and various figures stirred up the rows of lanterns that had been installed last night. The servants passed by carrying pots of rose flowers that had withered due to the hammering of frost and snow.

But Qin Zhen's mind did not fall on this not very beautiful scenery.

The image of Shen Yubai standing in Dongyuan flashed in his mind, as well as the jade pendant he carried with him that swayed with his steps. The warm white jade pendant with hints of light green was of excellent quality and carving skills.

He has carried this jade pendant with him for nearly seven years.

The moment this thought flashed through her mind, her calm eyes suddenly lit up, like the dazzling stars on a summer night.

"Wen Xi, you go to Huangyuan and ask the person in charge when Master Cao will come back. I need to open jade."

Wen Xi happened to know about this, so she replied: "I happened to bump into shopkeeper Li when I left the house early yesterday morning and asked. , said it was five days later."

"Five days?" Qin Zhen murmured to himself, thinking for a moment, and couldn't help but speed up his steps, and said, "There are still some parts to be polished on the bird pendant, and we will send it to you when the time comes."

"Yes." Wen Xi responded.

Qin Zhen started polishing this bird pendant a few months ago, and now only a polished ring remains.

Polishing to shine is difficult to say, but it is not simple at all. If the polishing is not polished at all, the color will be overexposed. Otherwise, the beauty of the jade will not be displayed. It requires care and patience.

More importantly, jade polished by different aesthetics are often completely different, so Qin Zhen does all the polishing and polishing himself.

Not many people knew about Qin Zhen's carving of jade ornaments. Wen Xi was one of them, and the other was Qiao. No other person knew about it. Everyone else thought she liked jade very much. Qiao specially arranged a bedroom as a place for her to collect rough stones and jade ornaments.

For five days in a row, except for going to Dongyuan to talk to Mr. Qiao, her thoughts fell on the bird pendant, and she finished it in the morning before Master Cao returned to Beijing.

When Qin Zhen put down the leather weight, the door of the Jade Carving Pavilion creaked.

It was Wen Xi who came with an amber plate and said, "You didn't use much of your breakfast. I sent someone to make some jujube paste cakes. You can take a few bites during your break."

"It's already done." Qin Zhen put the bird pendant in his hand He handed it to her, took the wet handkerchief and cleaned his hands, "See what you think."

The simple and charming pendant in Wen Xi's palm was lifelike, just like the expression of a young bird at the moment when it spreads its wings, "If shopkeeper Li hadn't already fixed the pendant, all the slaves would have I want to buy it and hang it with me."

With some ashes still falling on his palms, Qin Zhen walked to the fish basin and cleaned his hands carefully. When he heard her say this, he smiled and said, "You are the only one who can praise me. I have been praised by you all these years. We have become a master of jade carving."

Wen Xi was sent to serve her after she came to the Duke's Mansion eight years ago, and the age difference between the two was only one year, so there was a growing friendship between master and servant.

"This slave is not flattering, this is the truth." Wen Xi handed over the dry handkerchief, and at the same time took the empty box and carefully put the bird pendant away, "When I go out on the street, I occasionally encounter Shopkeeper Li and Shopkeeper Song of Puyige. Everyone is vying to order your next jade ornament. "

They are just interested in the quality of the jade." Qin Zhen took a small bite of the jujube paste, and the fragrant jujube paste filled her lips and teeth. She couldn't help but take another bite, "There are not many people doing jade carving these days. More often than not, they just lack a coveted rough stone."

And the reason why she was able to come into contact with many things that ordinary people have not encountered The original stone was precisely because she was in the Duke's Mansion.

"No way."

Wen Xi retorted, and when he was about to continue speaking, Qin Zhen raised his hand slightly.

The sound of neither light nor heavy steps passed through Wen Xi's words and penetrated into Qin Zhen's ears. Her eyes turned slightly. Before she could speak, Wen Xi had already packed away the tools on the desk and put them into the cabinet, leaving only the tools that she had left the house not long ago. Jade beads bought casually to play with.

The movements are very skillful.

Qin Zhen took the handkerchief and wiped the residue from his fingertips. The person who came was Grandma Tian who was beside Mrs. Qiao. Her heart dropped slightly as she raised her throat, "Mammy, why are you here?"

Grandma Tian Fu Shenxing After saying a courtesy, his serious face was tainted with a little gentleness, and he said: "Mrs. Xu's letter invites me to the banquet. You don't have to go to dinner with me at noon today."

Mrs. Xu's family is Qiao's close friend. , were often invited to banquets. Qin Zhen would occasionally follow him out of the house, but most of the time he would not join in the fun.

Aunt Tian only came to convey a message and then left. After seeing off Aunt Tian, the master and the servant returned to the Jade Carving Pavilion.

"Send it to Huangyuan later." Qin Zhen handed the box to Wen Xi. When he was halfway through the box, his eyes passed over the jadeite stones placed on the ancient shelf. He paused and then took back his hand and said, "I'll go with you. Leave the house."

The jadeite that caught his eye was a birthday gift from Shen Yubai. If you can find a rough stone with a similar quality, you can keep this piece of jade.

This was a congratulatory gift from him, and she wanted to treasure it.

Before noon, the wine shops and shops on both sides of Chang'an Street are full of people, and the waiters are calling and selling one after another. Through the hat, you can feel the enthusiasm that is different from the cold winter.

Yu Street, which is connected to Chang'an Street, is only an inch away, but it is much quieter than Chang'an Street. The pedestrians coming and going are not as crowded as Chang'an Street. The further you go west, the quieter it becomes, and Huangyuan Garden is located at the end of Yu Street. west side.

The master and the servant stepped into the Huangyuan one after another. At Qin Zhen's nod, Wen Xi walked straight towards the building with the box. She found a pavilion everywhere to admire the red plum blossoms in the courtyard, waiting for Li The shopkeeper took her to the backyard to look for uncut jade.

But what Qin Zhen didn't know was that from the moment she stepped into the garden, she caught the attention of others.

High in the building.

"Shen Yubai, I seem to have seen my younger siblings."

Shen Yubai, who was called, looked away from the document. After hearing his friend's words, he frowned slightly and looked along his line of sight.

Zhang Yurui stuck his head out, stared at the figure for a while, and said, "She is really a sister-in-law. Why is she here at this hour?"

Shen Yubai retracted his gaze and continued to flip through the documents in his hand, "I don't know."

Seeing him Zhang Yurui clicked his tongue at this appearance, "I haven't seen my siblings for a long time, so of course I want to say hello when I meet them."

After saying this, he called out "Qin Zhen" without waiting for Shen Yubai to refuse.

The cry that fell from the sky made Qin Zhen tremble in fright. The warm tea sloshed, and the tea that overflowed from the cup dripped on the back of her white hand, which turned red after a while.

She raised her eyes and looked around, but she didn't see a familiar figure.

Just when Qin Zhen thought it was an illusion, she heard her name clearly again. Now she raised her head and met Shen Yubai's innocent eyes.

She was stunned for a moment and stood up suddenly.

He is back!

When did you come back? Why is there no news at all?

The color of joy penetrated Qin Zhen's heart like wisps of fairy spirit. She was so happy that she wanted to go up and look for him, but she was afraid that he and others would invite her to disturb them.

Just when she hesitated to move forward, she heard the same voice calling "brother and sister" again, and turned her eyes to see Zhang Yurui.

Zhang Yurui raised the tea cup in his hand and said: "It's freezing in the courtyard, come up and warm yourself up."

Qin Zhen subconsciously took a few steps forward, but stopped again. When she remembered that she should ask Shen Yu When Bai meant it, he could no longer be found when he looked again.

She gritted her teeth and walked up.

Zhang Yurui, who was on the building, looked away when he saw her walking up the stairs. While pouring tea into the new cup, he glanced at his friend with a cold face and said, "How can anyone with a wife keep a cold face all day long? Be careful if your sister-in-law divorces you."

Shen Yubai didn't even raise his head, "It's up to you."

Zhang Yurui said: "..."

If he hadn't known that the relationship between them was not happy at the beginning, he would have wanted to peel off Shen Yubai's heart and see what happened to him. What are you thinking about.

Zhang Yurui covered his mouth and coughed, then abruptly changed the subject: "Speaking of which, my brother and sister also have some knowledge about jade. How about we go with her later?"

When the words fell, Shen Yubai's movements of flipping through the documents stopped and resumed for a moment. As before, he raised his eyes unhurriedly, with a warning in his brows.

Zhang Yurui pretended not to see it and took a sip of tea. From the corner of his eye, he saw the door of the wing being pushed open.

Qin Zhen walked in.

It was obviously just a short distance, but she walked a hundred feet away.

Shen Yubai lowered his head and did not raise his head after hearing the sound.

Qin Zhen took a deep breath, pursed his lips and sat down.

She had thought that Shen Yubai would not welcome her arrival, and she was mentally prepared, but when she actually faced this scene, she seemed to be sadder than imagined.

"What are the brothers and sisters doing here?" Zhang Yurui kicked his friend under the table. "Is it possible that you are also here to look for rough stones?"

"Yes." Qin Zhen keenly caught the words in his words and glanced sideways. Shen Yubai, who was silent, said, "Are you guys too?"

"Well, I want to make a friend. He happens to be interested in jade, so we arranged to meet here." Zhang Yurui said, and he handed the tea cup to Qin Zhen, " I just thought that you are quite knowledgeable about jade and I wanted to go with you."

"I can."

"No need."

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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hircine's blessing

Kieran, the dragonborn, awakens after his first night as one of Hircine's chosen.

prompt taken from this generator here- "Got something to say?" / "That's a shamefully absurd way to go around in public."

mostly SFW, mentions blood/gore, violence and nudity. :) around 850 words.

Midnight, moonlight, surrounded by death.

It would have been almost romantic in the most macabre of ways, eyes towards the sky when he woke, metallic taste in his mouth that is becoming all too familiar. Blood, thick and heavy and not at all his, a chunk of something stuck between his teeth, a strand of dirty copper hair wedged on his eyelashes and poking his eyeball. The night is silent but his mind raves, deep down he knows without meaning to, knows what he has done, knows he will not be able to lay on his back watching the stars forever. Knows he will have to face it eventually, the mangled body laying next to him in an awkward twist, a chunk of flesh missing where the neck should be, claw marks that tore the torso open, strong hands (paws?) pulling it apart like one rips a piece of paper.

Metal dagger burns against his skin when he rises, the shape of the blade leaving its mark on the palm of his hand. No choice, he tells himself, him or me, silver pointed right at his heart, face flushed with anger, an incriminating pendant around the neck, a cry for destruction of monsters like him. He meant to tell him, he had no choice in this, had no say in what he had become, but no words come out of his mouth, nothing but the deafening roar half wolf and half man, teeth sharp and ready, tongue rolling out to lick his lips but finding fur. He has never been good with words, always too crass and simple, and this time they have been taken from him regardless.

He plucks the amulet away from the gory mess, a memento to feast his eyes upon, so shiny and well polished, bloody as it stands, but the lake is not far and he pockets it before continuing. Every muscle aches as he rises to stand on two feet, flesh seeming to rearrange itself on his back, fur giving way to skin, taut and slick with perspiration. There is a moment of panic as he tries to figure out if something is missing, if something is different, if his teeth have turned to fangs and his nails to claws. He is sure there is more hair than usual, just about everywhere, his chest and his belly and between his legs - between his legs, his cock is still there, a relief, truly, the one fun thing he still had in his miserable life. Excited to be here, it seems, excited to be alive, he smirks towards it with a promise of getting it wet, later, when he is not naked as a newborn in the woods of Falkreath. It seems… Bigger, why was it bigger? Why was he bigger, thighs and ribs and shoulders impossibly wider like he had eaten for three and worked for four, his had never been a lithe frame to begin with, but at this rate he would have trouble fitting through doors. Fingers crossed this was a one time change, body adapting to the sinister gift of the Prince of the Hunt.

The guard sees him approach from afar despite the dimness of the torchlight, engulfed as it was by darkness, hand resting uneasy at the pommel of the sword to answer whatever violence came in kind. He can see the terror in the poor man’s eyes with every step he takes closer, his body eclipsing the hanging lantern light, can see the trembling of his fingers as he tries to pull the blade from its sheath but fails in his fear. He is surprised the poor guardsman has not broken into a sprint when he straightened his back to adjust his posture, more than a good head taller than his fellow Nord and twice as wide.

“Got something to say?” Kieran snarls, voice coarse, feels like there is a ball of hair stuck in the back of his throat. For all he knows, might just be.

“Well now,” the guard recoils, takes a step back but puffs his chest, suddenly aware that there is no need to be afraid, his face a familiar one, his deeds well-known. “Shamefully absurd way to go around in public, is it not?”

There is a moment of tense silence and brief examination, intimidating but alluring, awful but tempting. Kieran is the first to chuckle and soon the nervous guardsman follows along, but his laughter dies down quick when a heavy hand comes rest on his shoulder.

“Well now,” the mimicry makes the officer’s knees shake. “No need to be jealous. You ask nicely, I might just give you some.” A reassuring pat later and Kieran has resumed his march, through the main road that leads up to Riverwood, pained but proud, wishing desperately to tumble down on his bedroll and be done with this bloody night.

He pretends not to notice how the guard has turned his head around to take a good look at his behind, but somehow knows he will be the talk of the town come morning, and if he were too be honest, it does not sound too bad.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #the last dragonborn #ldb oc #virgil writes #kieran the skaal

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vestriabymoonlight · 3 years ago

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untitled sad cowboy fantasy

CW: alcohol abuse?

It was never a good sign when the preacher started drinking. Ivory robes, stained with crisp crimson and patches of pale golden sand hung over his shoulders that had sunk after his first glass. A necklace of gold and brass, bearing the icon of God, sat on the counter of the bar beside his drink; that came off after the second. The barkeep had given the shell-shocked preacher a cold towel when he entered, and that sat dirty with sweat, dust, and blood just beyond the pendant. After another sip from his glass of cool amber, he brought his sallow, sunken eyes to continue boring the same hole in the wall straight ahead. The whiskey stopped biting five glasses and four hours ago.

After swirling the last of his fifth around some more, he glanced sordidly down at it before guzzling it down whole. One bad day, five solid drinks; it was the worst day and the most drinks he’d had in years. Maybe if he were lucky, the barkeep would take pity enough to let him keep the bottle. But the preacher’s head was fuzzy, his mouth dry, and his mind not straight, so he knew that such was the wish of a drunk man praying his silent prayers.

* * *

When he woke, his forehead was sweatily glued to the damp arm of his robe, shaken by a source unseen from his front-row seat to stare at the grain of the bar. A pit formed in his stomach as he lifted his head, heavy as lead, to look past the glare of the dim lanterns to his right. There, he found the source of the shaking of his shoulder to be the gloved hand of a cautious looking woman in a cowhide vest and wide-brimmed hat. Her skin was naturally a cool shade of lavender, though her time in the sun had graced her with indigo freckles and had formed deep crow’s feet beside her eyes. Though she was comfortable in the dark slacks and blouse, she was flushed, as if she had recently been running, as she was required to by holding the station indicated by the brass badge pinned on her vest, over her left breast.

“Preacher?” she asked, her deep purple eyes filled to their brims with concern.

Groggily, he sat up, grunting from the pang of pain from the side of his head. He glanced at his short whiskey glass, filled only with some room-temperature water. At least he’d had the sense to get some before passing out. Though his memory was blurred, the preacher could tell the light was different; it was late afternoon by now, probably just on the verge of dusk’s beginning. As he blinked the restless, drunken sleep from his eyes, he tried to speak, but felt nothing but sand trickle out past dry lips. Groping sightlessly once, twice, thrice for his glass of tepid refreshment, he wetted his mouth and then spoke.

“Elise,” his voice came out as smooth as sandpaper before he cleared it, “how long have I…?”

The sheriff glanced up at the barkeeper-- who was absolutely not listening-- at the other end of the bar, and though the preacher didn’t see it, she echoed what she saw him hold up. “‘Bout three hours now. Samuel…” Though Elise wanted to gently chide him on drinking so early and so long, she knew she couldn’t do that to him. Not now.

The preacher narrowed his eyes. “Elise, I’ve known you for the twenty years since you came here. You might have thirty years on me, but I can still see through you--” As his double vision came together, he made out dark spots staining the right side of her blouse. He froze as the pit in his stomach did a flip. She followed his eyes and breathed deep.

“Samuel--”

“Turn around, Elise.”

#vestriacowboy #samuelcincaid #fantasy writing #world building #cowboy fantasy #but not like that #tumbleweeds

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danielleslegacy · 5 years ago

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Soulmates || Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST

Request: yes / no (but they are open always)

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Just a wedding fic, that no one asked for bahaha, but yes, wedding.

Word Count: 2,404

Warnings: it is just fluff that is all, its tooth-rotting, you’ve been warned.

Pairing: fem!Reader insert x Spencer Reid

All writing is my own, so please don’t steal this. Also, I would appreciate any feedback/comments/requests! xx

*GIF IS NOT MINE SO CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER*

I smooth my hands down the front of the laced front of my dress, casting my eyes back up to the mirror in front of me. Makeup done in such a beautiful way that my eyes pop, the soft blush that lays on my cheeks making me seem younger and more innocent than I am. Behind me I notice people walking into my dressing room.

“Oh Y/n,” the voice of one Emily Prentiss says, causing me to turn to face her, “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

My eyes flash over the girls quickly, their beautiful dresses, similar but not the same, adorning their bodies. My eyes fill with tears as I let out a soft laugh. “Thank you Em.”

“That boy is going to die watching you walk down the aisle in that,” Penelope gushes, her own voice thick with unshed tears. The group lets out a laugh.

“Thank you for being here,” I say, reaching my hands out to hold the sides on JJ and Penelope, as they are standing on the outside of Emily, “I just wish my parents were here too, you know?”

The girls nod, “They are here, Y/n, they’re always with you.” JJ says, giving my arm and encouraging squeeze.

“Alright no crying missy, we’ve got a wedding to do,” Eemily says offering me a tissue, which I take and dab underneath my eyes softly. I let out a breath and turn back to the mirror, admiring my dress one last time, with a firm nod of my head, I turn to the dresser and pick up a bracelet.

“I need some help with this part,” I confess, holding out the bracelet and my wrist to the girls, JJ takes it and clasps it. A multitude of pendants hang off it, each one for a different person in my life.

“It’s beautiful, was it from boy wonder?” Penelope asks, obviously catching onto one of the charms on the bracelet, a silver book, it was tiny but it was there.

I nod my head, a smile coming to my lips, “A wedding present, you guys are on here too.” I say gesturing to the four leaf clover. “The whole team is on here,” a small set of handcuffs on the other side of the clover, a reference to our job. “Mum and Dad too,” I say, finally pointing to the two angels.

A soft knock at the door frame draws us out of our bubble, “Sorry to interrupt ladies, but it's time,” Hotch’s face is painted with guilt at having to pull us away. A wave of anxiety rushes over me, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came, and it’s replaced by pure excitement, excitement at the fact that it’s finally time to marry my soulmate.

The girls slip out the door sending words of encouragement, and waves as they exited.

“How do I look, boss?” I ask doing a twirl for Hotch, my dress spiraling around me. I stop back to face him and he has a wide, proud, grin on his face. He gives me a nod in response.

“You ready?” He asks, extending a hand out towards me, which I take readily.

“Yes,” I put simply, it was an easy answer because yes, i am ready to marry Spencer, i am ready to start the rest of my life with the person that i cannot live without. We walk down a hallway in Rossi’s house and just before we walk out and into the garden, we stop. Rossi had offered his house as the venue once again, as it was practically assumed that after JJ’s wedding to Will that Spencer and I would inevitably marry here too. I’m not in view of the group yet, but I can see the garden, lit up in beautiful lights, and a few seats scattered around the yard. Lanterns litter the grass, like the scene from Tangled. A fairytale coming to life.

The music begins, a classical wedding march, a giggle erupting from my chest. “In a few minutes I’m going to be married, Hotch,” I say as he opens the door for us to walk out of.

“Yes, yes you are Y/n.”

We step out on the lawn and I feel everyone's eyes on me, but my eyes are only focused on the end of the aisle, only on Spencer. His beautiful all black suit makes him appear even taller than normal, and his hair is styled to perfection. His eyes shine with tears, and in that moment my refill again. I continue walking, my smile staying spread across my lips, and when I eventually meet the end of the isle, I give Hotch a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you Aaron,” I say softly. The kiss is returned and he places my hand in Spencer’s.

“You have something truly magical,” He says, taking a step back to join the rest of our team. No, our family. For the first time I looked over all of their faces, all red and tear filled.

From beside me Rossi clears his throat, “Welcome, Welcome everybody, we are all here today to celebrate the union of two beautiful people.”

My eyes gather with tears and I flick them up to Spencer’s, his own filled too. I squeeze his hands, my excitement evident on my face.

“We have all watched these two souls find one another against all odds. I’m sure Spencer could tell you the odds of their meeting, and I asked him once, and he told me that day that it’s a 1 in 10,000 chance that he would meet his soulmate. To which I followed up by asking him, and she’s the one right, kid? The boy just nodded his head. Later that same week I asked Y/n if she believed in soulmates,” He lets out a little chuckle, “See what I did there? She didn’t really answer me, but she did look over at the doctor and smiled. I knew what she meant by that. I am by no means an expert on marriage or soulmates.”

“Ain't that a fact,” Derek mutters from the small group, referencing the italian’s multiple divorces and we erupt into a fit of laughter. My shoulders shake with laughter and tears fall down my cheeks. Spencer’s eyes focus only on me, his own shining with tears, and I can tell that he knows that this is a memory that he will be looking over for years to come. His fingers dance along my wrists and connect with the bracelet.

“What are you gonna do?” Rossi continues with a shrug once the group is quiet,”But as I was saying. I am no expert, but you don’t need to be to know that these two souls were made for one another. They share this deep and beautiful understanding of one another, their differences and similarities. The two truly complete one another. I am so lucky to have been able to watch your love blossom from an awkward mutual pining to what I see before me today. I am also honored to be able to marry you to one another. So without further ado, let’s get to the important part. You have both prepared vows, Y/n, you first.”

I nod my head excitedly, my smile widening as if that was even possible, “So like Rossi, I also asked you the odds of us meeting, and I got the same answer. Only, I asked you after our first date, we had probably known each other for six months at that point, eating ice cream in my apartment while watching Hercules. And it was that day that I fell for you. You couldn’t just sit and watch the movie, you kept telling me facts about ancient greece and greeks gods and goddesses, and I knew that I only wanted to experience movies with you being able to tell me about them.” His eyes twinkle and a tear slips down his cheek, I raise my hand up to wipe it away, “That night I called my mum, and i told her that I had met the man I was going to marry,” My voice catches in my throat, “I told her all about you and how you made me feel and she told my dad, and they both instantly loved you, because i was happy and excited.”

His finger toys with the bracelet on my wrist, tears streaking his face. “And Spence, if they had met you, I know that they would be all about me marrying you. So my vow to you is to always love and savour every moment we have together, and to never go to sleep angry, and to listen to you always. I also promise to take care of you and to love you forever.”

Spencer unlinks a hand from mine holding up his pinky to which I link mine around it, letting out a watery laugh.

Tears fall from my eyes, when Spencer begins his own vows.

“I am a man of science and logic and numbers and facts.” He begins, “When you start falling in love, your brain releases chemicals like vasopressin, adrenaline, dopamine, and oxytocin that light up your neural receptors and make you feel both pleasure and a euphoric sense of purpose. That’s the facts of what love is. And before you, that was an easy enough understanding. I had thought I knew what love felt like. But falling in love with you was unlike anything I have ever experienced before in my entire life. And it took me so incredibly long to figure out why. It’s because all logic went out the window. My first and last thought every day was of you, I worried about you constantly and I could not figure out why. But then I noticed that I just wanted to be around you all the time and I didn't want you away from me. And then I got it. Love, this was falling in love. All those other times in my life where i thought i was experiencing love were test drives in comparison to falling in love with you. So today I vow to you, to continually throw logic away and to love you with all of my being for as long as life permits it. And if the Buddists are right, then the meeting was actually 500 years in the making, and I promise to you that in 500 years I will find you again.”

“Oh Spence,” I whisper to no one by him, reaching up to try to wipe the tears off my cheeks.

“This ceremony will not create a relationship that does not already exist between you. It is a symbol of how far you have come in these past few years. It is a symbol of the promises you will make to each other and continue growing stronger as individuals and as partners. No matter what challenges you face, no matter how much you succeed, you now succeed together. The love between you joins you now as one. Now for the exchanging of rings,” Rossi states, handing us each other's rings.

"Y/n, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. As it encircles your finger, may it remind you always that you are surrounded by my enduring love," Spencer says softly, slipping it onto my fourth finger.

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, my faith in our strength together, and my covenant to learn and grow with you,” I reply, sliding the plain gold band onto his fourth finger.

Rossi clears his throat, “You two are officially the first members to marry within the BAU, you may now kiss.”

My smile only widens, as my hands reach up to cup his face softly, and my lips press to his. I feel the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. From behind my closed eyelids I see a flash, but I take no notice lost in the kiss with my now husband. Our lips move against one another, he dips us down slowly yet romantically,, and once we pull apart I miss it, so I quickly press my lips to his and then move back. My smile permanently on my face. The others are clapping and hollering from around us. It is then that I finally notice the camera grasped in Penelope's hand and I’m already so grateful for the pictures that she must have been taking.

My eyes flick back to Spence, “We’re married.”

“Yes we are,” He grins, wrapping his arms around my waist and spinning me around. The group lets out a chorus of laughs and Rossi’s voice breaks through. “Now we eat.”

We share a beautiful meal, some pasta that I assume Dave made and the conversation flows freely.

“Remember when you called me on your way to your first date with Y/n?” Morgan teases, “You were so nervous that I actually debated calling an ambulance to make sure you didn’t have a heart attack.”

The group laughs once more and Spencer buries his head into the crook of my neck, clearly embarrassed, “Yeah, well I had reason to be.”

“Oh wait, that reminds me,” JJ begins, “Y/n called me the day Spence finally asked her out, and you guys, I wish you had been able to hear the excitement in her voice. I know I’m a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to see that the girl was already crazy for him.”

I let out a soft giggle, reminiscing on that day, and I bring up mine and Spencer's conjoined hands and press my lips to his.

The soft sounds of Jason Mraz’s ‘I Won’t Give Up’ begins to chime through the air, I stand up, and pull Spencer along with me.

“Dance with me?” I ask him, and he just nods in reply, pulling me in closer to him. One of his hands rests on my hip and the other encloses mine. I rest my head onto his chest, I can hear the stop patter of his heart beat, as we sway together. He unloops our fingers, and my arms wrap around his waist and his other hand falls in my hair, holding me as close as possible. I feel so protected by the man who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.

TagList (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

@saucybeeches

#spence #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Reid #Criminal Minds AU #david rossi #aaron hotch hotchner #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau #derek morgan x spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Spencer ried x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader

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izloveshorses · 4 years ago

Text

Waiting

Canonverse, 1.5k, “missing scene” format. Sometime during Learn to Do It or any time before they leave Petersburg. This came to me fully written as soon as I woke up so... here u go I guess

“Dmitry, let’s get out of here,” Anya muttered, grabbing his wrist. They’d crossed paths at the market after her shift and he told her to stay close until it was time to go home, since the sun was setting and this place was dangerous after dark.

He glanced down, completely baffled, as they wove through the crowded street. “What’s wrong?”

“See that man over there?” she nodded towards one of the slimy vendors selling antiques. “He’s not a good man.”

“There are plenty of indecent men here.” But he fell into step beside her anyway. “How do you know him?”

She hesitated, wondering how much she wanted to reveal. That encounter definitely wasn’t a memory she wanted to relive. “He stole something from me once. When I first arrived in Leningrad.”

He didn’t speak again until they’d left the square. “What did he take?”

“A silver pendant. The nurses at the hospital gave it to me before I left.”

“Hmm.” He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. “Did he do anything else to you?”

She swallowed. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

He was silent the entire rest of the way back. But after months of living in close quarters, she could tell by the way his jaw clenched or his fists tightened around his strap that he was stewing in anger. It was a silly thing to be angry about, really. No point in wanting to change what’d already happened. Though she didn’t offer up any other conversation either.

They spent the evening reviewing the family tree again and their various titles, she and Dmitry bickered until Vlad got annoyed enough to put a stop to it, and Anya went to bed early. The next day went on as usual— she worked until her palms and feet blistered, collected her wages, met Vlad in the palace, cleaned, and otherwise kept herself busy. But Dmitry was later than he normally was.

The first hour she didn’t think about it. Yes, it was unusual for Dmitry to be untimely, but there were some viable reasons he was held up somewhere.

She told Vlad as much in the second hour, who was starting to verbalize his concern. They shared a sorry dinner of canned beans and mushrooms, and Anya suggested starting her lessons on etiquette without him, and he welcomed the distraction.

The third hour was when she started worrying. Curfew had passed and if he hadn’t found a place to hide for the night, he was truly in danger, and several hypotheticals ran across Anya’s mind. What if he was arrested? Kidnapped? Mugged? Drunk at a bar? Dead?

“Would he run away without us?” She asked Vlad. He was teaching her a card game by the dim light of a lantern on the table.

He chuckled. “I know you two don’t get along, but he’s loyal.” He placed a face card down and Anya sighed. Gambling could’ve been in her past but it definitely wasn’t something in her future. “Even if he were to run, it wouldn’t be a smart move at this point. Which, if anything, he’s smart.”

Hour four was the worst part. Those hypotheticals turned into very real possibilities, and the thought of what would happen if he actually didn’t come back made her stomach swirl. It wasn’t like she enjoyed him, necessarily, but she never wished for anything horrible to happen to him. Selfishly she wondered if she’d be stuck here in this palace if he never came back. Or if all of what she’d been working for was wasted. But those worries weren’t everlasting, so when she was still pacing the living area she realized there was more there than she thought. Maybe it was that, admittedly, he didn’t deserve to be snuffed out like so many others she’d seen over the years. Or maybe she didn’t actually hate him as much as she wanted to, or as much as she tried to. That thought was the most frustrating of all.

“Vlad?” she asked, voice small in the massive space.

“Yes, dear?” He’d picked up a book to read in the low light, but he was clearly unable to focus, constantly shifting himself in his seat, worried for his friend.

“Do you think I was too mean to him?”

He barked a laugh, the noise making her jump after hours of solemn quiet. “Our boy needs to be put in his place every once in a while, don’t worry.” his laughter quieted but he continued when he noticed she was still looking at him expectantly. “Even so, no. That’s not something you need to be thinking about now.”

The guilt simmered down in her stomach, but the answer still didn’t ease her worry. She fiddled with the fire from her spot on the floor for the millionth time and tossed the last log onto the coals. She knew it was probably premature or unhealthy to think like this, but she couldn’t focus on her own book, so she just hugged her knees and stared at the embers. And waited.

Finally, there was a squeak of the front door and a rush of wind. She and Vlad leapt to their feet in a rush. Vlad saw him first and gave an exuberant holler. “It’s good to see you, my boy!”

When caught sight of him she suddenly felt embarrassed for worrying. Dmitry trudged through the doorway, a little worse for wear, a hand on his lower abdomen, but here and alive. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to expect, and now that he was here she wasn’t quite sure what to do, either. So she got angry. Naturally. “Where have you been?!”

“I got held up,” he grunted. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you all right?” Vlad asked, taking his coat.

“Just bruised, nothing serious.”

“It’s past curfew!” Anya was too upset to be compassionate. “I was— Vlad was so worried! You could’ve been arrested or dead in an alley and we’d never know! What were you thinking!”

“Relax, I’m here now.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” They’d moved into the kitchen now where he was stepping out of his sopping boots. Vlad’s smile was nearly giddy with relief but she still held her ground. “What could’ve possibly held you up that long?”

He only grinned, tired but proud, and dug into his pocket. “This.”

Her brow furrowed and she stepped closer to look. In his palm was a silver pendant with the imperial seal stamped to the front and an Eiffel Tower on the back, an odd combination of clues. The exact pendant she’d mentioned yesterday.

It took a moment to piece together the dots. Why he was gone so long. The bruises. The piece of her past and the only gift from the kind nurses she had left in his palm. That meant… he’d put himself in danger, went looking for trouble, just to steal something she’d mentioned offhandedly once?

“I can’t believe that guy still had this,” he started, breaking the silence. “There’s probably nothing else like it. No chain, though.”

She shook her head, swallowing, and finally met his eyes again. “Why?” Why risk his life and everything they’d worked towards for this?

He only shrugged. “I hate thieves who steal without reason.” He grinned again and raised an eyebrow. “You going soft on me?”

She hadn’t noticed there were tears in her eyes and she angrily wiped them away. “No! I’m—” She didn’t know what to think. Her hands still shook with anger at making her feel so worried for so long for something so small, but the enormous gratitude expanded in her chest. At this point she couldn’t tell if her body wanted to throw a punch at that grin or kiss him. She did neither; flinging her arms around his waist instead seemed sufficient enough.

She must’ve surprised him because he froze. After a second, though, she felt awkward hands pat her back, and she pulled away quickly, not meeting his eyes. Then, to cover up whatever just happened, she punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Don’t scare us like that again!”

He laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

She remembered Vlad was there, who looked incredibly confused and amused. “I’m going to bed,” she told him, too exhausted for anything else.

On her way out of the kitchen she caught a glimpse of their conversation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“That was very gentlemanly of you, Dmitry. Are you going soft?”

“Be quiet. You know that’s not why I did it.”

“Sure, and what’s next? Flowers? Chocolates?”

Anya smiled to herself, unable to hear the rest. She rubbed her thumb on the side of the pendant, re-memorizing the worn bumps and edges, and tucked it in the pocket of the inside of her coat. It fell with a clack onto her diamond. No, she wouldn’t think too much of any of it, even if it rested against her heart.

#dimya #anastasia broadway #anastasia #fanfiction #my writing #anastasia musical #all five of my other wips are mad at me but i had no choice i'm sorry #i don't think dmitry is really the type of person to go looking for a fight but ladies can u *imagine*

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bunnyart-blog · 5 years ago

Note

Tovar x Reader: Honeysuckle, horsehair, and halberd. "You are weak with love for her."

I’m so sorry this took me twELVE ACTUAL YEARS to write but after much struggle it is done. This takes place in the same universe as this and this, which. I have now named the Honeysuckle Universe in honour of you for always indulging my Tovar fantasies. Also this is from Tovar’s POV pls go easy on me I have no idea how this reads

Words: 7K

Rating: MA (explicit sexual scenes, some violence)

Summary: Tovar leaves the cottage, only to return to it much earlier than planned.

The tavern feels miles from the cottage. It is full to bursting, shouting and drinking and cheering spilling out into the dim around it. William waits for him outside, looks lost with the absence of his bow, picking at something on his trouser. The Germans were inside already, he explains when Tovar arrives, almost at dusk. The thickness of the forest around the large wooden building makes the world seem darker than it is. William pushes up and follows Tovar to the stable, shows him to the stall next to his own horse. He does not ask why Tovar is late, and Tovar does not have to lie that he could not have beared to leave you any earlier that morning. Did not have to lie about the delay which came from the small gift you had given him before he left, hanging now from a chain around his neck. A small ring. Tovar hands his horse to the stable boy with a bronze piece and follows William inside.

The Germans are at a low table in the corner, empty drinks around them already. Heinrich, the bigger of the two and a large man by any measure, is laughing. Tall and dirty, with a slick of long blonde hair and a beard which might have been red were it not so covered in grime and dust from the road. Otte is smaller, darker and has drunk much less. Nods at Tovar and William as they tuck into the table. William tries to lead the conversation, tries to talk about the job ahead. The four of them, hired as guard for some lord making the travel from the North country to the Asian Steppe. But Heinrich is raucous, drunk already, and not interested in talk of work. He wants to reminisce of their last job, of the bloodshed, of the women he plans on fucking. Otte is quiet, and William gives up. Tovar has not listened since they sat down, has pulled the chain from around his neck and fiddles with it.

He stares down at the pendant in his hand. It had looked small in yours, but in his it is miniscule. A thick band of gold like a ring, but much too small for his finger, plated with a gold flower which stands off the smooth surface. Honeysuckle. Like the bush that grows outside your cottage, the smells of sweetness and of you. The inside is inscribed with a single word. A word he cannot read and does not recognise. You had been nervous to give it to him. Unable to meet his eye. Insisted if he didn’t want it he did not have to take it, not just to spare your feelings. He rolls the ring over in his palm, watches the way the chain catches the light. It’s a thick chain and is bronze instead of gold. He tries to imagine you, the money which you had planted in the ground and grown with your hands, hard earned through soil. Saved for months, that little coin purse at the back of your cutlery drawer you had stopped checking he had stolen. Just to buy him this – a trinket. Some piece of jewellery. One which you had no need for. Knew that he had no need for either. Just given it to him because it was pretty, and because you wanted it. To serve as a reminder. It’s worth could have fed you for weeks. Bought you enough of the yellow cotton you had stared so longingly at in the dressmaker’s window. Enough to make you the dress you desperately wanted. The small thing feels heavier than it could possibly be.

Heinrich snatches it out of his open palm, laughing. “And where did you swindle this?”

The German holds it up between them, Tovar’s eyes follow the ring as it swings on the end of the chain, glimmering in the low light of the fire. Forces himself to still in the chair, not to grab at it. He grunts. “Give it back.”

“You know the rules, Tovar.” Heinrich curls his fist around the chain. Too big and rough for something so delicate. “All for all.”

“This is not from a job.” Tovar struggles to keep his face smooth. “This is the agreement for the job.”

“Who’d you steal it from?” Heinrich lifts the ring closer to his face. Then his smile turns malicious. Ugly. He grins with all his dirty teeth. “Did you steal it from your widow?”

The rest of the party has been drawn in, watch with curious eyes as Heinrich throws the necklace straight up into the air and catches it again in his waiting palm. Tovar can’t stop the jump of his shoulders, the instinct to reach for it. The fear that the man will let it clatter to the floor. But he does not move fast enough. Heinrich’s grin is all bared teeth and snarl, throws it up again and this time Tovar moves with purpose, leans across the table to catch it. But Heinrich snatches it before he can and pulls it out of his reach. Tovar slams his fist onto the table and Heinrich laughs. Otte and William shift with the tension, watch the two men with wary eyes.

“How much do you think we can sell it for?” The German hums in mock thoughtfulness. Has the look of a man who knows he has found something important. “We could stay in inns for a week, all of us for this!”

“You’ve had your fun, Heinrich.” William sounds tired. Takes a deep drink from his pint. “Give it back.”

Tovar closes his eyes, breaths a silent sigh. Open his eyes again and finds Heinrich laughing again. The sound is uglier than his smile. Heinrich holds the ring up to the light and then slaps his open hand down flat on the tabletop. The ring in his hand scraps across the wood as he drags it back towards himself. Clinks against the slats in the table. Tovar clenches his fist tighter. Doesn’t bother to try and hide is fury anymore. Heinrich leans forward, pushes his weight of the table.

“Are you going to give it to her?” He is close enough that Tovar can smell the bitterness of his ale on his breath. “Does our friend buy his little whore gifts, now?”

“Enough Heinrich.” William says, while at the same time Otte says, “Give it back.”

Tovar watches Heinrich, still and quiet. Releases his fist on the table, tenses ready. Lets the big man lean close enough that his balance is all the way over the table and his ass has lifted off his seat. Holds his gaze. And then Tovar snaps up, grabs him by his dirty blond beard, yanks him even further forward. Stands, grabs the back of the man’s head and slams it down against the tabletop. There’s an awful crack, the sound of his nose breaking, and a wet cry. William yells, Otte is on his feet, knife in hand. Tovar lifts the man again by his hair, crouches down low so that he is level with Heinrich’s already swelling eyes and gushing nose.

“You do not touch my things,” Tovar murmurs to him, soft and gentle, like he would talk to his horse. Some skittish animal. “Yes?”

Heinrich glares, struggles to do it has the blood begins to run into his teeth. Tovar yanks him by his hair again, harsh enough to make the man gargle a cry, yell. “Fine!”

“Give the necklace to me.”

Heinrich is slow to move again but he lifts his weight off his hand. Pushes the necklace across the wood again, harder, makes the scraping loud and deliberate. Lifts it up and drops it into the hand Tovar puts under his nose. The chain falls with a soft tinkling.

Tovar looks down at it. Smiles, too friend, too big. “I want to hear you say it.”

Heinrich licks his lips. Dribbles blood into his heard. “Say what?”

“I will not touch your things, Tovar. I would like to hear these words from you.”

Heinrich pulls, tries to manouver out of Tovar’s grip, but Tovar tightens his hold on the man’s hair, clenches it so tightly the ruddy skin of the man’s face pulls back. Shakes him. Heinrich makes a noise, a sound of defeat and braces his arms against the table.

“I will…” Heinrich struggles with the words. With the thickness in his nose and the blood in his throat. “I will not touch your things, Tovar.”

Tovar smiles bigger. “Good. This is good.”

He releases his fingers slowly from the tangles mess of blonde. Cups the back of Heinrich’s head, draws him even closer, until their foreheads almost touch. Chuckles when the man flinches away from him. Tovar shushes him, pats him gently, his palm meeting the back of Heinrich’s head. Still treats him like he would his horse, a dog. Laughs louder when he releases him. Heinrich lurches back, lands hard in his chair. Otte has his blade still out, unsure, hovering by his countryman. William is still in his seat, eyes Tovar with disapproval. Says nothing. Tovar straightens and closes his fist around the chain and the ring on it. Feels the jittering surge of relief.

The tavern around them is completely silent, onlookers watching to see the result of the scuffle. The barman has moved to the public side of the bench, away from his post. A rag slung over his shoulder and arms crossed. Tovar pushes away from the table. Wipes his mouth along the back of his forearm and sniffs at the men before him. He picks his way through the crowd, lets it part for him, stop before the barman and presses two coins onto the counter next to him. For the commotion and for the drinks. The barman pulls the rag at his shoulder away and picks up the coins. Inspects them briefly. Drops them into the small purse at his hip and nods. Murmurs pick up through the crowd again. Tovar moves towards the door again, finds his way back the way he had come in not an hour before and out into the night. Night well and truly fallen now, dark except for the orange glow of the tavern lantern lit beneath a swaying sign. Still and calm compared to the din which has picked up again inside the wall, squares of light illuminating patches of earthen road outside, trampled by hoof and boot.

Tovar is still clutching the ring. He slips it on over his head and tucks it beneath his cuirass and tunic and lets the little, warm thing sit there against his skin. Puts his hand over it, only a tiny bump beneath layers of linen and leather. He tries to remember the last time anyone gave him something, anything, simply for being.

He can’t.

The door swings open behind him. Tovar sighs and doesn’t have to turn to know who has followed him. Heinrich is a hulking man, larger than him, taller by almost a head and stronger. Thick arms and legs and a body like a barrel. There is blood on his shirt and in his beard, beginning to cake and dry into black clumps and stains Staring up at him now Tovar realises his mistake in picking this fight with him. But he can’t bring himself to regret it. Drops his hand from the spot near his heart and rests it against the hilt of his sword at his hip. Idle and easy, hoping he does not have to draw it. Heinrich has not drawn his or moved to do so. Just stares at him, breath clouding in the cooling autumn air. Puffs of anger dissipating into the darkness as they fade.

Neither of them moves.

Tovar turns again and makes for the stables. Has to lift his boots high out of the trodden path to clear the mud from every step so he does not slip. He can hear Heinrich following after him and keeps his hand on his sword. The stable boy is half asleep, slumped against the wall and jumps at the sound of boots through the mud. Tovar tosses him a bronze piece and winks, jerks his head towards the grain room at the back of the wooden structure. The boy stares at him, at the coin, and then spots Heinrich following him through the dark. Nearly slips as he passes between the settled horses and disappears into the hidden space. Tovar moves to his horse.

“You stupid man,” Heinrich says from the door.

Tovar pulls his saddle from its place on the wall. “You are the one with broken nose. Which one of us is really stupid?”

“It’s you, you fool.” Heinrich steps closer. “Another job you’re leaving. What about England? You refused that, and now you’re leaving this as well.”

“Travel by sea does not agree with me.”

“Horse shit.”

Tovar pulls at the straps of the saddle until they are tight at the front, straps the back around as well. Heinrich moves from the huge door of the stable closer to his stall, gets right up to it and blocks the way out. Lit by the lamp in the middle of the stable Tovar can see the deformed swelling of his broken nose. He does not stop in his task, fits the headstall over the mare with gentle hands.

“It’s that widow. You are weak with love for her.” Heinrich crosses his arms over his chest. “So weak you cannot take our work anymore.”

“Maybe I am sick of the sight of you, hmm?” Tovar throws his packs over the horses’ rump. Begins buckling them into the saddle. “Maybe I cannot stand you.”

“Never bothered you before.”

“You are jealous?” Tovar finally stops, turns to look at the huge man in the doorway. “Would you like for me to buy you necklace?”

“You are going to ruin this job for everyone.”

“Keep this job then.” He says. “I know I am not welcome now that I ruin your pretty face.”

Heinrich does not move when Tovar leads his mare forwards, stands blocking the whole doorway to the stall. Stares down his crooked nose at Tovar.

“Is it fighting you want?” Tovar asks wearily. He has one hand wrapped around the reins, the other pets the mare’s neck comfortingly. “Will we duel here in these stables in the shit and the dirt?”

Heinrich does not move, does not reach for his sword or flinch. He looks briefly at the face of the horse before him and then back to Tovar. Considers it, considers fighting him. His pale eyes roam the length of his body and back up. The air seems to grow thinner and thinner until finally Heinrich yields. He steps to the side, only just enough for them to fit through the space, Tovar brushes his shoulder against him as he walks. Leads the horse out into the wide middle of the stable and tucks his foot into the stirrup. Swings up and over. He looks down at the German before he leaves, now several feet taller than him. Heinrich watches him with a lowered brow and a grimace. Tovar clicks and pushes the mare out into the night.

The cottage is completely dark when he arrives in the deepest hours of the morning. The world cold and quiet, only the rustle of trees in the wind. The road had been long and empty and felt miles longer than when he had ridden it earlier the day before. But it was easier, because the road was leading back to you, thinks of how your body will feel beneath him when he arrives. Of the sounds you will make in the quiet, as loud as he will be able to encourage from you. He dismounts at the gate, clucks quietly to the horse as he leads it to your tiny stable. Shushes the mule inside when it wakes at the sounds. The animal quiets quickly under his touch. He means to move quickly, to settle his mare and go to you, to find you and the warmth of your touch and the heat of your body. To find his way to your sheets and lose himself in the feeling of you everywhere around him, the taste of you on his tongue. To fuck you so deeply into the sheets that the next day you will not be able to leave him. But he finds himself lingering with the animals. The occasional rustle of the hens, the smell of turned soil and growth. Of honeysuckle. His hand lingers at the necklace beneath his shirt. He is not as angry anymore, now that he is at the cottage.

He tends his horse, diligently and thoroughly. Murmurs his thanks to her, for carrying him hours in the morning and then through the night, with little rest. Dips into the grain bag you have stored in the makeshift stable and fill both the animal’s troughs. Pours more water from the spare bucket for them both. Sweeps the floor and tidies the space and finds himself calming with every stroke. Cleans until the dawn begins to lighten the heavy sky.

Inside it is quiet and still. He picks his way through the kitchen and into the bedroom. Can just make out the shape of your shoulder and the curve of your neck, illuminated in the dim. He seats himself, sets your working boots to the side where they sit by the door and slowly unlaces himself from his armour. Pulls off the layers of leather and padding and his boots. Leaves again to fill the wash basin and rinses his body, scrubs the dirt from the road from his hands and face. He would not bother, were it not for you, knows you will fuss over him is he does not. Does not want the smell of the day to linger in your sheets or on your skin. He empties the basin again through the window and onto the grass below. Sets it back carefully in its place and checks the room, checks he has not left anything which will trip you when you wake in too few hours with the call of the rooster in the yard. Feels something in his heart and his stomach settle at his small pile of things, stacked next to yours in the corner of the room. Realises he is too tired to wake you or fuck you. Wants nothing more than to sink into the bed beside you and sleep.

He settles his weight as gently as he can on the bed behind you. Tries not to jostle you. He murmurs your name softly and lets his hand rest just by his fingertips against the soft, exposed skin of your shoulder. You begin to stir, to shift slightly beneath the covers of the bed. He draws his fingertips around your shoulder once again and then down to your neck, shifts the hair away from it and bends to kiss the muscle between your neck and shoulder. You hum. Still half asleep. Turn towards him and sigh.

“Flor pequeña,” he murmurs. Presses his lips to your forehead now that you face him. Breathes in the smell of you.

You reach for him through the darkness. “Pero?”

“I am here. Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter open, just enough that your lidded gaze catches the shape of him. He begins to draw the covers away, slips beneath them while you make room for him in your arms, stretch them towards him until you find his undershirt, his wrist. Pull him to you as he lays with you in the bed. He moves a hand beneath you, his other over your hip, and he rests your body against his. You adjust to him, press your cheek to his chest and your lips against the small scar under his collarbone. Let him wrap himself around you and brush his fingers through your hair. He falls asleep to the softness of your breath on his skin and the faint feeling of your heart beating against his ribs.

You are gone when he wakes.

He feels so soft against the sheets he can barely move, can barely turn his head to see the brightness of the day streaming through the window. The sounds of work outside are close, knows you had been working your way through your small property in preparation for winter, that you must nearly be done to be back so close to the house. Hears the hens loose in the yard, right outside the window, clawing the soil and clucking. He closes his eyes again and smiles into the pillow.

He rises slowly, dresses slowly. Wanders around the room in just his trousers and undershirt, fiddles with the pendant he had worn through the night. Pulls it out now that it is bright and he can see, and inspects the surface of it. Sags when it is undamaged. Sits with it on the bed for some time, just listening to life around him, the smell of the cottage and of your skin which lingers in the space, watching the way the light moves across the gold surface. His chest aches with being so close to you, with knowing that you are just beyond the next room, and that if you will have him he will stay the day with you and the night again. And just like the night before he is happy just to be, to sit and be at peace.

He goes to find you, drifts through the cottage and out through the back of the kitchen, finds you kneeling in the garden and he waits in the small doorway, just to watch you and not yet be seen. You are humming while you work, a soft and pretty melody he has not heard before. He leans against the frame of the back door and listens to the sounds of it, the sound of your spade digging into the earth and turning it, sifting soil, and the clucking of the roaming hens, the sound of your voice. Not a voice which would perform before an audience, a voice which you are too shy to raise in other company, but has sung for him before. And now it has all the charm of someone who does not know they are watched or heard. Tovar thinks it is beautiful, that you are beautiful, covered in dirt and pink with exertion in the midmorning sun. You sing some of the words, words which are syrupy with sweetness, make promises of love and of eternity. Wonders if it was the kind of love you had with your husband before he died, this sort of gentle, beautiful thing which does not belong in his life. Which he has no right to claim.

He feels suddenly out of place, like there is something moving beneath his feet and he cannot escape it. Feels stupid for coming, for racing back to you, for sacrificing a job which would have yielded great reward. Stupid for seeking you when he has no place here in the cottage, touched by your hands which have only every made things grow and bloom with life. Touching you with his, hands which have killed.

He watches you for some time, quiet and still, until you fade from one song to the next, drifting between melodies. You fold out a handkerchief on the ground beside you, your skirts gathered all around you, and sift through the seeds which are encased inside. Tuck away a strand of hair which has come loose from your braid and continue to hum. He feels all at once as though he has no place and that he belongs there, with you, and he cannot regret returning, cannot regret waking in your bed. You turn to scoop some seeds from beside you and catch the sight of his feet in the doorway when you do. You turn, lay down your small spade and wipe your hands off against your apron.

“I thought I was dreaming last night,” you smile at him.

“No. Not dreaming.”

“I thought you said you would be gone for months. What of your job in the North?”

Tovar shakes his head, watches the way the sunlight paints you against the grass and the soil. Steps away from the doorway and down into the grass below. Moves slowly towards you. “It got called off,” he lies.

You hold up a hand, reach for him to join you. “I was very happy to wake with you still there. Normally when I dream you come back I have to wake to an empty bed. That is the worst of it.”

“You dream of me?” He stops just before you. Brushes your knuckles with his thumb.

The pink which fills your cheeks and your bashful smile glows. “Very often.”

He hums quietly and settles into the ground beside you. You fidget, nervous, catch his eye and then look away, at his mouth, his neck, his scar. You don’t flinch away at it, at him. Have pressed gentle kisses to it between pants of his name. So tender and soft. You reach for him now and thread your hands through his, let him lift you hand towards him and ghost his nose along your knuckles, lean close enough to press his lips to a cleaner spot further up your arm, clear of dirt. Nuzzle against the skin there and then pull away.

The words rise and lift and come all the way to the edge of his lips before he realises, they are there, waiting to be said. That Heinrich was right, and he is weak for you. And in love with you. That he had ridden through the night to return to your small cottage to tell you it.

“What do you dream of?” He asks.

You turn back to the garden, dig to distract yourself from his question. The small beds nearest your house are always the ones you tend last, dug up now in neat little rows before the change of the season to winter. You pat around the edges of your small ditches, each one next to a little pile of dirt to refill the hole. “I dream of all different things,” you say. “I dreamed of the day we met recently.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” You reach into your handkerchief of seeds and begin pinching them out, scattering them into the holes in the earth one at a time and carefully filling them back in again. “You bought tomatoes.”

“You gave me a flower.”

He does not say he had seen you many days before that, with your mule, walk to the marketplace with your goods. He does not say he had taken his time to finally come to talk to you, to work up the bravery to approach you. Had watched you from a distance from his camp and thought you were too pretty, too soft to want to talk to him.

You flush. “I thought you were very handsome.”

He hums thoughtfully, lifts his hand to wrap his fingers in a loose strand of your hair, twists it between them. Watches the way it curls around his knuckles. “I did not scare you?”

“No.” You turn back towards him, dirty hands fisted in your apron. Frowning. “No, you were kind to me. The other soldiers…” You glance down. “Some of them scared me. But you were… you were very gentle.”

“Not as gentle as I should have been.”

He sees you know his meaning. Watches the pretty way the colour in your cheeks darkens and you fidget away from his eyes. Even after he has known your body in so many ways, so many times since then. “It felt good,” you say quietly. “I liked it.”

He is quiet, rubs the strands of your hair between his fingers.

“My husband, he never… it used to hurt, sometimes. With him.”

“He hurt you?”

Tovar watches your eyes fall again. Embarrassed. Feels the heat of fury fill his chest even though your husband is now long dead, and there is no way to fix what he has done. No way to make him sorry for making his wife feel ashamed of admitting to pain. Ashamed of asking to be touched, of feeling pleasure. That even now, after a year, you are sometimes too nervous to make any sounds, to let yourself have release.

“He was not a bad man. He did not try to hurt me on purpose.” You are fiddling with the hem of your apron, picking at the spot where the seam is beginning to come lose. “He just did not know, I think. He didn’t know how to make me feel good.”

“And you never told him?” Tovar knows, he knows it is a stupid question. He knows you had been young when you married, had never had anyone to ask what was right and what was wrong. That your mother had made it very clear to you your duties as a wife. That you had followed them. And that you had loved your husband, despite his inadequacies. And it does not stop the feeling. That he wishes he could have changed it for you. Still angry at the man who had brought you pain, no matter how unintentional, or how small. His hand moves higher in your hair until it rests against your neck, finger tangle closer until they are against your scalp at the base of your head.

“I didn’t know it could feel…” You shiver, only slightly. He can only feel it where his hand sits against your skin. Sees your eyes glaze slightly at some memory. “I didn’t know it could feel how you make it feel.”

“You should never be with anyone who makes you hurt.” He is fierce. His fingers press into your scalp only slightly, but it is enough. Sees the goose bumps race along the trail of your neck and collarbones. “You must not allow anyone to hurt you. It is not right.”

“I don’t need anyone else.” He watches your quiet surprise as the words slip out. “I have you.”

He knows his face has gone slack with surprise, and you are a mirror of him. You had not meant to say those words to him, he can see it clearly, that you had felt too much and spoken too quickly. Nervous, the same look as when you had given him the pendant. The same look of expectant fear, as if he would ever reject you, as if he did not already love you with his whole heart, his whole soul. He surprises himself with the ferocity of his own feelings, with how suddenly he is overcome by them all. He is still staring at you, still quiet, and you begin to draw away.

“I’m sorry – ”

“Wait.” His hand in your hair turns to a soft fist, not tugging but holding you steady. “Do not be sorry for this.”

“I don’t – I don’t need anything in return. I don’t expect you to – to only… with me.” You search his eyes, are looking for something, but he does not know what. Does not know what to give you. “I don’t ask that of you.”

He loosens his fist, slowly, when he is sure you will not leave. Flattens his palm around the back of your neck, cups your head gently. His thumb rubbing small circles at the skin just behind your ear. His other hand holds the pendant hanging around his neck, burning a hole through his skin, joining the brand of your name he is sure must be on his heart. He holds it through the linen shirt, can feel the shape of it better through the thinner fabric. It is not hot, that is only in his mind. He can feel how hard his heart is beating. You are watching his eyes still, still searching. Are willing to give him so much and not ask for it in return. He has not told you his love for you, and you would let him leave you. He does not know what to give you, what he can give you that is equal to you.

“You do not need to ask this of me,” he says. “It is already yours.”

He wants, very badly, to kiss you. Wants to pull you against him and not let go. But instead he moves around the little bundle of seeds so he can hold you without disturbing them, settles behind you and wraps a leg either side of yours on the ground and pulls your back against him. Lets you lay your head back on his shoulder and sigh, sit your weight against him. He looks down as your eyes slip closed and you turn your face into his neck, tip your jaw up and brush your lips against his skin. His hands find yours, closes his eyes and gently holds your fingers with him, touches against your knuckles, the callouses at the base of your palm, outlines the shape of your hands with him thumb. Your lips are so soft, brush against his Adam’s apple, the tendon in his neck, the hollow above his collarbone, makes his stomach twist and his chest ache. Your lips brush against the chain of the necklace and your eyelashes flutter against his skin. You untangle one of your hands from his and dip it below the top of his shirt. Feel along the chain until you reach the ring hanging from it and pull it loose.

You sit away from him enough to see him. He looks down at you and your eyes lift to his, full of wonder. “You’re wearing it.”

“Of course.”

He still wants to kiss you. Is scared of what words he will not be able to stop when he does. So instead he keeps his eyes locked with yours and lowers his mouth to the ring in your hand, brushes a kiss against it. Reveals in the way your gentle eyes darken and your lips part.

“I didn’t know if you liked it.”

He smiles. Kisses the ring again and then clasps his hand around yours, turns it over. Kisses the skin at the inside of your wrist where it is not covered in dirt from your work. Kisses a little higher along your arm, and then again almost at the inside of your elbow. His eyes always on yours. Feels you shiver at his touch.

“I love – ” He gives one more chaste kiss over a spot where the blue of your veins show through your skin. Changes his mind, just at the last second. “ – It. I love it, flor pequeña.”

The smile you give him – it is as if he has given you the world. As if him caring for this little necklace made it worth what you must have sacrificed to buy it for him. He is so full of everything he does not know if he can hold himself together. He will love the pendant with everything inside him if it will just make you smile like that. Will wake you with kisses to remind you of it. Will maybe soon not be so weak with his love that he will tell you it is not the necklace at all, it is you. Your heart, your soul, that he wants, that he would give everything for.

You lean back against him, your hand resting against his chest and over your shoulder, not letting go of the necklace. He kisses them again and then wraps both arms around you. The sky is a clear blue, bright and cloudless. The tops of the trees all around the cottage sway in a light breeze. Still warm in the sun, despite the coming chill of winter.

You other hand is still wrapped in his, tightens around his fingers and you turn your head towards his neck again and press more kisses to his warm skin. Not chaste little pecks as they had been before, he can feel the heat of your open mouth against his neck, the wetness of it. Hums when you suck a mark right at the base of it, and then you press just one little kiss on top of it. He fists his hands into the skirts of your dress, and then slowly begins to pull at it, lifting them to expose first your ankles and then your calves. Watches the way your breath catches, your eyes almost fluttering open. He lifts the hem of your dress until it is bunches all around your thighs, so much fabric swallows both of you up, draped over his knees either side of you as well.

You continue to mark his neck, move with more purpose. Lap occasionally at him when you have sucked at the skin or bitten into it. His hand lifts the hem of your dress, slip beneath the fabric. Trails gently along your thighs until he finds your crux. Dips his fingers idly through the hair there until he reaches your clit. Circles it, almost lazily and you push back into him, trying not to pant. Trying not to show how much so little has affected you. Your mouth breaks from his neck and your head lulls back over his shoulder, exposing the length of your smooth neck. He smiles, enjoys the brightness of the sun illuminating the way your eyebrows pinch and your mouth drops open. Kisses your neck where he can reach it and moves his fingers down, parts your slit and presses against where you have become slick and wet. Draws the fluid up again and circles it around your clit. You arch, he feels your head dig into his shoulder, feels you begin to shudder against him. Your grip around the necklace so tight the chain bites into his skin.

“I missed you,” he says. Finally lets himself press his lips to yours.

You are breathless. “Only… only gone a day.”

He kisses you again, harder now. Tastes you on his tongue. “Still missed you.”

He speeds his fingers up until you keen, until your whine into his mouth. Until you are unable to kiss him back anymore, your mouth just fallen open against his. Your body locks up. He gathers more of your juices in his palm and spreads them over you, coats them around his fingers and pushes inside you. Pumps one long, thick finger in and out of your pulsing cunt until you are shifting and rolling your hips against his hand. Carefully pushes in a second finger and curls them up against your walls, searching until you cry out. You release the necklace. Your hands grab at his thighs, at his knees. Dig your nails into his pants and the skin beneath. Gasping and writhing against him. He wants to stop, to bring you back down and then build you back up, over and over, until you are sobbing. But he is still raw from the confession of your husband’s inadequacies, still furious that you had not always been treated with the reverence you deserved. He curls his fingers again and again while you buck, his other arm holding you around your shoulders, so you do not slip or fall. You come with a wet gasp of his name.

His lips rest against your temple as he holds you against him. Let’s you ride out the course of your orgasm with his fingers still inside you, occasionally curling into the spot that makes a tear slip from the corner of your eye and trail down to where his lips are against you. Kisses it away, kisses the corner of your eye and then your cheek. Feels the tremors of your body begin to lessen. He waits until you blink your eyes open slowly to pull his fingers from you, to carefully extract his hand from beneath your skirts and lift it to his mouth. He licks them clean completely while you watch.

You kiss him afterwards, the taste of yourself against your tongue. Breathe his name between your mouths, something soft and treasured. Soon he will have to leave again, will have to find some employment or job, because he cannot bear staying with you and giving you nothing. But until then he will hold you, and he will help on the property as much as he is able. And he will wake up every morning to your smile, fall asleep to it at night. Catch the sound of his name leaving your lips with his mouth. Ask you what word is inscribed inside the ring on his necklace. He feels your silent hum of satisfaction and holds you tighter.

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eorzean-tale · 3 years ago

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FFXIV Writing Challenge Prompt 26: Dream Mist

Part 9 of the Oaksong tale

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine

The magic that had given her darksight had long since worn off, so when he lit the alchemical lanterns in his basement workshop it no longer made her flinch. It bathed the room in enough light to easily read by, and yet still had a strangely cosy quality to it with its candle-like golden glow. They smelled nice as well, she noticed, but perhaps that was to be expected given the man’s profession, or one of his professions, at least.

He tutted playfully at the way she had left the place, even though Nareema was of the opinion that she had left everything the way she found it. The man was either being contrarian for the sake of it, or had a keener eye for details than even she had. To his credit, he didn’t seem to hold any true grudges for what she did to him though. The Au Ra woman supposed that when you live as long as Viera did, surprises like she sprung on him might be a welcome distraction from the daily grind. As long as you survived them, anyway.

It surprised her that he walked away from what she assumed his stores were, and in her haste to follow behind she missed whatever he did to make a secret entry open up in the wall furthest from the stairs. It prickled her professional pride, as she had checked for such but had found no sign of it. “This must open up into the basement next door,” she murmured, remembering the layout of not just his shop, but of the ones adjacent to it as well.

He nodded, not at all surprised by her observation. “It flooded, oh, about 20 years ago? It was such a mess that they just simply bricked it shut. It was easier for them than actually repairing the damage.”

“So you just did that for them?” Nameera wasn’t entirely sure that she believed him as she stepped into the second workshop. This one was just as roomy as the first, and if water had damaged the place there was no trace of it as far as she could tell. A quick glance up did show a bricked ceiling where the stairs should be, but perhaps his neighbour was more aware than he wanted to let on. This was where he conducted less savoury examples of his craft, after all. Maybe he simply didn’t want to implicate them.

The Viera man tapped on the lanterns spread around, bathing them in the same golden glow, before he seemed to forget she was there entirely. His focus was entirely on collecting components, which he neatly organized on a workbench. Doubt gripped her heart for a moment, as she had based her theory of uninvolvement on what she had, or more precisely hadn’t, found in his workshop. Obviously she had missed a few things, though. Was he toying with her?

“Poisons that leave no trace are a myth,” he suddenly said, snapping her out of the mental spiral she had been rapidly plummeting down into. “I know,” Nameera replied. “If you have the knowledge and tools, all of them leave traces. Though those are oft carefully guarded trade secrets, no?” A nod confirmed what she already knew. “I’m curious to learn how you know so much about this topic. It’s clear you must have a background in Alchemy yourself.” His light lavender eyes searched her face, as if he could gleam the secrets from the way she conducted herself. Nameera just smiled, not bothering with a reply.

Seeing that he wouldn’t get any more from her, at least not on that topic, he pointed towards his ingredients. “Any one of these could be mixed into a draught that can kill a grown Spoken, from the smallest Lalafell to even someone as massively built as a Hrothgar. Black Dragon will stop a heart,” he continued, gesturing to the ingredients used to make the dangerous concoction, “But it will blacken the edges of the victim’s nails. I don’t think you would have missed that?”

She frowned as she shook her head, feeling almost insulted by the very notion of having him explain such to her. To emphasize that she really didn’t need him to spell out everything, Nameera pointed to another set of ingredients. “Ishgardian High Tea will leave traces of a minty smell on their breath, and Hemlock Lilly kills far slower and far more painfully.”

“Wish that you would have led with that to seduce me, a woman who knows her poisons sure gets the blood running hot,” he replied with a laugh, but when she turned to glare at him she saw genuine admiration in his eyes. It took her aback enough to sullenly admit that she didn’t know what the last ingredients were for. With a sharp nod of the head, they were indicated. “Ah, those are from my homeland. Very rare so far from the jungle, and very deadly when ingested. It’s normally used as a mist, to put intruders to sleep.” A rueful smile came to his lips as he continued: “Wish you would have known about it, for they wouldn’t have given me quite such a headache as whatever it is that you did use..?”

Nameera ignored the bait, and just gestured to him to continue. “It does what you describe, in that it kills suddenly and quickly if someone were to ingest it. It’s even tasteless and odourless to anyone who isn’t a Viera. That said, it’s also a closely guarded secret of my people, and not even I would sully their legacy by selling it for profits. I’d need to inspect the body of one of the victims to know for sure, but I find it very unlikely that this is what you’re looking for. None of my stock is missing either. I’m far from the only Viera in Radz-at-Han, mind, but it’s not common for even those still loyal to the Green Word to know how to make it, let alone those of us that… Well.” He shrugged as his hand shot to the pendant around his neck again, regret and longing clear on his expressive features.

“We need to rule it out, just in case,” Nameera told him not unkindly. She didn’t know why the man had left his homeland and his people behind, if it had ever been his choice to begin with, but she understood all too well what it was like to have doors behind you that were closed forever. For better or worse. “To the mortuary then,” he replied, making it sound like they were going on some sort of exciting date. “And maybe then you can tell me about that pendant, hm?”

#FFxivWrite2021 #ffxivwrite #FFXIV

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ladynightmare913 · 4 years ago

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Secrets of the Darkened Seas

Welcome to Chapter 4! I would like to say a special thank you to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff ) for inviting me to work on this story with her. As you may have notice, we have decided to change on how we release the chapters of our story. We will be alternating from my blog to @asunshinepuff‘s blog.

These chapters contain many original characters created by Olivia and myself. All credit for our creations goes to each other for our respective characters because we have both work so hard to bring these characters to live and I would never dare to take credit for any of Olivia’s characters.

Small warning, there is a funeral in this chapter. If you have any questions, feel free to send an ask!

As always there is mermaid lore hidden within the storyline. The included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We are taking no credit for her work. The different types of mermaids will be explained later so don’t worry. We have also taken the liberty of creating some of our own original types of merfolk.

Now without further adieu!

Chapter 4: Honoring The Fallen

The voyage back to Swansea in West Wales was somber. The Captain hardly said anything more than a sentence. Remus would sit on a barrel next to the railing of the ship, watching the sea for hours. Quinn and Opal took over caring for the young Black Heir in the midst of taking over some of the Captain’s duties whilst Min-Jun was focused on preparations and work.

Newt and Tina took it upon themselves to care for the two mers, to try to calm them down. There was some progress, but the older mermaid refused to part with the younger mer child.

It took all of two days, the Dragon’s Pearl made port, and Min-Jun ordered the crew to finish the preparations before he left the ship in First Mate Scamander’s command. Normally the trip back home would bring Remus a strange sense of nostalgia, but now he felt only dread.

He watched Min-Jun, dressed in a white coat with black pants and boots, walk down the loading dock. A heavily pregnant woman wearing a brown dress with her hair tied into a bun walked towards him with a smile.

“I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes… ” Opal stood beside Remus. She was dressed in a royal blue button up shirt which was tucked into her black slacks and brown boots. In addition, she wore a moonstone pendant necklace and a wide sword with a blue sheath was at her side.

Remus said nothing as he watched. The woman’s face began to pale, her head began to shake, her hand covered the pained gasp that escaped her lips. Min-Jun stood perfectly still.

The woman began to sob hysterically, she began to fall from despair, Min-Jun gently caught her before she could read the ground. Min-Jun spoke to the weeping woman. Quinn joined Opal and Remus.

“She’s so young to be a widow…” Remus spoke softly.

“He died too young…” Was the only answer Quinn could give.

The Captain sat with the pregnant widow on the ground for a few more minutes before he spoke once more, the woman nodded her head in response. Slowly, Min-Jun lifted the woman to stand, gently taking her arm as he guided her aboard the ship. Opal stepped forward.

“We have a gown if you would like to change.” Opal took the hand Min-Jun held, giving a small smile. Opal walked in step with the young mother-to-be who only nodded her head as Opal led her to the cabins.

“Are the preparations complete?” The Captain asked his First Mate.

“Yes, we are weighing anchor now.” Quinn replied with a curt nod.

Min-Jun only nods his head in acknowledgement before he leaves to his chambers. Quinn exhales slowly, turning to carry on with the remaining tasks. Remus joined the rest of the crew in setting up the banquet.

The ship sailed out to sea, and just when the sun was beginning to set, they lowered the anchor, they stopped. Lanterns were lit all around the ship, gold and white streamers made of cloth hung on the masts and staircases. A life boat was placed at the center of the ship, Ethan’s body rested inside. He was cleaned, and dressed in simple white garments. He looked peaceful. Like he was only asleep.

Mirissa, Ethan’s widow, sat silently by her still husband’s side. Her hair had been let loose from her bun, flowing gently on the warm summer breeze. Her grey eyes staring lovingly at his face, her fingers gently brush against his cheek. She was dressed in a white gown that matched her husband’s. It was not a usual funeral, but she was thankful for different colors instead of the grim black.

Remus stood beside Opal on the left side with the crew, dressed in a black shirt, dark grey pants and dark brown boots. Replacing his treasured blue scarf around his waist was a white sash in honor of tradition. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the peaceful face of his fallen friend.

Opal had changed, for she was now dressed in a simple black attire consisting of a long sleeved blouse, slacks and boots. Her light brown hair was tied up in a french braid, a white ribbon interlacing the folds. In addition, she wore a moonstone pendant necklace which brought the only contrast to her outfit.

Newt and Tina stood beside each other, close to Remus and Opal. Tina was dressed in a black blouse with a black long flared skirt and black flats, her black hair was pulled up into a high bun. Newt was dressed in a dark grey coat, with a black shirt and slacks with dark brown boots as he silently watched the crew gather to begin the funeral.

The First Mate was dressed in a dark blue coat with gold embellishments, a black shirt, slacks and boots as he stood beside the Captain. His sword was sheathed at his side as usual, the only hint of his signature red in sight.

The Captain stood beside Mirissa and Quinn, in a white coat with black pants and boots. A gold sash across his waist, his sword at his side. He only looked at Ethan's pale face. A pastor walks next to the lifeboat, opposite of where the three stood, and invites everyone to gather to the funeral. Min-Jun gently prodded the pregnant woman to stand, hold her steady as she rose to her feet.

No one really paid attention, at least Remus didn’t. He only listened when the pastor mentioned Ethan’s life. How he had been an orphan, and taken in by Min-Jun and Quinn. Raised on the Dragon’s Pearl, and helped save many people who were attacked by pirates. How Ethan was a vibrant and kind soul who died too soon. Leaving behind a wife and child he will never know. Remus silently cursed the Blacks.

After mass, the eulogy done by Captain Hua and First Mate Scamander, and a few stories shared by Quinn, Opal, and some of the crew. The funeral mass concluded to an end, yet the funeral was still not over. Without a command, four crewmen lifted the lifeboat with a pulley, ropes were tied to the hooks. Another crew member gently pushed the boat over the railing of the ship, the life boat slowly lowered to the water.

Captain Hua looks down to Mirissa, grabbing the bow offered to him by the pastor.

“It’s time.”

Mirissa nods her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks quickly. Min-Jun gently guides her to the side of the ship where the lifeboat began to float away. The captain doesn’t rush the young widow. No one dares. Everyone stays silent, swaying gently as the waves rocked the ship. For a moment, Mirissa’s posture changes, she takes the bow and sets her feet into position. She was ready now.

Quinn lights the tip of the arrow, igniting it aflame, then gives the arrow to Mirissa. She drew the arrow back, and in that moment, memories of Ethan flood her mind. His gentle words, his boisterous laugh, the way his hair could not stay neat. How his face broke into a smile when she told him she was with child. Her arms begin to waver as tears begin to fall. Her body trembles.

Min-Jun moves to stand behind her, gently steadying her aims. His presence calms her immensely. With a weak sob she looks back to the boat that was floating farther away. She wants to send him off with one of her brightest smiles. He loved her smile. As she pulls the string to her chest, Min-Jun helps steady her hands. She releases her breath. She releases.

The arrow flies gracefully across the sky. Landing on its mark. A few moments pass before the whole boat is lit aflame. Min-Jun takes the bow from her hands, stepping back to give her space. She continues to watch the boat burn. The crew lower their heads to their fallen brother.

Remus watches the bright flames from the boat that reflect on the surface of the dark sea. It was not fair.

“Remus.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Remus turned to look to the voice who called him. Newt stood beside him, watching the setting sun leave its final rays of sunlight before it sank into the horizon. He simply hands Remus a book.

Remus takes the book into his hands, his thumb gently brushing against the letters of Fantastic Nautical Creatures, by Newt Scamander.

“I want you to look after it.”

Remus’ head snapped up to meet the older Scamander’s gentle gaze. “What?”

Newt takes a deep breath, this wasn’t easy for him to do. “That book is my life’s work, and people won’t stop coming after it. It does not belong to people who wish to exploit the knowledge I collected over the years. And they found me, it’s no longer safe with me anymore.”

“I understand that. But why me? Why not with Quinn?” Remus frowns.

“Quinn is a target simply because he is my son. He knows some of the contents. But no one would know who you are, or that you have the book.” Newt smiled softly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I know that you will do what's right to ensure that no one gets their hands on this book. Burn it if you must.”

“But- it’s your life’s work?! I can’t just burn it should the need call for it!”

“Yes you can. I have faith in you. Even if all that’s left is ash, all its content is in our minds. It will never truly be lost.” Newt turns his head to look at his wife. “You can update it, I’m sure there are many things I still haven’t learned.” He looks to Quinn. His eyes become filled with sorrow. “Tina and I are going into hiding. Quinn knows.”

Remus didn’t know what to say, he understood why they were going into hiding, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Newt Scamander had asked him to guard the book. How can someone be this trusting? He has hardly known him for long….

Wait. That sounded familiar. It was exactly what he had thought when Quinn offered him the chance to join The Dragon’s Pearl. So Quinn gets it from Newt. This was all so sudden and too much, how could he become the book’s guardian? Add his own updates? What had he done to gain the Scamander’s trust this easily?

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best.” Remus gave the older Scamander a small smile.

The reception was full of merry music, there was nothing left of the banquet by the time dawn arrived. Some of the crew were passed out drunk, while others began to clean up the deck. Captain Hua had informed the crew that he would be accompanying Ethan’s wife back to the mainland, where she would return to live with her parents, and deliver the Scamanders to a temporary safe house, He would return in a few days. Quinn was left in command.

And so they waited by the mainland. Opal continued to care for the mers, Remus would join her whenever she would go to check on them. They learned that the older mermaid’s name was Brielle, after she had calmed down.

She was just barely beginning to trust them. The younger mer child was her brother, who Greyback mercilessly threatened to cut the child’s tail with his cutlass. The child was a boy, Tadase. And Remus could honestly say that being around the little mer child made the ache in his heart ease for a few hours at least.

Quinn looked after Regulus, the Black’s second heir. Remus also went to check on the young boy who was awfully skinny, and barely responsive.

“Why don’t we introduce Tadase to him?” Opal suggested. “He might perk up around someone close to his age.”

“Would Brielle let us is the real question. She barely trusts us.” Quinn responded with a shake of his head. And for good reason.

In the end, Brielle consented to allow her tiny brother to play with Regulus who was only a few years older than Tadase. Regulus was cautious, his soft black hair and storm grey eyes contrasted strongly from his pale skin. He would always search for traps in everything. Whether or not he could eat, sleep, or play without getting into trouble.

Remus’ heart ached for the small boy. Regulus was slow to accept Tadase’s easy friendship. Tadase was a soft spoken child, gentle with everything he did. It was adorable to watch Tadase shift uncomfortably in the clothes provided to him, and learning how to walk. Tadase would simply smile and try again.

Only on the third morning did the two boys become friends. Brielle was always watching them close by. Tadase had given Regulus his tears, blue pearls as a sign of friendship. Regulus only stared in amazement at the beautiful pearls. He wailed.

Tadase had been panicked at the sudden tears of the older boy, gently pulling him into an embrace. Remus wrote into Newt’s book about the blue pearls. He would ask about the color later.

The ship stayed motionless on the water as The Dragon’s Pearl waited for her captain’s return for three days. It was the fourth night now, since the funeral. Quinn stood in as Captain, sailing around the Bristol Channel.

Remus leaned on the railing as he stared at the docks on the mainland. He looked back to the deck to see the two boys sleeping on deck on top of a blanket. Regulus curled on his side while Tadase tucked to his side. Remus’ gaze softened at the sight of them. He looked back to the mainland.

The muffled sound of footsteps caught Remus’ attention. There was no one on deck besides a few of the crew who were eating silently, and the soft breaths of the sleeping children. Remus’ eyes narrowed. He turned around and nearly jumped back when a man landed on top of the very railing Remus had been leaning against, a rope in his hand, probably from his ship that Remus had failed to spot in the dark night.

A tall young man was dressed in a loose dark blue shirt, black trousers, and black boots. He would have thought him truly a handsome man, who had most likely left many women swooning for him. If he did not have that smirk upon his face that clearly meant trouble. Remus glared. The man had raven black hair that fell just on his neck, fair skin, and stormy blue eyes that twinkled in mirth as he smirked directly at Remus. Remus knew those eyes. He had seen them on Regulus.

“Sirius Black!”

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #quinn scamander #min-jun hua #opal teresi #newt scamander #tina goldstein #brielle #tadase #regulus black #asunshinepuff ocs #our ocs #cw funeral #pirate captian #pirate and mermaid au #ladynightmare ocs

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pinkesthoney · 4 years ago

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Howling at the Full Moon (pt 1)

Summary: Basically I’m hopped up on pre-full-moon-month energy and had to write something. You are Commodus’ date to a party wearing this dress posted by @it-vexes-me. He drives himself crazy giving you wine to try and food to eat.

Warnings: Dirty talk, suggestive themes but no smut yet!!

Pairing: Commodus x F!Reader

Commodus almost couldn't bear the sight before him: you were (barely) wrapped in a gown made of fine black silk and a smooth gold ring. He had half a mind to demand you go and change until he saw how your eyes were absolutely glowing with pleasure.

He couldn't take away anything that made you this happy, even if it means he'll be snarling and glaring at any man who dares come within ten feet of you all evening–not that he wasn't usually possessive anyway.

30 minutes earlier. . .

"...Mistress, your dress has just arrived." the ancilla was very sweet, and very considerate about interrupting you while you were engulfed in painting. You glanced over, giving her a warm smile and waving her in along with the servus carrying the new package.

"Ah at last!! Ooh I am so excited for this one! Oh dear, will I have time to clean this mess off do you think?" you asked, looking down at the paint smudged all over your hands and arms.

"Certainly Miss, I'll fetch some hot water;." She reassured you, taking the dress from the servus and sending him off to go bring some boiled water. In the meantime she filled your bronze clawfoot tub partway with the water from the aqueduct. She helped you out of your paint stola and into a dressing robe. Quickly, the servi returned with the hot water and you were submerged in blissfully warm water, washing away the marks of your work.

After bathing, your ancilla helped anoint your skin with some crocus-infused olive oil. When you'd made sure your skin was glowing and soft as could be, you gleefully unwrapped your new dress, your ancilla giddily watching over your shoulder.

"Oh isn't it just magnificent?" you purred, letting it hang before you. "Do you think my Emperor will like it too? Not that it would change my opinion–but it would be a perk." you mused.

"Yes, Empress, I think he will be most...captivated." she giggled. With her help, you maneuvered into the luxurious silk.

"Ooh it's cold! thank gods it’s a warm night. mmm I can just hear the cicadas now." You felt goosebumps jump up on your skin both at the breeziness of the garment itself and the cold metal that kissed your skin from rib to hip.

You and your ancilla giggled together as she finalized your hair. You had her make it appear purposefully relaxed, framing your face gently without appearing over-styled.

Yes, you looked divine and you couldn't wait to steal the attention of every guest tonight. You had a knack for simultaneously being the center of attention without ever acknowledging it.

You dismissed your ancilla with a warm smile. You let yourself luxuriate it the power you felt. Your skin tingled with the cool metal, slick silk, and smooth as butter feeling of your oiled skin. It was divine.

This is how your emperor found you–stroking your hands gently along your exposed rib and across your collarbone. You glowed in the candle light, offset by the rich black silk and shining gold. He fell even more in love with you, just seeing you enjoy yourself so freely.

Commodus loved how innocently joyous you were. Like you'd never been hurt by the world–though he knew otherwise. You shone with some internal light, only accentuated by the candles.

"My Princess, you outshine the stars. Do you not think they will be jealous?" Commodus purred in his low timber, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms firmly around your waist, pulling you into his warm, sturdy body. He protected you in all ways, even when there was no threat present. That's why you could be so open and giddy.

"Well then, my King, kiss me for luck and I'll not fear their ire." You purr, leaning your head back, exposing your neck to him and letting Commodus swoop down and claim your lips. You let yourself melt into his hold.

"I can do you one better, my dear. See what I've brought for you here from Greece" as he said this he produced a delicate gold-link necklace with a blue eye pendant. Commodus knew you were firm in the spiritual realm and were always conscious of protecting yourself, so he'd found the most trusted mystics of his time, who had all recommended you wear a Nazar. The blue eye was found in many cultures and thought to ward off jealous thoughts and curses.

"It's perfect, thank you." You were smiling brightly as he draped the necklace around your neck. His hand lingered for a moment, not choking you, just holding you against himself. You could feel exactly how he felt about your dress and it delighted you.

"My King, I'm quite excited to make our appearance tonight." You giggled, gently prodding him to restrain himself... for now.

"I can't say I'm not dreading it in part. Those men will have eyes like wolves. But that will just give me all the more liberty to show them exactly who holds your heart." He huffs against the nape of your neck. He's tempted to make a mark of some kind but thinks better of it. That would be a bit juvenile...maybe. He forces his mind elsewhere before he can consider it further.

"Ah, should we go, my moon?" He asks, voice just a bit strained.

"If it pleases my Emperor" You respond, feigning over-sweetness, knowing it would make him laugh. You loved his laugh–and it also took some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Together you made your way to the large peristyle, your hand linked in the crook of his arm. You entered the garden and was taken away yet again by the way the plants danced in the warm lantern light. Tonight the garden was filled with members of the patrician and equite classes along with artists whose patrons invited them to show off their work.

You loved nights like this that showed off the side of Rome you loved. The art and those who supported it in full bloom. Like your Emperor had predicted, glances rippled through the crowd as your appearance become known.

You felt Commodus' hand on your side tighten. You were sure by the time the night was through you'd have his handprint tattooed on your skin.

You loved Commodus for many reasons, one of which is how he doesn't try to pull you away from your thoughts and into the relatively dull conversations he has to politely endure thanks to his role as Emperor. Instead he just glances at you adoringly and supplements your responses whenever absolutely necessary. If there’s a conversation he knows would interest you, he knows how to gain your attention. Meanwhile you let yourself be swept from conversation to conversation by Commodus' guiding arm as you marvel at the colors, smells, tastes, and art of the evening.

You get lost often in the feeling of the night air on your skin and Commodus' warm palm pressing into you. Every now and then, Commodus will press a glass of sweet wine to your lips for you to taste. More often, he will press a morsel of meat, cheese, or fruit to your lips. When he does, you're sure to lick and suck the pads of his fingers. This always causes him to close his eyes in bliss, but the noises he makes have become progressively more needy.

First he barely even let out a sigh but that was hours ago. By now he's practically moaning at every occasion. He's torn between not feeding you anymore, so as to save himself this torture. But he's an addict. Not just for the feel of your lips, but the delightful noises of pleasure you make, the way your eyes shine just for him. So he continues, and he thanks the gods his armored waist hides how you are making him feel–not that his moans are that cryptic.

You could feel the tension in him building as the night went on and were eager to reach the end of it too, knowing Commodus was the best lover after a long period of denial. The longer the better as something inside Commodus snapped and his primal nature was given full reign.

You could see the lanterns dimming and guests making their goodbyes. With each one Commodus grew more and more tense. As Emperor, he could do as he liked, but you'd persuaded him that it might be a nice gesture to see each guest out. He was now regretting his agreement to do so.

Commodus was a live wire and you absorbed all that energy, which manifested in you giggled brightly and running your nails up his neck into his hair. When the last guest has said their goodbye, Commodus practically carried you back to your shared bedchamber.

He growled a terse order at your guards that no one was to enter. He would never leave you unprotected. The guards would remain outside your doors. As a couple, you were far from shy and your safety was priority anyway.

Entering the chamber, he dropped you heavily on the bed. He stood at the foot of the four-poster looking down at you like a wild animal that had been denied his prey one too many times. "Now. Since you've seen fit to taunt me endlessly with that divine mouth of yours, I think it's only fit to return the favour–wouldn't you agree?"

Stay tuned for part two ;)

#commodus x reader #commodus #emperor commodus

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ldrmas · 4 years ago

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Part 2

A Pirates Life for Me: A Beetlejuice Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2 Part 1 Here - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647682697685237760/part-1 Character sheet for those who have questions - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647688946637324288/pirates-characters

- Please leave a comment or a reblogg telling me what you think. Again if there is dialogue that is a repeat of the movie I am not taking claim to it, I’m just admitting I’m not smart enough to come up with something better. Obliviously this whole plot and lines do not belong to me, they belong to the mouse, I’m just commandeering them for the story, savvy? But still enjoy, me hearties! -

“Come here, boy!”

“Come on please.”

“I have a nice juicy bone for ya.”

“Come here.”

Beej rolled his eyes as he leaned against one of the walls of his cell. One of his arms was across his chest while the other was what he was using as a cushion since the stone of the prison was unforgiving with its icy bite and he had already been cold enough today. “You lot can do that forever and the dog will never move.”

“Forgive us for not giving up and resort’ng ourselves to the gallows ‘ust yet.” One of the prisoners scoffed before they went back to calling for the mutt who held a large ring of keys within his jaws. Beej huffed at them before settling back against the wall. He couldn’t bother with them, though he did wish for some peace and quiet so he could think of an escape of some sort. He wasn’t looking forward to the gallows either, not that the lads behind him had to know that.

“There you go, Miss.” Barbara said as she slid the bed warmer under the several blankets that were tucked over the lady of the house. Lydia had been escorted home after Commodore Strong had asked her for the millionth time if she was alright. A bath had been immediately drawn for her and only when she had four cups of tea in her did her father cease his fussing. It was when he left the manor to return to the fort, did she feel that she could finally breathe.

“It was quite the day for you for sure.” Her maid went on and Lydia put down her book as she leaned back against the pillows. She merely smiled as the day flashed about her thoughts before she hummed.

“Well truth be told I suspected the Commodore to propose, but I still wasn’t entirely prepared for it.” Literally and figuratively, apparently. The more she thought of it, the more she was convinced that her body had been waiting for him to ask the question before she had lost consciousness, just so she wouldn’t have to answer. It made her laugh as she was sure that wasn’t the case, but she couldn’t help wishing it was just that.

“Miss, I meant you being apprehended by that pirate, it sounds dreadful.” Barbara added as she shuffled along the blankets making sure they were secure around her Misses. Lydia’s face fell as she suddenly remembered that she had indeed been in the arms of a pirate today.

“Oh…” Lyds commented as she nodded recalling the roughened hands pressing into her skin. His honey tone of mockery echoing in her pierced ear. Then those eyes. The description she had read about had failed to mention how haunting and beau- “Yes, it was …it was dreadful.” It wouldn’t do to finish that thought it was better to let the thoughts go.

“But the Commodore proposed!” Barbara gushed excitedly. “Now that’s a smart match, Miss, if it’s not too bold to say.”

“It is…” Lydia replied as she settled against the bed, but her eyes didn’t hold any excitement, nor did any part of her. She sighed as she realized she would eventually have to give Berthold an answer, if she could even figure out an answer to give. “He’s a …well he’s what every woman should imagine to marry.”

“Well, if I may,” Barbara hummed as she double checked that the lantern was good for the night. “…that Dominic Orion, he’s a fine man who fancy’s you as well.”

“Ha,” Lydia giggled as she rolled her eyes and good naturally shook her head. She closed her book losing disinterest in it as she fixed her maid with a dispassionate gaze. “Yes, Dominic is kind, but I don’t feel what he feels for me. He’s more my brother than anything. If those two are my choices of who is supposed to take my hand, then I rather not make the choice at all.”

“Yes, Miss.” Barbara nodded letting her misses have her thoughts despite how innocent they may be. She would have to marry at some time, and it might do her better to marry the fellow whom she considered her brother than a man she had no feelings for at all. It wasn’t her place to say so instead she left the room after bidding the lady a final goodnight.

Once she was alone Lydia sighed and plucked at the gold coin she was still wearing. She fiddled with it as she recalled the pirate had an interest in it. Why? Why did he care about a thing that was surely small compared to untold treasures he had seen in his life? He had looked he might have ripped it right off her neck had he been given the chance. She didn’t understand it and that made her all the more curious about what had happened today.

She suddenly resided from her thoughts as she realized the light was flickering. Her eyes traveled to her lantern that was indeed filled with enough oil for the night but as she squeezed the pendant in her hand the flame went out as if someone had purposely blown it out. There was no explanation for it and the air ceased in her lungs as an eeriness fell over not only her but the whole of Port Royal.

Well, that couldn’t be good.

The Commodore and Governor Deetz slowly walked along the walls of the fort. The Governor had returned for he wished to let Bert know that Lydia was indeed alright, also to continue talking with him for he hadn’t many chances at the party earlier that afternoon.

“Has Lydia given you an answer yet?” Charles casually asked with a gentle smile.

“No, not yet.” Bert replied as he sighed but returned the smile to the older man.

“Well, it’s been a difficult day for her. This ghastly weather is the fitting ending to such a day, don’t you agree?”

“It is bleak, indeed.” Bert nodded as he took a moment to fall back, glancing out to the dark water.

“What is that?” They both heard a faint whistle not instantly understanding what it was, but Bert jerked the Governor to the ground as a cannon ball struck the fort just behind him. He completely covered Charles’s body with his own and only when it was safe, he sat up again calling out orders to return fire.

“It can’t be…” Beej gasped as he jerked up from the perch in his cell, jumping to the barred window and looking down into the Cove of Port Royal. He was thankful that the window had a perfect view and his lips curled high as he was able to make out the black ship that nearly blended into the ocean that was colored coal from the dark night.

“My Kali…” He whispered as he watched the ship sent cannon shot after shot to the town and the fort.

“It’s the Kali!” One of the prisoners asked before he whimpered the name as he heard the Captain talk about the ship. They didn’t have a window like Beej did but there was nothing from stopping them from hearing the repeated cannon fire. “I’ve…I heard stories, she’s been preying on settlements ‘n ships for nearly ten years. Never leaves any survivors.”

“Ask yourself this, mate, where the stories come from if there be no survivors?” Beej mocked as he reluctantly took his eyes off the ship for just a moment to acknowledge the idiot prisoner behind him.

“Huh…”

Port Royal never stood a chance as the town was blasted to bits from the cannon fire. It hit every building, every structure, everything that was put together was blown apart. Men, woman, children scattered crying out and screaming into the dark night hoping to just possibly survive.

The cries of the town echoed all the way up to the fort where the navy was returning fire.

“Stash the muzzle flash. Stephen, more cartridges on the double man.” Bert commanded, before he stepped to Charles’s side touching his shoulder. “Governor, barricade yourself in my office.”

They ducked as a blast interrupted them before Bert growled. “That’s an order.” Charles gasped in deep fear but then nodded, knowing there wasn’t any way he could argue. He moved across the fort taking refugee in the office reluctantly.

Then it got worse as on the shoreline several boats filled with pirates stormed upon the sandy beach. They were here to raid pillage and destroy while two were on a special mission to find what their captain had demanded. A small shiny, invaluable to pirates despite its size.

Pirates flooded the streets and the ship circled around in the cove until it was further out and raining cannon fire down upon the fort. The people that weren’t lucky enough to get away from the damage of the cannon balls, they were attacked by blades of the pirates.

Dominic ran out into the streets grabbing axes and two swords from the shop, hoping to help. He threw an axe at a pirate that was chasing a screaming woman, it lodged into his back killing him. The pirate crumpled, giving the woman a chance to get away, Dom grabbed the axe before he jumped back into the fray.

Lydia ran out to the balcony of the house seeing the ship and the fort locked in an impasse of exchanging cannons neither willing to give up. She gasped as a lot of pirates stormed at the manor’s gates, having no difficulty with throwing it open and rushing to the door of the home. She ran back inside just as the pirates were knocking at the door. One of the butlers was walking across the foyer and sadly, just as Lydia screamed at him ‘Don’t!’, he already had and a gun went off. The butler landed back deader than a nail and Lydia shrieked at watching him die.

“Up there.” One of the pirates pointed at her. Lydia instantly took off for her room slamming the door closed and locking it. She was about to run into her main sleeping quarters when she ran into Barbara, they both screamed while her maid clutched onto her.

“The-They’ve come to kidnap you, Miss!”

“What?”

“You’re the governor’s daughter.” Lydia’s eyes widened but she jumped as the door rattled, the pirates were about to get through. “They haven’t seen you, so hide and the chance you get run to the fort.”

Then Lyds turned running back along the room just as she did the pirates broke through the barrier tumbling into the seating room and just catching the girl running into the next space. The shorter one gave chase but as he came to the threshold Lydia slammed the bedwarmer right into his face. Barbara ran through the door as she figured she wouldn’t get another chance.

The taller pirate captured the warmer’s handle before Lydia could swing it at him. They struggled until Lydia pulled the mechanism and hot embers fell upon the pirate like black rain. He screamed and jerked about as she dropped the heavy iron object then ran past them both.

“Hot, it’s hot. She burned me!”

“Come on!” The other pirate pulled him so that they both could give chase. One chased her down the stairs while the other jumped the landing trapping her upon the steps. There were other pirates about the home ransacking it for anything of value. A cannon was shot aimed perfectly at the house and it soared through the air hitting the nameless pirate and piles of gold in his arms square on. It was enough to weaken the support of the chandelier, so Lydia bolted passed one of the pirates as it crashed upon the floor, running into the dinning room.

She barred the door and instantly grabbed at the swords plaque that was above the fireplace, only it just decoration. The swords she hoped to use as defense wouldn’t budge so her head snapped around the room and then dove for a hiding place just as the pirates kicked passed her improve lock.

The two marched into the room one pointed at the opening window figuring they would have to chase her through the gardens yet the shorter one grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“We know you’re here, lassie.” He called out to the space. He slowly looked about the room while his friend remained quiet besides him. “Come out and we won’t hurt’cha. You have something that belongs to us, Lass. It calls to us.”

Lydia glanced down at the necklace. This. This thing brought them here. Why what was going on. “The gold calls to us.” Her hiding space went dark and she snapped her gaze up as the pirate was grinning right at here through the crack of the door.

“There ya are, Lass.” The doors opened and Lydia dropped the necklace as one word fell from her lips.

“Parley!”

The shorter of the pirates had pointed a gun to her hoping to shoot her but paused at the word. He glanced at his companion, but his gaze quickly went back to the lass. “How do you-”

“I invoke the right of parley!” Lydia repeated as she stood defiantly against the two, her palms shaking at her sides. “According to the Code of the Brethren composed by pirates Bartholomew and Morgan, you are now to take me before your captain.”

“I know the Code!” The smaller one growled as he was still confused on how a lady such as herself could recite the basic rules of the code as well as an old sea salt.

“Drop your weapon, then.” Lyds added as she glanced at the barrel of the pistol he was holding. “You know as well as I do, you can not harm me until the parley is complete.”

“To hell with the Code, Poppy, let’s just-”

“We must honor the Code, Vince, ain’t that right, Lassie? You want to go to the captain, fine, then you’ll come with us without a fuss.” Lydia complied as they grabbed at her and she could only hope they wouldn’t be hit by cannon fire before they made it to the ship.

“Watch out!” Beej yelled as he jumped from the window to the far end of the cell shoving his arms over his head. A cannon burst through the wall of the jail, shattering the stone wall as if it were simply paper, debris scattering like cockroaches along the floor.

Beej shook out his head, the explosion left a deep ringing in his brain, but dread filled him as he noticed the position of the new crater. The prisoners in the next cell over hollered in joy as one by one they climbed out until there was one remaining.

“You have me sympathies, mate. Better luck next time.” He teased before joining the others and escaped into the night. Beetle sighed as he came up to the small part of the crater on his side of the bars, there was no escaping for him. He couldn’t even put his head through the hole. It was then he noticed the bone on the ground and he rolled his eyes before grabbing at it.

He had to try after all.

“Come on, boy.” He whistled while flicking the bone back and forth. The dog got to his feet coming over to him. “That’s right, it’s just the two of us now. You and old Beetle. Come on, closer. That’s it, come on, you stupid mingy mangled cur.”

The dog was just out of reach, so close but so far, before there was a loud clash at the top of the stairs. The dog then ran off deeper into the jail and Beetle cussed as he couldn’t grab him let alone the keys. His eyes then jumped to the stairs as there was more crashing, then a soldiers body was falling down the steps, and not moving once it came to a stop. There was however two walking down after him, two fellows he knew all too well.

“Hey, Dan, look who we have here.” Leonard sneered as he strolled up to the bars. “Captain Beetle Kreaton.” He spat at the ground barely missing Beej’s arm who glared up at him from the other side of the iron cage.

“Last time we saw you, you were by your lonesome stuck on that godforsaken island, shrieking out like a woman as we sailed away.” Dan chuckled as he eyed the pirate with a grin that belonged on the devil himself. “Things haven’t improved since then have they, Kreaton.”

“Ya know, funny you should mention god, fellows.” Beej hummed as he dropped the bone before pulling himself up to his full height. “Because it’s not someone you’d be meeting soon, the deepest circle of hell is reserved for lot like you, mutineers and traitors.”

A hand shoved through the bars slamming upon his throat, near crushing his esophagus. That wasn’t the worst of it though, the arm that was now squeezing his skin was in the light of the moon and was nothing but bone. Bone and torn up fabric of the man’s otherwise intact jacket. Beej’s eyes widened in slight fright before he hummed.

“So, the curse is real.” He gasped as the skeleton fingers squeezed the skin of his neck. “Interesting.”

“You couldn’t even begin to understand hell, bastard.” Leonard sneered before he jerked his hand against the ex-captain’s neck once again then the two turned rushing back up the stairs from once they came.

“That’s truly interesting.” He hummed as he was alone once again.

She was rushed through the streets. Lydia had saw a glimpse of Dominic fighting among the several citizens but the pirate continued on to lead her through the streets and so she couldn’t tell if he saw her. She was guided to a long boat where they held not only her but countless arrays of goods they had obtained from the town. The pirates didn’t touch her other than the smaller one keeping a crushing grip upon her arm. He warned them all not to bother her since she had shouted parley.

They pulled her up upon the ship. They helped her crouch under the gunwale and take her first steps on board. There was so much going on, men running about, the echoing of the cannons in the air, it was madness. She could only gaze up at a man on the stern castle deck draped in a coat of ashen gray and a large hat perched upon his head decorated with unrecognizable feathers. A capuchin monkey swung on some random rigging before perching itself upon the Captain’s shoulder. He was surly the captain and who she would be negotiating with.

She was all confirmed in her thoughts as the two men who had guided her this entire way began dragging her to the stairs, only to be halted by a towering man with eyes of deep angry blue.

“We agreed, no captives.” He spat glancing at Lydia as if she were a thorn in his side.

“She invoked parley with the Capt’n.” Poppy barked as he tried to push past Sandy Marte, but the Lady got out of his grip, stepping closer to the First Mate instead.

“I’m here to ne-” A resounding slap echoed over the entire ambiance, silencing it and all the men stopped what they were doing to watch. Lydia yelped at the sting, covering the impact with her palm. She wanted to say something further, yet words died on her tongue as her eyes widened in slight fear.

“You’d speak when you are spoken too!” Sandy growled keeping his hand up just as a threat to hit her again before a hand soundly landed upon his forearm and long unkept nails dug into his skin.

“And you...” Sandy made to flinch and gulp as he listened to that chilling voice. “…will do good to remember that no harm is to come to those under the protection of parley.”

“Aye, sir.” The First Mate agreed retreating his sun kissed arm and backing up among the other lads, allowing the Captain to step forward. Lydia held her ground standing as straight and proud as any noble should. She would not let her fear show, she couldn’t. She eased her hand down as the imposing man stepped closer. He looked her over, down his pointed nose with his eyes of earth brown sweeping about her completely, as if he could read her very soul. His mouth crooked up into a disturbing smile once he looked back into her own hazel eyes.

“My apologies, Miss.” He said in more of a whisper, as if the whole crew wasn’t listening to their every word.

“Captain Brightman…” Lydia stated the name slowly, showing him the respect he deserved, despite what she thought of him, yet there was a growl to her tone as she continued. “I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal.”

“There be many long words in that, Miss.” The Captain quirked his lips before he began chuckling at her, in fact the whole crew was chuckling under their breaths. “We be humble pirates, so one more time, what it be that you actually want?”

“I want you to leave then never come back.” She out right demanded, never once breaking her gaze from the captain even as now the whole ship broke out into amused laughter. Her fists curled at her sides, doing right to keep her trembling at bay. She wished to silence them all, but she knew it be better to ignore them. Her focus had to be solely on the Captain, or she would lose her nerve.

“I am disinclined to acquiesce to such a request.” Brightman at last replied, his smile blooming into a full grimy toothed smirk, especially as he hunched by leaning forward right into her personal space when her face pinched in confusion. “Otherwise known as ‘No’.”

“Right, then.” She jerked the necklace off her neck then stormed over to the railing of the ship. Her hand shot out the chain dangling from her closed fist before she turned her eyes back on the captain with a glare. “I’ll drop it.”

“That small bit matters nothing to us while our hold overflows with swag,” Brightman casually chuckled as he moved closer to her eyeing the pendant with disdain though his face fell as his eyes returned to hers. “Why bother with the threat, Lass?”

“You’ve been searching for this, have you not?” Lydia questioned as she glanced about the pirates, knowing they needed this but wondering why they weren’t stopping her. “I know I’m not mistaken, you are the pirates that I saw after you all attacked the ship eight years ago when I crossed from England. I’d know this ship anywhere.”

“Oh, do you now?” The Captain taunted while he hid his surprise. Lydia glared at him as he seemed to be mocking her. She could easily play his game if need be. She sighed glancing over the pirates once more before shrugging.

“Very well, if it’s worthless then there is no point to keep it.” The necklace chain lengthened slightly in her hand, the coin slid closer to the water. It was an instant reaction. Every single person other than her jerked forward reaching out for the gold and her. Brightman had the reaction she strived for the most, he yelled out for her to stop, the desperate ‘no’ falling from his chapped lips sent a pleased smile upon her own.

He then laughed before gliding closer to her not stopping until he was invading her space once again. She pulled her hand back clutching the coin in her palm now. She made not to move back as his eyes swept about her again as if she be a puzzle he couldn’t understand. This close she could tell his eyes had a hint of yellow mixing in with the white, but it didn’t deter from the coldness of his brown irises boring into her. “You got a name, Miss?”

“Lydia…” She caught herself from saying her true name and dropped her head in a bow. “Lydia Orion, I’m a maid amid the governor’s staff.”

They should have realized that she wasn’t a maid by the state of her dress alone, but they were too focused on her name. “Miss Orion.” Brightman echoed so that all of his lads could hear the name as true as a bell. Murmurs burst from the pirates, all them now sporting smirks or grins, ones they knew to be filled with deep relief. Lydia pinched her brows as she heard the two pirates that had escorted her here in the first place.

“Doomed Doomie.” The shorter one had said to the other, who slowly turned about to gaze at her with more intrigue than before.

“Now,” Lydia snapped her eyes back to the Captain who was once again smirking at her and ranking his eyes over her completely. “how does a maid come to acquire such a thing? Perhaps passed down from a family member?”

“Are you inquiring I have stolen it, because I have not.” She questioned in reply. It seemed to be the answer he was willing to accept because his smirk fell into a simple grin as he held out his hand.

“Alright then, hand it over, and you have my word, we’ll put this town to our rudder and ne’er come back.” She reluctantly handed over the shiny, easing it into his hand. He passed it to the monkey who had been upon his shoulder the entire time. The monkey gripped the necklace before jumping up and disappearing along the rat lines. When she could no longer see the creature, her eyes went back to him before they settled in a harsh glare.

“We have a bargain?” The Captain said nothing just turned about on his boots nodding to his first mate. The man instantly called out the orders for those who were still on shore to come back and for the guns to cease fire. The Captain was walking away from her, but she was immediately at his heels calling out for him to take her to shore.

“You have to take me back for according to the code-”

“Firstly,” He barked as he turned about catching her against him as she bumped against his suddenly stopped body. She almost yelped as his body was unnaturally cold and his voice was mockingly ringing in her ear. “You didn’t request to be returned to shore, so I don’t have to do nothing. Secondly, for the code to apply you must be a pirate and you are no such thing, then lastly, Lassie, the code be more guidelines, not official rules. So welcome aboard the Kali, Miss Orion.” He released her and she stumbled back into the arms of the two pirates who had cornered her in her own home. They dragged her away to the Captain’s cabin, locking her within the room before joining their fellow mates to help with making sail. Captain Brightman stood at the helm where his companion jumped back upon his shoulder and he held the necklace once again.

After all these years, they had the final piece and even better the blood to be paid, once they cleared of this port they would finally break the curse upon them all. He shuddered as he guided the Kali out of the cove and a smirked curled his lips high. Oh yes, he could nearly taste it, freedom at long last.

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