#raymond de Merville x reader

[dumbassunderthemountain]

Ange Chapter 20

Summary: short and sweet, Raymond must come to terms with the idea of love; Chapter 19, Epilogue

reminder that French is in italics 

A/N: Whoo! Last chapter! Finally! There is also an epilogue that is already written that will be published in a few days just to wrap up the entire life I planned out for them. It's been four years since I started this fic and so much has changed since, including my hyper fixations but I did love this story and am quite proud of it, I only hope I did it justice with these last 2 chapters.  

Warnings: mini fist fight and death threat 

Word Count: 1809 

--Reader’s POV-- 

“You should not be out here so late” Emmett’s voice came from the ramparts above you, but you simply ignored him. You had no plans to speak French or go inside or do much of anything. Instead, you sat on the wet grass just outside the castle walls looking out at the countryside and the millions of stars you could never see in your time period. The fastness of the landscape encapsulated how alone you felt. Everything just... It was time to admit you were in way too far over your head...and alone. Perhaps it was too much to expect love and happiness in a time and place like this. Maybe you should accept that you were simply lucky enough that you got to be in the nobility and just give up on anything further. The problem was that in the beginning it really did seem like Raymond loved you or at least genuinely cared about you and you had loved him in return. It was a hard idea to give up on. 

“It is not safe for you out here alone.” Emmett said walking across the grass to you. You hugged your knees closer, grateful you hadn’t been crying, you felt too empty for that.  Emmett sighed and sat down beside you, ignoring the fact that you clearly wanted to be alone, “What did he do?” 

“Nothing...nothing at all” you whispered. Raymond’s nothingness was exactly the problem. 

Emmett’s eyes lingered on you. You knew he did not understand what you said, yet still seemed to understand to an extent. “I am sorry à propos (about) him.” The two of you sat in silence for a long time before he spoke again. “I cannot imagine how solitaire (lonely) you doit (must) sentir (feel). There is no one from your home... It is only you... I do not think Raymond understands that.” 

“I do not care...he should try.” 

“He is, badly, but his is. Depuis qu'il t'a rencontré (Since he met you) he is a new man, but... before...he was bad. Now... He...” Emmett sighed. “You need to hear it from him.” He stood, offering you his hand. “If you go back in the castle, I will leave you alone and talk to him.” 

You stared up at his hand, the castle walls seemed stifling but at least Emmett would leave you alone. You stood up on your own and Emmett gave you a sad look before following you inside.  

-- Raymond’s POV-- 

When mon ange asked me if I loved her, I froze and have yet to thaw. I could not move when she grabbed her cloak and left the room. I barely managed to sit on the sofa to stare into the fire. I saw the heart break in her eyes and knew every part of it was my fault. Every single trouble that befalls her since she arrived in Ireland is because of me. I thought perhaps backing away letting her do as she wished with that Irish woman would help but it only made things worse. I made everything worse; I started to become my old self again. But it is not like I could love her no matter how hard I tried. 

I do not know how long I sat staring into the fire before the door was thrown. “Idiot!” Emmett yelled stomping into the room. “I told you, you couldn’t be an avoidant asshole, yet here you are! Do you even know where your wife was?” 

I did not turn around to look at him, “With that blasted Irish servant I’d assume.” 

“Alone, sitting in the grass outside the walls of the castle.” He spat.  

I jumped up grabbing my sword, my head swirled with a thousand horrendous possibilities of what could happen to her out there. “I have to go-”  

“She’s inside now.” I stopped, staring at him, his irritation was apparent, but the surprising thing was just how mature he looked, not so much in age but for the first time in our lives I felt like I was looking at an adult man worthy of taking advice from. “With her friend Caragh, after I told her about your fight.”  

“You told her?” I growled.  

“No one deserves to be as alone as (y/n) is. I know you want nothing more than to keep her isolated and dependent on you, but that will only kill her and if you looked farther forward than your cock you would see that.”  

“I think of only her-” Emmett swung his armored fist connecting with my cheek nearly sending me flying into the fire beside me.  

“AS A TOY! Or perhaps a holy relic considering your belief that she’s an angel. But you need to recognize that (y/n), you do know your wife’s name, right?! (y/n) is a person. Who for some reason that I cannot figure out, loves you.” I rubbed my cheek dazed. “Despite you forcing her to marry you and making her a baroness in a country where she doesn’t speak either language and does not seem to know most of the customs or basic ways to live. She was drowning with only you; one person is never enough for anyone. And that was when you pretended to like her.” 

“Of course I like her. I-”  

Emmett swung at me again, this time I managed to dodge but in the tight quarters ended up on the couch giving Emmett the optimal angle to punch me again, which he did, twice, each harder than the last. Then he grabbed my collar heaving me up. My hands locked around his wrist stopping him from truly choking me but part of me knew I did deserve this. “Make me believe you! I told you I would kill you if you hurt her did I not? Prove to me you are not a walking corpse.”  

I blinked up at him recalling his threat in the camp right after Emmett met mon ange... (y/n).  My reputation did deserve his reaction, I was simply too naive at the time to think it would ever come up again. I could taste blood in my mouth as I spoke, “She is caring, even to the poor and Irish which is more annoying than anything, but it’s what made her care about me. She’s funny, I have laughed more since I met her than I have in the last decade...” Emmett had a ‘keep going’ look on his face. “She has all these big ideas and stories from her home... I could listen to them for an eternity. I want nothing more than to hold her and make her smile. Do you have any idea how much more I must pay the servants now?” I smirked, remembering the animated argument, that I never planned on winning. “But none of that matters because I cannot love!” I announced, but the proclamation wrenched at my heart with every syllable.  

Emmett dropped my collar, as I was unprepared my body awkwardly fell to the couch. “That sounds like love to me. Idiot.” 

“You are wrong.” 

He casually leaned against the fireplace, “Which one of us has been repeatedly called a love sick fool since we were teenagers... Listen, Raymond. You do not deserve that woman but considering how you have changed since she arrived, I do believe you love her. So go tell her that, or I’ll kill you and give her the money to run off with Caragh.” Emmett smirked arrogantly, hopefully joking about the last sentence.  

-- Reader’s POV-- 

You stood leaning against the ramparts so you could still see the open landscape. It seemed even more empty from up here. Caragh’s soft steps against the stone broke your train of thought about Raymond and the medieval world. You straightened up expecting to have to talk just like you did with Emmett, but instead she just whispered, “I know.” and put her head on your shoulder. The action made your eyes water. It was exactly what you needed, to simply be seen and understood. You rested your head on top of hers and suddenly the world did not feel quite so vast and empty.  

A while later footsteps could be heard coming from the stairs. At first you had assumed it was Emmett again, but then remembered that he had been wearing armor. Then you realized they were Raymond’s footsteps. You sat up looking in his direction and so did Caragh. Upon seeing him she gave you a smile and patted your hand before leaving, and glaring at Raymond as she passed.  

Raymond awkwardly approached, you did not say a word to him, instead waiting for him to talk. The two of you stood side by side overlooking the countryside for a few minutes. “You do not have to wear the wimple anymore, if you do not wish to.” Raymond began.  

“Good.”  

He took a deep breath. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, it was the most nervous you’d ever seen him.  “I...” he sighed. “As you know I have not lived the kindest life.” Your eyes flicked towards him. “Therefore, there are certain aspects of life I do not know, for example how to love or even what love is, and I can never apologize enough for that.” You squeezed your eyes closed attempting to hold back the tears, it was exactly as you feared.  

Raymond turned to you fully then, carefully and slowly reaching for your cheek turning your face to him, yet giving you plenty of time to reject his touch. You fully turned to face him, with your eyes full of tears. Raymond looked deep into your eyes and placed his hands on your shoulders, just like he did the first time you saw his father’s encampment when he vowed, he would keep you safe. It had only been a few months since that moment but it felt like centuries ago.  

He opened his mouth then closed it again, before managing to speak. “I do not know, but... based on the little I do know, through you, I think...” He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath. When he opened them, he spoke the words you’d wanted to hear fall from his lips for so long. “I love you. And I promise I will learn how to love you.” 

You could not help the smile that spread across your face nor the tears that streamed down your face. “I love you too.”  

Raymond smiled softly, his eyes relaxed, for the first time not looking guarded, and dropped his shoulders from relief, before pressing his forehead to yours and wrapping you in his arms. “I am so sorry.” 

You hugged him back, “I know, Love,” and you could have sworn you heard the fierce Raymond de Merville’s heart skip a beat.  

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @sunflowers-heart

[fizzyxcustard]

Heaven and Hell

Fandom: Pilgrimage (2017)

Pairings: Raymond de Merville x Fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x Original male character

Word count: 2888

Warnings: Language, angst, arranged marriage, sexual references, slight religious/spiritual symbols and references.

Summary: From the imagine “Raymond has lost all hope of love and completely shut his heart down after losing everyone he has ever loved. Until he meets you.” 

Comments: Requested by @linasofia and @sazzlep Thank you to @glassgulls for reading over this for me and giving me your opinions on pacing and how to end the fic. 

As always, if you wish to be added to my tag lists, please let me know.

It had been four months now since Raymond had returned home. Every night and he saw that dreaded beach, and could feel the Mute biting into his flesh, ripping skin from his neck. The smell and taste of blood would still linger around Raymond as he sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring down him. When would the dreams stop? Unconsciously, every time Raymond had the dream and he would run his fingertips over the scar, feeling it tingle. 

Raymond trained his men, barking demands at them in the field. Then he would drink in his study, trying to drown out the memories. Hellfire burned in his mind, making him re-live the scene of every murder he had committed. It was the same endless cycle, day in and day out. Somewhere inside him, Raymond hoped for another war, just to break out of the monotony of what his life had become. Even his sexual appetite seemed to have disappeared, abandoning him to a never-ending world of darkness and repetition. 

***

You smiled as you walked swiftly to the training field to meet Henri, your fiancée. In your hands was a basket, filled with cheese, bread and an assortment of locally picked fruits, such as apples and grapes. 

The day was bright, with the midday sun leaving a soft warmth in the air. It was now late spring, almost summer. Your favourite time of year when all the plants were at their brightest, baby animals began to venture from their nests, and days grew longer. 

You were taking a short break from your sewing so that you could come and spend time with Henri. He was the same age as you, and the two of you had known each other since you were children. Truth be told, you loved Henri, but it was your family who had pushed for your matrimonial union. Otherwise you would have been just as happy remaining friends with him. After all, you knew deep down that his heart would never truly belong to you, but to a woman named Lucille. 

Raymond de Merville, the Baron’s son, was giving out demands to his soldiers, pacing in a line before them. You waited patiently at the door to the main armoury, watching in fascination as the soldiers sparred. 

Suddenly you noticed Raymond’s eyes study you. “What is that woman doing here?” he snapped. 

The men all looked at you, and in those moments you felt a huge blush hit your cheeks. 

“She is my fiancée,” Henri announced. He then requested to temporarily leave the training session to see you. Raymond rolled his eyes and reluctantly agreed. 

You smiled at Henri. “I was hoping we could spend lunchtime together. I made some food for us, to enjoy while the weather is good.” 

Raymond couldn’t help but keep his attention locked on you and Henri for a few seconds, and he listened to your sweet voice offer such kindness. He had had a fiancée once, but lost her to another man. The thought of her made him snarl and he felt a pang of disgust hit him, and he pushed it all away. 

It wasn’t long before Raymond stood his men down for their lunches, allowing Henri to sit with you. The two of you spoke about your upcoming wedding, and you couldn’t help but notice the way Henri hung his blonde head. The smiles curled his lips upward, but there was no spark in his eyes. And by the time that Henri had had his fill of food, he excused himself away. 

You watched him walk away towards the long path which led up to the barns. He was heading to see Lucille. Of course that was where he was going. 

With a sigh, you pulled together all the foods and put them back in your basket. 

In the corner of your eye and you could see Raymond watching you. He was sat alone, whilst the rest of the twenty or so men all sat in pairs or groups. All of them were eating, accept for Raymond. 

You walked toward Raymond, feeling your heart begin to race. His icy eyes were always intense, scaring you. “I have some food left if you would like some, Sir Raymond,” you said softly. “Please take what you’d like.” You placed the basket down. His eyes grazed over the basket and then lifted to focus on you. 

“You do know that Henri has his sights set elsewhere?” Raymond asked coldly. “Some woman up in the barn.” 

A lump rose in your throat. Despite you not being in love with Henri, you still wished that he would at least attempt to play the part of your fiancée, and not make his lack of interest in you so obvious. 

Raymond watched your expression as your gaze flitted back and forth, not quite sure where to rest. Your lips quivered. That feeling of being second best – he knew it all so well. 

“I know not to bother making him lunch again,” you said, finally being able to speak. “I may as well make it for you as I assume you would be more grateful for the effort.” 

“And the company,” Raymond replied. 

Those words made a tingle race up your spine. His voice was deep, and as it hit your ears, it was like pure velvet wrapping around you. You looked at him, allowing yourself to study him properly. Raymond was a handsome man, easily being in the middle of his fourth decade. He had a long, sharp nose, thin lips, and a steadily growing beard. He certainly looked and acted more experienced than Henri. 

***

The next day, and the next, and the next, you prepared food, but instead of giving it to Henri, you chose to sit with Raymond. You waited until Henri had disappeared for his rendezvous with Lucille, and sat with Raymond. None of the other men ever spoke to him outside of training, you noticed. But each lunch time, he gave you a smile as you offered him food. 

On the fourth day, you asked Raymond why he never brought food. 

“I am not always hungry, or in the mood to eat,” he replied. 

You couldn’t help but look at the large scar on his neck, which he had sustained when away in battle months earlier. Stories of Raymond’s ordeal had circulated around the village, but no one seemed to know the exact details. 

He noticed you studying his scar and smirked. He liked it when you studied him as he had observed over the last four days since meeting you that you tended to look away from him most of the time. Raymond could not deny that he found you attractive, and that longing to bed a woman was starting to rise. But you were betrothed to another, albeit a man who did not truly want you. Raymond at least honoured that. 

“You must eat, Raymond, to keep up your strength. I’m glad that I ventured down here now, even if my husband-to-be would rather be with another woman, I know that you are eating something, at least,” you said sadly. 

“Why are you marrying him?” Raymond asked bluntly. 

“Our families have been friends for years, and so have I and Henri. Our fathers arranged the marriage, wanting us to wed. And it seemed like a good fit; I do love Henri.” 

Raymond noticed you look at the grass beneath yourself as you said the words ‘I do love Henri’. 

“I’ve always supported him in anything that he has wanted to do.” 

“Is he there for you in return?” 

The question hit you hard in the chest. You knew the answer but could not bring yourself to vocalise it. Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed, looking away in embarrassment. “I should return to my mother now. I’m sorry to keep you, Raymond.” 

“You are not keeping me.” He then said your name softly. 

You looked at him and his gaze bore through you, as if he were undressing each and every part of your whole being. A shiver raced down your spine and butterflies flapped in your stomach. How could this man beckon such a huge tidal wave of arousal within you? 

Raymond’s lips parted, but he held the words back. 

“Goodbye, Sir Raymond,” you said softly, and turned to leave. 

Raymond watched you walk away, following the path back up toward the main village. However could Henri ignore your kindness? Your sincerity. Your innocence. Whenever Raymond was with you and he felt that child side of himself rise. The memory of all the hellfire disappeared, leaving a shaft of heavenly light, with you at the centre. 

***

You did not come to see Raymond the next day, and so he felt nothing but disappointment in his heart. At lunchtime, he grit his teeth as he watched Henri take the walk towards the barns. To have a woman be devoted to him, even though she was not in love, and still tried to make a worthy wife. Raymond could only imagine what you would be like with a man you actually loved. 

The next day and you were missing again. What had happened to make you disappear? Raymond craved your company. Even though your meetings only lasted less than an hour, he had grown to finally appreciate company again. His mind would keep going off on tangents, searching for you. 

Raymond trusted Auben, his second in command, and asked him to speak with you. To go to your home and ask for your presence at dinner, with him, at the de Merville chateau. 

Dinner time came, and finally Raymond heard a knock on the door of the main dining hall. The head cook announced your arrival. 

You stepped into the hall, looking around at the stag head on the wall which was mounted above a huge fireplace. In front of the fireplace was Raymond, who got to his feet in order to greet you. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “I wished to show my gratitude for your company the last four days.” He looked at you, clothed in an emerald dress which seemed to bring out that beautiful sparkle in your eyes.

“You didn’t have to do such a thing, Sir Raymond,” you told him, taking a seat just down the table from him on his left hand side. “I’ve enjoyed our time together and wanted to make sure you were eating.” 

“Why did you stop coming?” Raymond asked. Sometimes his questioning was blunt and to the point, catching you off guard. 

You sighed, looking down again. “I…I know my place with Henri. His heart belongs to Lucille, and I will only be his wife in name only. But I still want to honour him as my fiancée. Going to see you was becoming inappropriate, even though I have been concerned for you.” 

“Then why did you come tonight?” 

“I don’t know,” you whispered. 

Raymond got to his feet and walked to your chair, looking down at you.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, beating so loud that you were terrified that he could hear it. 

“I know why you came. Despite wanting to honour Henri, you still hope for something true. You want a man to love you, treasure you, put you at the centre of everything in his life.” 

Tears fell down your cheeks at the sound of Raymond laying everything down before you. Of course that was what you wanted. You had wanted it since you were a little girl who was old enough to understand the ways of the world. 

“Such a stupid thing to dream,” you sobbed. 

Raymond whispered your name. “In a world of hell, you have become my heaven.” 

“We barely know each other, Sir Raymond,” you told him, feeling that all too familiar stir lower down your body. No man had ever made you feel so aroused. In fact, you had kept your maidenhood preserved, as was expected. “I really do not feel this is appropriate at all.” 

You shifted away from him and got to your feet, again averting your gaze from him. 

Raymond growled. “Henri is a fucking fool.” 

“You have known me for no more than four days. Our conversation has been brief, so you surely cannot say that you feel something for me? Unless it is company warming your bed that you require.” 

A smirk grew on Raymond’s face. He had seen the fire inside you rise on a few occasions when speaking with you. There was a flame in your eyes, and in your words. That flame would make sure that no one took advantage of you, either physically or of your virtuous nature. 

“Do you think Henri cares that you are here?!” Raymond roared. “When each day that you have visited me, he has been off fucking her in the barn. The man has no honour.”

“And you do?” 

“You may not think highly of me, but I will not allow you to remain in their shadow. For all the kindness and honour you show toward him, you could be showing that to another man who would walk through hellfire for you, and make sure you remain as pure as an angel heaven sent.” 

“Raymond��” you whispered. You looked at him, seeing a sadness rise in his icy blue depths. It was a sadness you had not seen before. The very sight of him being so open made you step forward and then reach out, cupping his cheek. “I am not worth anything to anyone.” 

“You are to me. What little heart I have been given has always found its way to those who have broken it. I want you to have it, and I will be that man you have always wanted.” 

“You needn’t be anything more than the man you already are,” you told him. 

Raymond rushed at you and kissed you hard. It felt as if you were melting away, merging with him. His tongue was hot and demanding in your mouth, needing and wanting. 

Heat flared in his gut and down in his breeches, rising so high that he was sure his self-control would snap. Your body was pure perfection beneath his calloused hands, and he wanted to get at it all. 

“We cannot, Raymond,” you whispered sadly, pulling away. You kissed his brow softly, and then peppered his face with pecks of love. “The arrangement has been finalised. I marry Henri next month.” 

“Henri can marry his woman, and I shall marry you.” 

“Please…Find someone else more worthy than me. I am destined to be Henri’s wife, even if not the one who has his heart. I cannot change that.” 

Raymond was still holding you tight. “I was to be married, and I loved her. But she left me for another. Our wedding was arranged, but she left me, days before we were to meet at the altar.” 

“Then please, do not let this go any further. I will not be the reason for you having a broken heart again. Let me go.” 

“I know you feel something for me. Why else would you have come tonight? I am sure that you and Henri have never shared a kiss like that.” 

“That is the first time I have ever kissed a man.” 

Raymond couldn’t help himself and kissed your cheek, then moved down to your neck. 

You felt electricity surge through you and you clung to him so tight. The waves of pleasure and the gathering tempo at the juncture of your thighs made you groan.

“Let me in, my love, and we can experience heaven together,” he whispered. 

You put your hand to his cheek. “Please don’t hate me. I can’t dishonour Henri and my family. Try and understand.” 

Raymond bowed his head, feeling the mixture of anger and sadness rise. It caused a ball of pain to form in his throat and he pulled away, remaining silent as he turned his back to you. 

You felt nothing but guilt for causing him such pain. True, you had barely had time to know each other, but something was pulling the two of you in closer, an unseen force that knew you were destined to be entwined. 

Without another word, you slipped out of the hall and exited the chateau. It was dusk now, with only a thin strip of golden light hanging on the horizon. You sighed and then took in a deep breath, ready to head home. 

A chill was beginning to set in now and it refreshed you, cooling off the humidity of the day. Thoughts of Raymond would not leave you, as they had not done now since the first meeting you had with him. The man had burrowed himself into your soul, and you knew that any resistance to him was going to be incredibly difficult. 

Once home and you undressed into your night slip, having lied to your mother and father, telling them you had spent the evening with Henri. 

When your head hit the pillow, you gazed out of your window, watching the stars twinkle high above. Maybe in another life you and Raymond could have meant to be together. For this one, you would have to make do with your family’s arrangements and with being second best. 

(To be continued)

***

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[linasofia]

Le Désir

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

Summer had only recently turned its back on the endless green hills, and the evenings were not yet characteristically dark—but the wind howling from the sea brought an icy foreboding of an approaching storm. Along one of the most dramatic coasts of Ireland, far from what was considered to be real civilization, the great distance between the inns often left travelers with no other option except sleeping under the stars. The landscape offered a spectacular view, and during summer, when the winds were mild, it was as close as one could get to paradise. But as the days turned shorter, the strong force of nature tested the persistence of anyone traveling along the coastline.

During their return from yet another mission, Raymond de Merville and his closest men rode in silence up the winding path. The wind tore at their cloaks, and the horses’ manes whipped angrily from one side to the other. Thankfully, it had not rained since the previous day, but Raymond’s mood was still sour. He hated sleeping on a damp bedroll and longed for a warm, dry bed. Any bed. His buckskin mare walked with her head bent to the side as if trying to shield her eyes from the wind, and he gave her a gentle stroke on the neck. She had carried him through many dangers, and he valued her more than he would ever admit. His father, Baron de Merville, had questioned his choice of horse more times than Raymond could remember. In the Baron’s opinion, a larger and heavier horse was more suitable for a knight, but Raymond liked the speed and temper of his mare. He had never seen a faster horse, and what she lacked in strength, she compensated with willingness and bravery.

The sun was slowly coming to rest behind the fast-moving clouds in the west, and the small group of riders searched for the old inn at the far end of the rocky road. Among the loyal group of soldiers accompanying Raymond, only his closest man—Dugald—had stayed at the inn before. Raymond vaguely remembered the location and the meals served there. It was a remote outpost, and the temperamental knight discovered it a few years earlier when he took the same godforsaken route. Focused on the task at hand, Raymond urged his horse forward. They needed to find the inn before they lost the light. After that, only hard rocks and the merciless wind awaited the exhausted horses and their riders.

Suddenly, a small collection of buildings appeared at the very end of the steep cliffs. With new energy in their bodies—fueled by the thought of strong ale—the group quickened their pace, and right before the last rays of light disappeared, they reached the stony yard in front of the inn. Candles were lit inside, and the innkeeper himself—a short, stocky man with a ginger beard—was busy sealing the small windows for the night. The approaching storm was not to be taken lightly. Thrilled to have a noble guest, the innkeeper assured Raymond they could find shelter within his walls before Raymond even had time to dismount his horse. Fair settlement would come later, but for now, the company was welcome to enjoy whatever the house had to offer.

Cecilia had been up since sunrise and dutifully done all the chores her father assigned to her. Only a few years ago, her main responsibilities were limited to serving their guests during the evening and caring for the sheep while the sun was up. But lately, probably due to her father’s increasing age, Cecilia more and more often found herself doing other tasks as well. While her mother spent most of her time preparing or cooking food for the steady stream of guests, Cecilia and her two younger sisters helped their father with everything he would have asked of a son—if he had one.

As a young girl, Cecilia overheard her father speaking to her mother about their incapability to conceive a boy. After their third daughter, and a good amount of tears, her parents understood that God would not bless them with another child. It became a great concern for Cecilia’s father, who—like so many other men—took an heir for granted. The thought of having one of his daughters take over the inn when he could no longer manage was unthinkable. Even if the girl’s mother did everything to convince him, there was no point. On the day of the argument, Cecilia swore to prove him wrong. Even if her father would never leave the inn to her, she was determined to show her value as a hard-working woman, and the older she got, the more difficult tasks she was entrusted with.

The inn was unusually empty, and Cecilia looked forward to a quiet evening. Maybe she would even have time to have a cup of warm cider with her mother. As she was sweeping the floor next to the door, raised voices from outside caught her attention. Her father’s voice sounded excited, and he was talking—or rather shouting—to someone, but she could not hear what was said. A horse suddenly neighed loudly, and Cecilia realized they had new visitors. Before she even had time to put on her cloak, the door was brusquely opened, and a man of impressive height bent down to avoid hitting his head while entering. When he straightened his back, Cecilia became certain he was the tallest man ever coming through their door, and she could not help but gasp when she took in the sight of him. The man’s dark hair was unruly—clearly from the removal of his mail coif—and he had traces of dust on his face, the kind you get from spending a long time on the road. Still, his short beard was well maintained, and under his dark eyebrows, a pair of cerulean eyes gleamed in the dim light. His jaw was set in a displeased expression, and Cecilia did not doubt he was as terrifying on the battlefield as he looked. A deep scar ran from his temple all the way to under his eye, and it made him look even more grim. His armor—together with the coat of arms on his chest—revealed his powerful status, and Cecilia averted her eyes while blushing. She had no right to study him so intensely, and he would certainly not approve.

A couple of other men soon followed the knight, and when her father finally appeared at the door, Cecilia sighed in relief. Even if she was used to handling most types of men while serving—not all travelers were gentlemen—there was something dark and unpleasant about the man who walked over—with no small amount of self-confidence—to the largest table in the room and sat down at the end. Another dark-haired man took a seat next to the first and then followed the rest of their company. Soon the men demanded ale and roasted meat to be brought to the table, and Cecilia looked at her father with a question on her face.

“What are you waiting for? You heard the men, did you not? Go see what your mother has ready.”

Cecilia sighed again. She would have preferred to keep sweeping the floor.

As the strong wind tried to rip the land apart, the heat from the fire warmed the newly arrived group of men, and as soon as their plates were filled with hot meals, their initial grumpy mutterings were replaced with laughter and merry chattering. Only one face remained displeased.

Raymond sat quietly and ate his roasted chicken directly from the bones. The skin was crispy—just the way he liked it—and well-seasoned. The innkeeper's wife was a good cook, and Raymond swallowed the last of his food together with a few mouthfuls of ale. It was the best meal he had enjoyed in days, but he was still not satisfied. He told Dugald to order another round of ale, hoping it would help him let go of the restless feeling in his chest. The howling wind increased in power, and he was grateful they reached the inn before nightfall. He could hear the wind tearing at the roof, and the house creaked as it fought back.

It did not take long before the young woman arrived with more foaming ale. She offered sweet smiles to all his men while handing out their drinks, but when she placed his pint on the table beforef him, she did not even meet his gaze. A short “Sire,” was all he got before she quickly walked away. Raymond watched her as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping away the mud they had brought inside upon their arrival. He was surprised he did not notice at first how beautiful she was. Her thick copper hair was pulled back and held in place with a ribbon, allowinghim to study her facial expressions as she worked. The way she moved her body made Raymond think of dancing—something he had not done since he left Rouen. Her waist was slim, and he briefly wondered how it would feel to put his hands around it. He took another mouthful of the strong ale and allowed himself to shamelessly admire the curve of her hips. It was something special about her that he could not really explain to himself. The young woman glanced at their table on several occasions, but not once did she meet his gaze.

When he finished his second ale, the burden of stress in Raymond’s chest was almost gone. The men around him became louder, and Dugald made an attempt to get the barmaid’s attention for yet another round of pints.

To Raymond’s displeasure, the ale was brought to the table by another young woman. The new girl was a significantly younger copy of the first, no doubt her sister. As she placed the pint in front of Raymond, he grabbed her wrist. She met his cold, intense stare, and her smile died on her lips.

“The woman who brought us food, what is her name?”

“Cecilia, Sire. Please, let me go,” the girl responded with a frightened look in her eyes.

“Tell Cecilia she is not done here,” Raymond muttered and lifted his hand. The girl practically ran away from the table, and Raymond wondered if she would tell her father—the innkeeper—or if his message would be delivered. Cecilia. Pretty name for a pretty face, he thought as he met Dugald’s amused look.

Dugald leaned in closer to Raymond and held his voice down. “Taking an interest in the soft flesh?”

“Mind your own business, Dugald,” Raymond snapped with a clear warning in his tone.

“For the right price, I am sure she can be persuaded to warm your bed tonight, if that is what you need.” Dugald ignored the icy stare Raymond shot at him. If it were not for their long friendship, Raymond would never have allowed Dugald to speak to him like that.

“I do not need to pay for a woman’s company, you know that.” Raymond took a few large gulps of his new ale and then grinned. “Besides, if I take a woman to my bed I prefer someone who actually wants to be there. Harlots lie dead on their back—a willing woman is far more interesting.”

“Fair enough,” Dugald laughed and looked appreciatively in the direction of the younger of the women. “One thing is certain: they did not get their looks from their father.”

“Cecilia, I need to speak with you!”

Cecilia turned at the sound of her youngest sister’s voice. She had gone to offer her mother some help but was pulled to a quiet corner and hushed when she tried to ask what was going on. Alice's voice was rushed and she kept her tone down.

“The scary-looking knight at the end of the table was asking for you. He asked for your name, and I gave it to him. I am sorry, but I could not refuse him. Did you speak to him?”

“I did not, I just gave them what they wanted.”

“He said you are not done yet. What does he want? Shall I go tell father? So he keeps an eye on them?”

“No, I can handle it myself,” Cecilia said with a confident smile. “We do not need to worry him.”

“Alright, as you wish. But I do not like the look on that man’s face. He looks cruel.”

Cecilia peeked around the corner, out into the main hall where their guests were seated. The room appeared even darker than usual now thattheir father had covered the windows. Candles and lanterns were placed on every table, and they spread a faint, warm light over the different faces. The knight with the horrifying scar was in deep conversation with the man next to him and paid no attention to anything else at the moment. Or so she thought.

“He does look grim, I agree. But we have seen worse, I think?”

“We have. Just be careful. And scream if he tries to touch you!”

“I promise! Stop being so dramatic, you are making me nervous with your thoughts. I am sure the evening will be quiet. Let us serve them ale, that will keep them happy.”

The sisters exchanged smiles, and Cecilia took a deep breath and stepped out into the main hall again. Alice’s words rang in her ears. He knew her name. Why did he ask for that? She did not have time to think of an answer, for as soon as she made her presence known, she had new requests to fulfill. The few other guests staying at the inn had taken their seats at another table, and Cecilia was glad for the distraction. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron and started working with a forced smile on her face. More meals and ale were prepared, and Cecilia and her sister hurried to serve the new group of hungry guests. As she worked, she could not help thinking of the knight. When he stepped over their threshold, she instantly saw the unusual color of his eyes, and the way he moved as he walked past her almost made her heart stop. He was danger personified, but a secret part of her liked that. She knew it was stupid, but she wanted to glance toward the other table and see if he was still as stern after all those strong ales.

Raymond instantly noticed Cecilia when she walked back into the room, and he did not care about Dugald’s inappropriate comment about it. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty as she smiled welcomingly at some other guests. But frustration grew inside him the longer he watched her. She had refused to look at him as soon as they were seated, and yet everybody else was treated with warmth. He emptied his pint and slammed it down on the table, earning a frown from Dugald and a cheer from the rest of the men. They quickly followed his example, and soon voices were raised for even more. It was going to be a long night, he thought, if his men kept drinking like that. But with the storm raging outside, what else could they do?

A feminine laugh, light and clear as the water in a spring brook, rose over the tables and landed like a sharp slap on Raymond’s face. He could not explain why it made him bitter, but he demanded to know why she ignored him—Raymond de Merville—while other men were generously met with kindness. The strong ale chased away the restlessness, but, it awoke something else instead. Desire. He stood up from the table, and without even a look at his men, he followed Cecilia when she once again left the room.

Cecilia was on her way to the pantry when she heard steps from heavy boots behind her. Before she could react, a warm, large hand wrapped around her wrist, and a not-so-gentle pull made her spin around and collide with a broad chest dressed in a stained burgundy surcoat. The masculine scent of musk mixed with leather and smoke surrounded her, and in the narrow passage, she had nowhere to go—she was trapped without any possibility of getting away from him. He towered over her, and she had to stretch her neck to meet his gaze. A small gasp escaped her lips as she stared into his cerulean eyes. She could not really make out the stormy expression in them, but the frown on his face told her that he was not pleased. Cecilia instinctively put her hands on his chest to push him away from her. The long hauberk made his upper body even harder than she assumed it was. Not that she had thought about that while sweeping the floor.

“Are you avoiding me?” His low, commanding tone was unlike any other voice she had ever heard. Who was this man, and what in the Lord’s name did he want?

”Sire?” Cecilia tried to think of a suitable answer. The truth was that she had indeed deliberately avoided any type of interaction with the man. In her mind she had the picture of him clear: he was a cruel man, a merciless slayer, and he had sworn to serve the crown—for as long as he lived. She was not sure what crown, for the men at the table spoke a language she did not understand, and the knight in front of her had an accent laced with a softer melody than her own. But he was also dangerously alluring, with his sharp jaw, patrician nose, and the confidence of a true warrior. And his lips. One quick glance at them made her warm, and she cursed herself for her reaction.

”I said, are you avoiding me?”

She forced a smile on her face and secretly let her fingernails dig into the soft skin of her palms.

”Of course not, Sire. I was just going to get some fruitcake, if you and your men would be interested in having some.” Cecilia knew most people had a change of mindset when threats were involved, but the man just stared back at her. The clouds in his eyes seemed to slowly fade away, and Cecilia exhaled a little too loudly.

”I am sure my men would appreciate some.” His breath was warm, and he smelled of ale. It was not unpleasant, but Cecilia would rather die than admit it.

”And you, Sire?”

”I have no interest in fruitcake, Cecilia.” She flinched at the way her name sounded when spoken by him. He made it sound exotic—like an endearment even.

”Is there anything else I can get for you?” Cecilia did not approve of the weakness in her voice. This was not how she usually handled guests who had too much to drink, and with a frustrated sigh, she pressed her nails deeper into her skin. He was no different, she told herself—no different at all.

”No,” he said, but something sparked in his eyes. For a second, Cecilia thought he was going to touch her, but then he took a step back and freed the passage.

”Let me know if you change your mind, Sire,” Cecilia replied, but as soon as the words were out, she wanted to sink through the floor. That did not come out as she intended. What if he thought she was implying another type of service? She had heard of women offering their company to guests for payment, but that was not what she was doing. “I did not mean to—”

”I will keep that in mind,” he cut her off with a grin. Then he turned and strode back to his men, leaving Cecilia in the narrow hall with blushing cheeks while his musky scent lingered like something forbidden in the air.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

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[sorisooyaa]

I posted 456 times in 2022

That's 456 more posts than 2021!

63 posts created (14%)

393 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-did-not-mean-to

@fizzyxcustard

@linasofia

@sorisooyaa

@middleearthpixie

I tagged 405 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#armitage summer splash - 137 posts

#other people's awesome work - 113 posts

#richard armitage - 100 posts

#thorin oakenshield - 45 posts

#soriyaa graphics - 43 posts

#the hobbit - 35 posts

#raymond de merville - 27 posts

#angel's writings - 27 posts

#fizzyxcustard - 27 posts

#haldir - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#sleepwalker is always gonna be a movie that stays close to me as i have experienced sleepwalking before

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Birthday - June 25th

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea​

“I’m sorry,” Thorin whispered gently into your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “I’m certain this wasn’t how you would celebrate your day of birth in your world, amrâlimê.”

The both you of were currently seated at the edge of the forest, near the cliff he had first found you, during his quest to reclaim his home. You were a shivering mess on the ground and bare feet, with nothing a fine thin dress that wrapped around your figure. 

He had taken you in, a stranger he found so endearing and in need of help. You were sure, he if had left you that day, lost in this unknown world, you would have been long dead by now. But he took you in, accepted you for who you were, a human from another world that can be mistaken for a dwarrowdam. 

He had learned to love you, as you had learned to love him. Day in and day out as the quest continued the depths of those mesmerising sapphires he possessed would haunt your dreams. You had never seen anything as beautiful as his eyes, there were so pure and raw, an enchantment that forever pulled you into its depths.

“You’re mistaken, my love,” You turned your head to pressed your lips softly against his bearded jaw, “It was more than enough... I’m here with you, in your world, with your people. What more can I possibly ask for you?” You whispered to him, as you rested against his chest, sighing in content.

Your world wasn’t always kind to you. It threw the worst of the worst at you, and you would have to climb with your bare hands and teeth, while everything pulled you down.

Here you laid content, safe and happy with everyone you loved around you. Bombur had even taken the opportunity to bake your favourite cake, it was only his first try and hence it was a small one, but it was his hard work that counted, presenting you with something you missed from your world.

Fíli and Kíli of course hadn’t stopped addressing you as their auntie and Dís loving you as her own sister. This is what you received, a family that loved you and a husband that believed in you greatly with so much faith and love.

There truly wasn’t anything more you could possibly ask for...

109 notes - Posted June 23, 2022

#4

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122 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

#3

Haldir

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140 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

#2

Body Swap - June 21st

Characters and Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield and Thranduil / Thorin x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard​ @lathalea

AN: Ok, Thorin, Thrandy plz don’t come at me, this was just a joke!! Love you both!! 😂 @i-did-not-mean-to​ this is what I meant Angel! Also, I’m sorry no graphic for this, and I’m really busy for the next few days. Ok bye bye, Haldir is whining for my attention again! 😂 - Haldir: Shalini! Get off that thing and look at me chasing my tail or I will chew your slippers again!

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144 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Looming Anniversary - June 27th

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea​

A/N: Dedicated to all of us that desperately wants to give Thorin a hug!

You sighed and made your way over to your king and husband. He hadn’t been listening to a word you were saying for some time now. You had even left the room a few minutes back. He had not noticed your exit nor your return.

He sat there, on the chair of his study desk and gazed off into the distance. His eyes forgetting the present and being immersed in whatever his mind played as he gazed out into the outside. The cold draft blew in through the open doors of the balcony and he hadn’t even moved to close it, he simply gazed out into the view it gave him, but it wasn’t the low clouds or the wind that danced with the tops of trees, and bristles or fallen leaves he watched.

What he watched was in his mind’s eye and made him fade away from this world, mentally, because physically, he was still here. But how can one truly be here without bringing themselves to feel and react to the emotions a moment in time had brought forth?

You carefully placed your tray on his desk, and the aroma of the strong tea and freshly baked biscuits filled the room, but it was only when your hand had accidentally brushed against his did he awake into the moment again.

“Amrâlimê...” It was a heavy whisper laced in light shock as his eyes travelled to you, taking in both yourself and your movement. You smiled softly at him and grabbed the chair he had always set aside for you.

Sitting down carefully, you rested your hand on his, allowing your thumb to caress his strong calloused hands. These hands travelled through battlefields with the tight grasp of heavy weapons, powering through, channelling his bravery through every fight, but they also loved and caressed those close to his heart, one he cherished. So, you should know, for these hands held you tenderly close at night, keeping you warm and safe, made you come undone with their gentle but fast and firm strokes, caressing your skin as if they were silk on silk, and wiped away every tear that ran down your cheeks.

“I thought you would like some tea,” You said, cheerfully and grabbed the teapot. This time Thorin watched you, carefully, as you poured the tea into the mug, you were well known for those clumsy hands throughout this kingdom. They weren’t strong and made for heavy lifting like every other dwarrowdam, for you were half-human, inheriting all but your height from your mother.

You placed the mug carefully on the table and brought his hand towards it, he willingly let you, before he grabbed it himself and took a long gulp. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth, a little worried, hoping it wasn’t too hot to burn his insides.

“Don’t,” Thorin scowled, releasing your bottom lip from the hold of your teeth. The habit teased him endlessly and once he dove himself forward to release your lip with his own teeth, before pulling you in for a heated passionate kiss that led the both of you into bed for a night of ecstatic moans and whimpers.

Today, however, there seems to do much weighing on his mind to even think of making love, even though he would still gladly grant you the permission if you requested. But you didn’t, knowing it was the comfort he needed right now, rather than a release, the both of you can set that once aside for later... or after.

“Alright, but will you tell me what plagues your mind, husband?” You asked as you dipped a piece of biscuit into the tea and brought it to his lips.

He took it, the taste of it bringing little to no comfort to him, then, Thorin had signed out, “Nothing, dearest.”

You frowned, but it slowly turned into a light glare and you cupped his face gently, turning him to you, “Don’t lie to me,” You spoke the words sternly, “We are married, your bearings are also mine, husband. Do not keep yourself locked up from me,” You said, your thumbs caressing his face, and he hung his head down in shame, but your brought his gaze back to you, “I’m your one, know that I’ll never judge or dishonour you, for you are the breath of my life. I love you just the way you are, and I would like to comfort you in your time of need, just as you do for me.”

Suddenly, a broken sob reached your ears, and your heart sank, shattering at the sound of your strong dwarven king and husband breaking down in your arms.

“Husband? Thorin?” You pleaded, trying to brush past his tears and address whatever was their cause.

“The days are nearing to that time once again,” Thorin released his words in a strangled sob, a part of him shamed to allow tears near his beloved; allow him to destroy the walls he kept high and let you see the broken dwarf behind it all, but you were his one, his wife and queen, if he dared to share a tear or any broken part of himself, it would be with you, for he trusted you with everything within himself.

“Tell me, what days are nearing again? Thorin?” You gently brushed his hair and wiped away the tears streaming down his face and over his bearded cheeks.

“The days my grandfather was killed, how we lost so much and more during the battle of Moria, the disappearance of my father... everything!” He growled out, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Oh, Thorin!” You immediately stood, and wrapped him to you, letting him bury his face into your body as you gently rocked him and ran a hand through his hair. He snaked his arms around your waist, gripping you tightly as he released a sob, that he had been trying to hold in. The sight fractured your heart into tiny pieces it was almost impossible to put it back together, at least not until you saw your husband smile again. You know by ‘we’ he had meant himself and his sister.

“Oh, my love,” You whispered. You wanted to ask for how long he had been holding this in, shoving it down into the pits of his heart like it did not matter and keeping up the appearance everyone expected of him.

But that was now important right now, “It is alright, their souls are safe. They have lived and taught you everything they possibly could. They are proud of you. You have come a long way. You, Thorin, my dear husband, raised your small family of your sister and her sons, reclaimed your once lost home, gave meaning to your nephews’ lives, and allowed your sister to seek out happiness again, with Dwalin. You have done so much, and more,” You held him closer, and kissed the top of his head.

“When my mother passed,” You began slowly, remembering the day how she had grown weak and frail; the final moments before humans had passed into the unknown, “My father told me, ‘when you loose someone... you gain a star, and they will look over you, shining in the sky for you’ live by that Thorin,” You whispered, holding him tenderly close.

You had dearly wished that Thorin and yourself had found each during those times. Therefore, from the very beginning, he could have sought the comfort he longed for. In all honesty it was Fíli and Kíli, that found you in the old human village, lost and in need of a blacksmith to strengthen your father’s sword.

They had led you to their home, a small wooden house at the end of the road. There, your future beloved was sitting on the couch just returning from his work, and Dís was within the kitchens trying to cook. Then, almost every day of the week you travelled to the other side of town, something drew you to him, and a part of you knew darn well, but could he take you, half-human and half-dwarf in?

While Dís and yourself had become quick friends, in seeing that you were close in age, only a few years younger than herself, with Thorin ,it was harder to befriend, even though you had caught him watching you from afar many times.

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175 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

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[middleearthpixie]

Magic Kingdom

Armitage Summer Splash #30 ! Well, I did it. 30 prompts, 30 days and now I need a nap. I blame want to thank @lathalea & @fizzyxcustard for my exhaustion this challenge! 🤣🤣

And so, for the last time...

Trope: Pirates 

Quote: “It meant nothing to me.”

RA Character: Raymond de Merville (Modern AU)

Relationship: Raymond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pure fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,725

***

The sun blazed down on you and Raymond as you stood in what had to be the slowest-moving line ever. Florida in August was not the happiest place on earth, no matter what the Mouse promised. 

Still, when you looked over at Raymond and saw him just gazing about at everything, just drinking it all in, you felt your annoyance fade a little. He was still adjusting to your time and DisneyWorld was nothing like the thirteenth-century, which was where he was from. So, for him, standing there, not really moving, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gave him the chance to observe, to see how everyday people in your time lived, the gadgets they used, the things they complained about—to him, these things were interesting to see and to hear. More than once, he’d expressed fascination as well as dismay with how people in your time conducted themselves day to day, and DisneyWorld was just a microcosm of twenty-first century daily life.

He turned away from the couple he’d been observing, each one oblivious to the other, their concentration focused on the cell phones each one held, and frowned. “Do the lines always move so slowly?”

His deep voice washed over you, and as the time went on, you found you understood  his English far better now than you had in the beginning. He still spoke with a heavy French accent, which at times made his English kind of amusing to you, but you’d adapted to hearing him, to understanding him despite that accent. The French he spoke was a little different from what you’d learned in high school, although you’d be the first to admit languages weren’t your strong suit, and you were learning that as well. And truth be told, there was something powerfully erotic about hearing him whisper to you in French when he made love to you, which made learning it a bit easier as well. You might not always understood what he said, but you certainly liked how he said it. And the blush that swept up from the edges of his dark beard when you asked him to translate his love words when the sex was over and you were lying quietly in his arms made it all worthwhile. There was something utterly adorable about seeing your fierce, thirteenth century knight blush at telling you he’d called you his beautiful flower in the throes of passion.  

You nodded. “You’ll see. This one is actually blazing along compared to some of the others.”

“Blazing?” Confusion clouded in his pale blue eyes. 

You smiled. “It’s moving fast compared to others.”

His dark brows rose. “Moving fast? This? I think not.”

“Trust me. It is.” You passed him the water you’d bought before getting into line. “Here. You look like you need it.”

He looked down at the bottle, already beaded with condensation. “But you were thirsty.”

“I’m fine. You need it more than I do.”

He shook his head. “No. You keep it. I’m fine.”

“Raymond… just take the water. I can get more if we need it.”

The line moved a bit closer to the actual ride. Pirates of the Caribbean. It was one of your favorites and you hoped he wasn’t too overwhelmed with everything. It was your first day in the park, and he’d already been a bit freaked out by the life-sized characters he’d seen wandering about, not to mention the frustration he’d had when It’s a Small World got stuck in his head and he learned the definition of earworm. 

You tried to play it cool, but you really were excited about sharing this with him. DisneyWorld was your favorite place to vacation, Pirates was one of your favorite rides, and you hoped he’d like it, that he’d fall in love with it just as much as you had. So far, the crowds seemed to be the only part he didn’t care for—not that it came as a surprise. More than once, he muttered something under his breath about wishing he hadn’t left his sword at home. He’d put up a fight about that, until you convinced him that not only would he not be allowed to bring a sword on a plane, but the TSA would probably have him arrested on the spot for trying. Probably not true, but better to let him think otherwise and leave the damn sword at home.

He sighed as he took the bottle and drained half of it in one swallow. “How much longer?”

“I have no idea.”

“Stay here.” He passed the bottle back to you. “I’ll find more water for us.”

“The vendor is right there,” you told him pointedly, gesturing to the kiosk near where the line for Pirates began. “Don’t wander off. I don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled and leaned over to brush your lips with a quick kiss. “I won’t become lost. I found my way from France to Ireland and back and without that GPS thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. You also got lost in Costco, remember?”

He scowled. “Everything looks the same in Costco.”

“But trees all look different?” You winked at him. “Just be careful.”

“Always, ma chêrie.”

You smiled, holding back your chuckle as he maneuvered his way out of line by simply stepping over the chains set up to shuttle you all through like cattle. By the time he returned, you’d moved all of ten feet. But, you were in the shade and that was what mattered, as it was far cooler under that awning. 

“And,” he pressed a fresh bottle of water into your hand, “I did not get lost.”

As he spoke, he draped his free arm about your neck and gave you a gentle squeeze, pressing you back into his chest. You sank against him for a brief moment, enjoyed the feel of his muscled body against yours, but then the heat and humidity reminded you why you hated August in Florida and you straightened up. 

Both bottles were empty by the time you were inside the building housing the ride and a few minutes later, you climbed into your car. The air was cool and damp from all the water flooding the ride, meant to recreate what being on the Caribbean ocean was like in the Golden Age of Piracy. Compared to outside, it was almost freezing. Especially with the fine layer of sweat misting your skin. You shivered, leaning your head against Raymond’s muscle-laden shoulder, smiling when he pressed a kiss into the top of your head and murmured, “Je t’aime, madame.”

You slipped your arm through his and squeezed as you began moving. He rarely said I love you in English and that was fine, since it sounded far prettier in French. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I do.” He jumped at the sound of a cannon being fired, then laughed as he said, “I think I prefer being on land to being a pirate.”

“Same. But, it’s cool in here, so there’s that.”

“True. I’m unaccustomed to this heat. It’s worse than at home.”

“A bit.” You smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “Home? My home or yours?”

“Yes, home. And both, I suppose, but I meant yours.”

You squeezed his arm again and settled against him to enjoy the ride. When it was over and you found yourselves in the gift shop. You turned to Raymond. “What did you think?”

He shrugged. “I like being in the dark with you.”

“That’s it?”

“It was… interesting…” He reached out to pluck a set of rubber manacles off a rack. “Perhaps we might find a use for these?”

You bit back a smile as a woman passing alongside him with a toddler shot him a look of disapproval. He saw it as well and grinned. “I think she finds fault with my sense of humor.”

“Now her son is going to ask her what you meant,” you told him, taking the manacles from him. “Besides, you’d tear these if I tried to slide them over your hands.”

“You go first, then.”

As he said it, he leaned over and kissed you. “And I know it seems like it meant nothing to me, but I did enjoy the ride. And I did enjoy being in the dark with you. Are there any other rides in the dark we could try?”

“Space Mountain. It’s a roller coaster. I think you’d like it.”

He nodded. “I like the sound of this so far.” 

You slipped your hand into his and made your way out of the shop. Raymond’s thumb grazed yours and then he brought your hand up to brush the back of it with a kiss. “And where is Space Mountain?”

“That’s in this park. And with any luck, the line won’t be too long.”

“Shall we go there, then?”

“If that’s what you want, that’s fine.”

He gave your hand a squeeze. “You’re very agreeable, you know.”

“It’s your first time here, so whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

“So,” he paused and moved to stand before you, “if I wanted you to marry me, you’d do it?”

You just stared up at him. “What?”

His eyes softened, a grin playing at his lips, and he rubbed along his bearded jaw with one hand. “Would you marry me?”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded slowly. “I would not ask if I wasn’t, you know. So, will you?”

You couldn't help your smile. “Raymond.”

“What?” He drew you into his arms, smiling down as he said, “Veux-tu m’épouser? Is that better? Shall I get down on one knee as we saw that man do near the entrance earlier?”

You shook your head. “No. The last thing I want is to be a spectacle. But, are you really asking me to marry you?”

“Love, how long have I been here? Almost a year now? Think you I’d ask if I wasn't really asking?”

“I know, but—” You just gazed up at him for a long moment, then smiled. “Of course I will.”

His arms tighten about your waist and he lifted you easily to meet his slow, leisurely kiss. As he lowered you, he whispered, “I have but one more question, love?”

“What’s that?”

“Do they have pizza here?”

***

Thank you all for reading and commenting and reblogging. I 💜 you all for it!!

Like it? Love it? If so, please love it, leave a comment, reblog it, or do all three! 💜💜💜

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

[shiinata-library]

Thanks for the tag @mikathemonster ! 💖

Ok, I'm too lazy to do 10 so there will only be 5.

Imagine: Being too focused | Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo x reader

You joined Thorin's company in Bree when they stayed at The Prancing Pony. Gandalf recommended you as a guide throughout Middle earth because he knew he won't always be with them. After a long, complicated discussion between him and Thorin, he finally accepted you, but not as a company member, rather as an optional person like Gandalf. So no contract, no part of treasure, and no responsibility for him.

Imagine: Another man kisses you | Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo x reader

Thorin and you are courting for a short time, and as he is the King while you’re a simple woman, you prefer to hide it. Who could believe the King court you anyway?

Not on the first date | John Watson x reader

One rainy afternoon, you went to drink tea at 221b baker street with Mrs Hudson, a long friend of your mother. Apparently, she had forgotten her shawl the last time she came to your mother’s house, and you had to bring it back.

Tea and apple pie | Bilbo x reader

You couldn't have asked for anything better than to live with Bilbo since he returned to Bag End. Yet today, your mood is at its lowest and you don't want to bother him. It’s true you aren’t well, but that is nothing compared to what Bilbo has been through, right?

Waking up in the Middle Ages | Raymond de Merville x fem!OC

“Are you a knight?” Sophie, a French petite woman with brown eyes and long wavy chestnut hair, asked when she saw a man wearing armour stopping his tired, heavy steps in front of her. “Your armour is great! Shouldn't you have a horse if you are a knight?”

Tagging @lathalea @legolasbadass @enchantzz @linasofia @middleearthpixie @fizzyxcustard @laurfilijames @blairsanne taand anyone else who wants to share their first lines! 😊

First Line Tag Game

Thank you @sunnyrosewritesstuff for tagging me!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

it doesn’t matter if you share the first line of the whole fic or only the first line of the latest chapter.  If you have a compilation of various fics in a single work you can share the first line of every piece or just the first line of the compilation.  If there is a fic you just do not want to share skip it.

I don't quite have 10 finished fics (That will rapidly change in the next few months) But I'll link the finished fics and give you a sneak peak at a few upcoming ones!

1.  If you asked Thorin how long he had sat on the cold dark floor of the small elven cell he couldn't tell you. -Restrained {E} Bagginshield

2.   Bilbo looked out at the massive hoard of gold. He hated this, he hated seeing Thorin like this. The warmth that had always been ever present in his eyes was void, replaced by the shadow of a dragon. Not All That Glitters Is Gold {E} Bagginshield

3.   Aziraphale spent this morning as he had every morning since he opened his bookshop 6 years ago.- Jealous Burning Desire {E} Ineffable Husbands

4. Bilbo stood swaying on the spot as Bofur continued to speak. -I didn't know yet that I loved you {G} Bagginshield

5.  The rustling of the sheets and sudden lack of the warm hobbit that usually would be nestled into his torso, jolted him awake. -First Yuletide Under the Mountain {E} Bagginshield

6. One year after Erebor was reclaimed the land saw the thickest winter it has seen in an age. -New Arrivals {M} Kili/FOC (Mind the tags!)  

7.   Bilbo carried a small unlabeled box from the front porch into the dining room and placed it on the table with a big grin on his face. -Mercy At Your Hands {E} Bagginshield

8.  In hindsight there were many questionable decisions that led to Bilbo being cornered behind the Prancing Pony, surrounded by people who were looking to pummel him, and brandishing a rusty frying pan.- Questionable Decisions {G} Bagginshield

9.  “Why, why did you do that!” -(Bagginshield WIP for TSF)

10. Being king under the mountain came with many perks, free time was not one of them. -(Bagginshield WIP)

I'm rotten at tagging people and I don't know who all's been tagged already so sorry for repeats!: @mikathemonster @iheartthilbo @cilil @ironmandeficiency @ilovemosss

[lathalea]

For Better and For Worse

Good morning, how about a little fic for the Armitage Summer Splash event?

WEEK 1 - PROMPT 7

Trope: Soulmates Quote: “I’ve never loved you.”

Relationships: Raymond de Merville x OC Rating: G

You can find this fic on AO3.

Helene heard the sound of heavy footsteps and quickly glanced through the window. It was a foggy evening, but she noticed a tall silhouette walking along the castle rampart. A guard, she thought, observing his cloak fluttering behind him. She returned to her chair by the fireplace and resumed combing her hair. Tomorrow was a big day. Her stomach clenched.

“I hear congratulations are in order, lady Helene, since you are to wed Leonard do Poissy,” a man’s low growl startled her. She could not believe her ears, but she would recognize this voice everywhere.

“Raymond? God be praised! You are alive!” she approached him, wanting to throw her arms around her longed-for knight, but he took a step back towards the door.

He was even more strapping than she remembered. Scars marked his handsome face, his beard was thick and unruly, but it was Raymond, her Raymond, the one Helene gave her heart to before he rode off to fight in the Holy Land. The one who swore on his love to her that when he returned, they would always be together. 

More than twelve years passed since they saw each other last, but every single morning she prayed and hoped for Raymond’s safe return, counting the days until she would become his wife. And now he was there. One day before her wedding to another man.

“When have you come back?” Helene stopped in her tracks. Her voice trembled slightly.

“Now,” his voice was like a distant rumble of thunder.  “Worry not, my lady, I am leaving at dawn.”

“What are you saying? You returned to me,” she whispered, trying to take his hand, but he avoided her touch. “I have been waiting for you for so long!”

“It amuses me how your waiting consisted of finding another husband for yourself!” He narrowed his ice-blue eyes.

“No, Raymond, you don’t understand! It is a match made by my grandfather, the duke. I had no say in this. But now that you are here, I will go and tell him about our agreement! He will have to listen to me.”

“Do not trouble yourself on my account, my lady. I came only to pay my respects and wish you good fortune in marriage,” Raymond said coldly, his eyes refusing to leave her face.

“I suspected that you were dead. But you are not! I do not wish to marry de Poissy. His age… he could be my grandfather. Can you not see? It is you I want, not him! I love you!” she pleaded, tears running down his cheeks.

“But I’ve never loved you.” Silence rang in Helene’s ears. An invisible spear pierced her chest.

“You… but we pledged our hearts to each other. We bound our souls together! Have you forgotten? Raymond?”

“Those pledges were worthless. Silly childish dreams, nothing more,” he spat.

“Why are you hurting me so? I do not believe even a single word you say!” Her lips trembled. “You should. De Poissy will be just the husband you need. His coffers are full of coin. In his manor, you will want for nothing. And if you are not matched by age? The better for you, my lady. In several years, you will become an affluent widow, free to do as you please,” he smirked haughtily.

“Is that the life you wish for me? A loveless marriage and then a lonely widowhood?” 

Raymond stayed silent, but his fingers tightened on the pommel of his sword. Helene stepped closer to him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. She stood so close to him that her opulent gown would surely brush against the mud stains on his cloak and the road dirt on his tunic, but she did not care about it even a bit. Raymond was alive and so close that she could rest her cheek on his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat, like she used to.

“A comfortable life. Safety. A roof over your head. Can you not see, woman?! This is what truly matters, not some foolish promises made by infatuated youths!” he growled at her like a rabid dog.

“I don’t care about any of those things if I am not to spend my life with you!” Helene shouted, pressing her index finger into his chest.

“Do you not understand?! I cannot give you any of those things! I live in a tent, in faraway Ireland, under a rainy sky, surrounded by enemies. I have no coffers and most of my coin goes to the soldiers under my command. This is a dangerous land and not a place for a lady of your stature!” he snapped back at her.

“Then I will stop being one if that is what it takes to be with you!” She grasped the folds of his tunic. “I can sleep on cold forest ground every night as long as you are beside me!”

“What use would I have of you there?” His tone chilled her to the bone. “You do not know what you speak of. Do your grandfather’s bidding and marry your lord. You will thank me later, lady Helene.”

“Lena. Not ‘lady Helene’. That is what you used to call me. Lena,” she stifled a sob. “Or have you forgotten that too?” His strong hands grabbed her wrists, but she did not let go of him. She saw a familiar glint in his eyes.

“There is no point in recalling the past,” Raymond hissed. “You would do well thinking of your future instead!”

“I am, you insufferable man!” she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.

A groan rumbled somewhere deep in his chest and his hands travelled to her face, cupping it, and then he returned the kiss with equal intensity. The hungry flames of their kiss rose towards the ceiling, its heat reaching all the way to her core. He peppered every inch of her face with countless, minuscule kisses and pulled her close to his heart.

“My Lena. My sweet, sweet Lena. My heart,” Raymond murmured into her hair, his arms wrapped around her so tight that she could barely breathe. But at that very moment breathing seemed unimportant. She found her way to his heart again and nothing else mattered.

“Raymond…” she muttered into his tunic, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. And perhaps it did.

“I missed you, Lena. Day after day after day… And when I finally arrived here, every single person spoke about your wedding. I knew I was too late, but I had to see you one last time,” his embrace tightened around her. “But when I saw you, as beautiful as day, about to be wed to another man, I could not bear it…”

“You have always had a temper, my love,” she chuckled softly and looked into his beloved face. “I do not wish to be wed to any other man. Take me from here, Raymond. Make me your wife.”

“Is this what you truly desire? A life of hardships and danger in a land across the sea?” A frown graced his features.

“There is nothing else I want more. We are destined to be together. For better and for worse. I have lost you once and I do not intend to lose you again,” Helene stated firmly.

“I love you, sweet Lena,” he said a moment before their lips met again, leaving her breathless. 

“I never doubted it,” she sighed and kissed him again.

***

When the church bells rang at midnight, a local fishmonger looked out the window with a yawn. The moon shone high in the sky, adding a dreamlike quality to the landscape. A heavily built dun horse galloped along the highroad, heading north. The fishmonger shook his head. Knights and their fancies. He yawned again and decided to return to bed.

Little did he know that the steed carried a knight with the love of his life in his arms.

💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

📜 Searching for more stories to read and more art to look at? 📜 📜Here is the masterlist for Week 1 for the Armitage Summer Splash event. 📜

General taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed): @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512 @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @elliepie1226 @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @wormsmith @mailinsblogofstuff @medusas-hairband @xxbyimm @guylty

[dumbassunderthemountain]

Ange Epilogue

2024 

European Space Agency and Irish Defense Forces Joint Report 

Status: Classified 

Archaeology students from a local university were testing new x ray software on Glanworth Castle. 

Student [Name redacted] discovered a hollow part of the wall with a metal chest inside. 

4 years later hollow compartment was excavated. 

Confirmed by multiple sources that due to the build of the wall and deterioration of the stone and mortar that the wall was built with the hollow compartment inside of it.  

Hollow compartment contained singular bronze chest 

20x30x10 cm 

Minimal designs 

Dated circa 1240 CE 

Sealed with molten bronze 

Chest unsealed 

Contents of chest: Smart phone in plastic case, disintegrated scrap of polyester fleece blanket, 1 letter written in 21st century (native language) on vellum, rice 

Rice: Filled all empty space in chest. From Middle Eastern region, likely used for moisture absorption. 

Smartphone: model (your phone) with (your phone case) from late 2010s. Severely damaged battery. All tests indicate materials over 800 years old. SIM card too corrupted for information recovery. 

Disintegrated scrap of polyester fleece blanket: Frog pattern. Material made in 2000s. All tests indicate materials over 800 years old.  

Letter on Vellum: Velum dated to early 1200s. Written in iron gall ink.  

Letter reads: 

To whomever may find this, 

Hello. I am Lady (y/n) de Merville, Baroness of Glanworth Castle, formerly (y/n) (l/n) of (hometown, and country).  

I was hoping someone, someday could find this letter and tell my friends and family what happened to me. I understand that much of this will likely be classified if the government gets a hold of it, but still I ask that you at least tell them that I lived a long life and was happy and well loved.  

Even if this is classified, I would still like to recount my story perhaps it will help some historian or even give the police leads into other missing persons, as I sincerely doubt, I am the only one who met this fate. I know my words will be unbelievable which is why I included my old phone. Please, test its age. I promise every word I write is the truth.  

In 2020 I was lying about on my couch watching some TV when I suddenly plunged into the cold Irish sea. I was confused and dazed but managed to swim to shore where I found a few dead bodies and a knight bleeding out on the beach. I somehow managed to patch his wound and keep the both of us alive until he was well enough to return to his military camp. It was not until then that I realized that I was no longer in the 21st century.  

I still do not know how I time travelled, but nevertheless, the evidence surrounding me for the last 30 years proves to me that I did. The adjustment was difficult to say the least, but through the help of the knight I met on the beach I managed. That knight was Sir Raymond de Merville, who became my husband soon after we arrived at camp. The marriage was too soon for my taste but it was needed for safety reasons. Though it may not have been the wedding I had hoped for I still count myself extremely lucky to have someone willing to protect me in such a way, and for him to be a man I would eventually fall in love with.  

Soon after Raymond’s father died unexpectedly, making Raymond the baron and I the baroness, at which point we returned to the castle. The transition from the 21st century to the 13th was hardest here but eventually I figured it out. Through some trial and error, Raymond became to be of great help along with his best friend Emmett, but mostly it was Caragh. I met her at my first Beltane celebration and we bonded over barely knowing any French. I hired her as my handmaiden but her only duties waerto help me with my wimple and teach me Irish, so in the end, we became the best of friends. She hated Raymond in the beginning and took to helping me adapt more than anyone. Many of the staff jested that the castle had two baronesses, much to Raymond’s dismay. Honestly, Raymond was very lucky I met him first, yet I would not trade the time I had with him for the world.  

Eventually I did not struggle with being a baroness and Raymond and I managed to figure out how to be a loving married couple despite our incredibly different backgrounds. Two years after I arrived, I gave birth to a son, Phillip. He was beautiful and always so excited to see the world. He did not want to read about it in books, but instead would train with the knights as soon as he was allowed or run around in the woods gathering mushrooms, berries, cones, and anything else he could find. The total opposite of his sister Madeline, who was born three years later after an extremely difficult pregnancy. No one thought her nor I would survive. Nevertheless, we persevered.  

Raymond had been called away to London at the time to meet with King John, and had planned to return a few weeks before I was due, but by the time I returned found his wife and daughter on their deathbed, and a very scared and confused son, who barely recognized him (as he was barely three at the time) curled up in Caragh arms. The two adults sat beside me for weeks until I could walk around again, while Emmett did everything in his power to distract little Phillip. Thankfully, in the end Madeline and I survived, though we have both been sickly ever since and Raymond and Caragh even started to get along. I often wonder how different the experience would have been with 21st century medicine.  

Things became less difficult after that. Madeline and I never were quite as healthy as we should have been but luckily, she wanted nothing more than to stay inside with her books. We would often sit together in front of the fire cozily reading...until her brother dumped a bug or something on her. Raymond often joked that she was likely the most well-read person, man, woman, or monk, in the whole of Ireland. To this day she is the smartest person I know, finding a husband that could accommodate that was no small undertaking. She was nearly 25 when she married, which is rather old for nobility in this time period but I was not about to let my daughter marry some lout that would never listen and take away her books. Besides, I wanted her to find someone she actually liked amongst her many suitors. It was probably for the best honestly, not just for her mental well-being, but she was often ill until she reached about 22... Of our two children she was the one we worried about the most, but we were wrong.  

Phillip wanted nothing more than to be like his father, despite all the warnings Raymond gave about the crusades, it was never enough. All he seemed to hear were the grand tales of the Holy Land and nothing about the evils of war. Even when his father left for the Egypt in 1217 to “uphold his previous vows to the pope” despite my begging, Phillip still wanted to go. He and Raymond spent so much time together, we both should have seen it coming. We had both hoped that seeing how hard it was for the family to be without Raymond it would change Phillips mind. Then we hoped that once Raymond returned early with a permanent limp in his leg, a cane in his hand, and only a sword left behind from Emmett that would deter him. But he went anyways. At 17 he rode off to the Holy Land despite Raymond locking up every weapon in the castle and moving his horse to another stable. Phillip slipped out leaving nothing but a letter, and that was the last we saw of him.  

I do not think I saw Raymond truly smile again until he met his grandson, Phillip Condon over 10 years later. Who, will take over Glanworth after his father passes. With our Phillip gone, the castle could not stay under the de Merville name in this patriarchal time period.  

The rest of our lives have passed peacefully. Raymond managed to create peace between the Irish and the Normans for the time being, and so far, Baron Condon has kept to those treaties. I managed to blend into the 13th century well. Sometimes I even forgot entirely about my past, and despite our troubles overall we were happy.  

Please, tell my family and friends that at the very least.  

I admit, I almost did not write this letter or leave any part of me behind. It still feels a little silly but, when Raymond passed two winters ago, I once again felt so disconnected from this time and place. I had never fully realized just how much of what I thought about Medieval Europe was tied to him. Of course, I still have little Madeline and Caragh, but Madeline has her own family to busy her now. We may live in the same castle but I do not wish to trouble her with her aging mother all time. Caragh, like me is also growing older. She retired from her “handmaiden” duties some twenty years ago. She is simply a roommate now, a few months after Raymond died, we even began sharing a bed to fight off the cold Irish nights.   

It took time and things are still...odd without him but, I am loved and happy with the life I lived. So please, if anyone is reading this, please tell my family and friends that, and that I loved them dearly.  

Faithfully,  

(y/n) de Merville 

<3<3<3

Thanks for Reading!!! <3

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @sunflowers-heart

[sunflowers-heart]

Salvation

Prompt List

Pairing: Raymond de Merville x Reader

Word count: 1,076

Warnings: Death, blood, violence

Author’s note: I love vampires so obviously I had to choose this option. :)

“You’re staring like you’ve never seen a vampire before.”

➞ Requested by: @aspookybunny​

Death left the bitter taste at the back of your tongue and the heavy sensation in your throbbing head. Once you believed that it would be painless, simple as falling asleep after a long day, but the reality surprised you in a way you would never expect it to. There was no floating, no bliss, no memories in front of your eyes—instead, you found the bloodcurdling fear in your veins and suffering in your mind. Perhaps death could be peaceful but contrary to that, life never was and this single thought proved you that you were, indeed, still alive.

You could barely feel your body, limbs still numb and muscles stiff after too much exhaustion. You were trapped inside of your own brain and although your thoughts were becoming clear as a day, you could not open your eyes yet, as if the flesh was a completely separate part of your entity, the one you had no control of. There was so many sounds caught in your ears, many of them unrecognizable and reaching you from afar—the dreadful melody played from behind the milky glass. You did not regret that in the slightest, now perfectly aware of your surrounding even though you could not see it, the sight being too much for you to comprehend.

Just like the reason for this battle and slaughter of thousands of lives remained a mystery. In the name of glory; for God, for country, for themselves, it was all but an empty words, you realized while laying on the muddy ground with the taste of earth and blood in your mouth. Surely, there was a sky above, the endless blue and distant stars but in that moment it mattered no more than a single stone thrown onto the field of grass to soon be forgotten by people, world and the time itself.

You felt no different.

With a heavy heart, you understood that you must have gotten hurt during the battle, most likely hit in the head which caused the lost of consciousness—and possibly saved your life. You were already so tired when the sun was high up, the sword in your hand apparently gaining weight with every next move of your arm, the ground under your feet too wet to keep the balance and all your honour left behind when you were desperately fighting for your life. None of the great promises mattered once you looked death in the eyes.

Awakening has left you dizzy and puzzled, and when you could finally open your eyes, slowly sit up and take off the helmet, you noticed the red sun hidden behind the horizon already. The sunset was breathtaking that day, an image worth immortalizing on the canvas and ironically you wished to forget it completely and erase from your memory forever. It reminded you of a countless bodies laying all around you, armours scattered, blood spilled and heart broken.

The ones who managed to live must have gone long ago, taking the weapons which could be useful again and leaving the rest behind, for you could not spot any moving figure in your eyesight. None, except for one person, the man wandering slowly between the corpses. Considering the distance, it was hard to tell which side was he on, nevertheless you decided to stand on your legs, wondering where would this odd encounter lead you.

The embrace of death did not sound so bad, after all, and for a while you found yourself longing to see the enemy’s colours on him.

He approached you lazily and as the twilight began to swallow the field, you were surprised to see the blood staining his face in an unusual manner. Dried crimson dirtied his lips and chin, rested in the stubble and reached the collar of his torn shirt, hidden under the steel plate of armour. His eyes, however, remained unusually bright, shining even with the dark passion you could not understand.

“You are alive,” the stranger stated the obvious.

There was something grotesque about him, something you could not call. Could it be the aura of raw power surrounding him or the sheer confidence radiating from every inch of his body, whatever it was, it made you stand your ground firmly, unable to move. If you wanted to fight him, it was now too late for he seemed to hold you tightly in his grasp already.

“You are staring like you have never seen a vampire before.”

Despite the humorous sentence, there was no hint of amusement in his expression—on the contrary, he remained stoic and suddenly you felt yourself growing smaller under his gaze. There was only you and him and the thousands of dead people around.

It made sense, when you thought about it then, the vampire wandering through the fields of misery like a forgotten ghost, feeding on those who managed to survive the battle and draining them of blood completely, robbing them of the last ounces of pride. You were to follow them soon.

The vampire reached to you so quickly that your eye could not catch the movement, and only the harsh feeling of the leather glove closing around your throat, threatening to squeeze, triggered your fear and primal instinct to defend your life.

“You are the last one,” he murmured, closing the distance, so you could see the tips of his sharp fangs showing when he spoke. “And a woman. How peculiar…”

Your sword was still laying in the mud, out of your reach.

“I could be merciful and make your end painless,” he continued, his voice low and hoarse and the hold on your throat no less strong. “I could even spare you or make you become one of my kind. Devoted servant bound to me for all the eternity.”

As if his own words were somehow ecstatic, the vampire leaned to you, brushing his bloodied cheek over yours and barely tasting the drop of blood from your temple before humming with approval.

“It does sound quite tempting, I have to admit, however…” His whisper ghosted over your ear, the thumb finding your larynx and circulating it. “I suppose I would rather devour you whole.”

Apparently, you were right from the very beginning—death truly did left a bitter taste at the back of your tongue, when you choked on your own, warm blood, your throat torn with the pair of sharp fangs and the scream dying on your lips.

If you enjoyed this story I’d greatly appreciate it if you supported me by commenting or reblogging it. Thank you!

[dashesofink]

Come Back

Drabble: soft kisses + kisses on the forehead + “I promise.”

Pairings: Raymond de Merville x Reader

Word Count: 973

Warnings: none

Main Taglist: @legolaslovely @c4ts4ndstuff @t00-many-th0ughts @fizzyxcustard @anilynsworld

A/N: this is my first time writing for Raymond, so please bare with me!! 

It wasn’t often that the war-hardened warrior showed his caring side in public. He preferred to save that for you and you only. Though his hands were scared and calloused from constant use with a sword his fingers were gentle against your skin, gliding over your cheek before he cradled your jaw in his palms. Eyes that normally resembled that of a turbulent sea were calm as they looked down to you, now a blue that rivaled the bright sky that swam with a deep love for you. “I shall return soon, fleur.” His voice, though usually harsh and biting towards his troops, was soft and gentle like the wind. You had the luxury of seeing this side of Raymond, the caring and gentle side of him. Arms and hands that were strong enough to crush a man were gentle and instead took to holding you like a weightless cloud whenever he had the chance. As soon as he laid eyes on you the roaring lion in his chest was tamed, his heart racing with love and his mind going foggy.

Raymond ignored the heavy banging against his chamber door, and though he was tempted to curse at whoever was disturbing him he held back the urge, not wanting to frighten you more than you already were. Your fingers trembled as they brushed over the scar that fell across his temple, a small frown pulling down your lips when you looked into his eyes. Raymond’s touch was soft and caring, his fingers brushing over the skin of your lips as he tilted your head back. His lips met yours gently, his nose brushing against your own while he held you. Your hands ran up the length of his chest and over the cold metal of his armor until you grasped the collar of his cloak. “You must be safe, Raymond.” His dark hair meshed with yours when he rested his forehead against yours, a small nod coming from him. “Come back to me, to us.”

Pride swelled in Raymond’s heart when his eyes traveled downwards, one of his strong hands resting upon the swell of your belly. Your eyes stung with tears when he looked back to you. His eyebrows knitted together before he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you closer to his body. His arms wrapped fully around your frame as you latched on to him, and his lips pressed against your forehead before he guided your head to rest upon his shoulder. “I promise.” Raymond’s voice was quiet and reassuring.

Since the first time you had learned he would be leaving fear coursed through your body. It was hard for you to find peace over the news, your mind clouding with terrible thoughts and your heart aching with fear for your husband. A winded breath past your lips as you tried to calm yourself, yet your attempts were useless. Your fingers gripped on to his heavy cloak as you pressed yourself to him as close as you could. You didn’t want him to leave, to go off and fight some war in another place, away from you and away from his unborn child. You wanted him here, with you. Fists pounded against his door again, your body buzzing with fright at the sudden sound and you slinked closer to him.

Raymond let out a low growl at the noise, his eyes glaring at the large wooden door before he turned back to you. His hands trailed down your arms after he pulled out of the tight embrace, his eyes once again warm and dancing with compassion. “Stay strong, y/n.” Raymond brought the skin of your knuckles to his mouth, his beard scratching against your skin as his lips danced over your hand for a moment. You leaned into his touch when he cupped your jaw again. Having to leave you was hard for him, for he longed to stay by your side the longer you were with child. But he didn’t have a say in when he was needed for battle, or where he was going to fight for that matter. He knew how he felt about leaving and he didn’t even need to ask for your thoughts on the matter. The fear and pain in your eyes was telling enough.

You jumped when another series of loud knocks sounded throughout his chambers. You saw anger flash through Raymond’s eyes at the noise, his hands tightening on your fingers. But as he looked to you they softened, shifting to pools of bright blue that danced with love and were shadowed by his eyebrows. “I will miss you.” You forced a smile on to your trembling lips. The soldier outside of his door was growing impatient, you could tell, and you knew his continuous beatings against the door would earn him a harsh punishment from Raymond later. “We both will.”

It seemed his anger at the soldier could no longer be contained, a snarl forming on his lips as he verbally cursed at the man beating on his door again. Hurried shuffles could be heard outside of the door, the soldier calling meekly out for Raymond before he finally left you alone. With one last glance down to the swell in your belly Raymond smiled, his fingers falling once again to caress the bump gently. Your husband reluctantly turned away from you, his fingers dragging against the skin of your palm as he walked towards the door. Your heart clenched with fear in time with the creaking of the door as he opened it. Raymond turned back one last time, his eyes drinking in the way you looked and how his unborn child grew in your stomach, his lips stretching into a soft smile before he turned away.

“I’ll miss you both, more than you know, mon amour.”

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Raymond letting you fall to the hands of the Vikings only for you to come back years later as their King

Scout: my Lord a band of Norsemen are coming this way

Raymond: pack up camp quickly as you can *pulls you aside and ties you to a tree* you will by us extra time to get away while they are busy with you.

You: what do you mean by "busy with me"?

Raymond: they're Norsemen, they are know to rape and pillage. You will prevent them from doing the latter.

You: so I'm just a scarifical lamb?

Raymond: ouí *leaves*

Norsemen: *are actually quite nice to you*

*years later at a meeting of Kings*

Barron de Mervile: *has been brought on to attend his King* did you hear one of the Norse Kings is coming...

Raymond: that will end very poorly for them

*at the meeting*

You: *is in disguise as an attendant*

Bjorn: *your stand in* I am King Bjorn Mikkelson of Norway. *Takes a drink of wine, only to die of poisoning a few minutes later*

You: *picks the crown up off his head, moves his dead body out of the chair, and takes a seat* thank you for that, he was plot a coupe to seize my throne.

King of France: you knew we'd try to kill you?

You: I didn't actually, I was just being careful *looks over at Raymond* oh hello Raymond, long time no see, how have you been?

Raymond: *feels the daggers of his father's glare at him* I am well

You: I would like to speak to you after the meeting.

Barron de Mervile: *hisses* I expect an explanation before your meeting with the "King"

*after the meeting*

Raymond: *just got thoroughly chewed out by his father* what do you want (y/n)

You: is that any way to speak to a king?

Raymond: ...what can I do for you king (y/n) of Norway *bows*

You: I mainly just wanted to gloat, you threw me to the wolves and I came back leading the pack.

Raymond: might I inquire how you managed such a feat?

You: I won it in a tournament, the kingship that is.

Raymond: really? That's....

You: it's incredibly stupid is what it is. Also you can drop the formalities. I merely wish to use you to convey to the church that I will allow them to send missionaries to my lands on a few conditions, and I wish to start trade with France.

Raymond: you will?

You: only if they agree to my conditions

Raymond: very well I will help you

You: smart boy

[middleearthpixie]

Pizza

Armitage Summer Splash Prompt #23 ~ thanks, as always to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard for the challenge!

Trope: Time travel 

Quote: “Do you regret being with me?”

RA Character: Raymond de Merville

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None. All. Fluff.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,752

Prompt #23 ~ Pizza

***

You never thought you’d have a sword in your bedroom. Or chainmail. Or any other sort of armor. But, there they were—the sword was propped by the dresser, the chainmail dumped in the chair (please don’t let it leave marks on the upholstery, as you’d asked Raymond a thousand times to not leave it there. Maybe someday he’d listen), the armor? Well, that was scattered throughout your apartment now. It was tough to explain to your parents when they came over for dinner and to meet the man you lived with why there was a shield over by the television set, leaning against the entertainment center. You told them Raymond was a RenFaire actor and so far, so good. They believed you. 

If you told them the truth, they’d think you’d lost your fool mind. And you really couldn’t blame them. How did you explain to rational people that a knight from the thirteenth century found his way into the twenty-first century? You had a hard enough time convincing Raymond of his journey through time but convincing your parents? Never going to happen. They would never get it. And again, who could blame them?

 You weren’t sure yourself how it happened. All you knew was you were at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, looking at the special display of thirteenth century armor on loan for the summer from the Louvre when the city was hit with a blackout. It lasted only minutes, but when the lights came on, the knight you’d been studying so intently?

He blinked. 

And scared the living shit out of you. 

He’d stepped down from the low pedestal, sword drawn, glaring at you as he asked you something in French. You spoke almost no French at the time, but stared down at the point of the sword only inches from your throat and replied with the only phrase you could ever remember from seventh grade French class:

“Puis-je alle à la salle de bain, si’l vous plait?”

Can I go to the bathroom, please? You’d have facepalmed if you weren’t so scared. 

His eyes went narrow as he said, “Quoi?”

Thankfully, he spoke some English, and things didn't go downhill from there. Just the opposite really. He was truly a lost soul and once you got over being terrified of him, you felt overwhelming sympathy for him and so offered him a place to stay. It was supposed to be temporary, until you figured out a way to send him back to his time. 

Unfortunately, neither one of you could figure out just how to do that, and so you both accepted the reality. He wasn't going anywhere. At first, you weren’t exactly sure how you felt about having an unexpected roommate.

But now? Now it was a little different story. 

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

Raymond’s deep voice floated over your shoulder from behind you, his arm draped about your waist heavy with muscle, his fingers relaxed as they brushed your stomach. You smiled as those fingers pressed against you, as he tugged you closer to his chest. He did this every night if you ventured too far for his liking. His arm tightened about you and he pulled you flush against him. You had to admit, it certainly wasn’t the worst way to sleep.

“Nothing,” you murmured, your eyes closing at the soft sweep of his lips along the side of your neck.

“Last night went well, I think.” His lips now brushed your ear. “Your parents like me.”

“I thought you didn't care if anyone liked you?”

“I care if they do. For your sake.The rest of this city peut aller en enfer.”

“And that is?”

“They can go to hell. As long as your parents like me, I’m happy.”

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure they like you.”

You carefully turned in his arms. His blue eyes were no longer so cold as they’d been when he first stepped into your time three months earlier. Then, he’d actually tried to run you through because he thought you were a witch. Fortunately, you managed to convince him that even if you were one, which you weren’t, no one executed witches in your time. 

Not that his adjustment had been an easy one. Far from it, actually. Your modern world confused him and he didn’t do confusion real well. He grew sullen and angry and for a while, and you were pretty sure you’d eventually end up having to bail him out of jail at least once at some point. Thankfully, it had yet to happen, but you didn't rule it out in the future, either. It took the better part of two weeks to convince him he didn't need to carry a sword everywhere and almost as long to convince him armor was just as unnecessary, deodorant was a good thing, and yes, he really should brush his teeth twice a day. You still patted him down before you left the apartment together. Just in case.

Your romance began by accident. He looked really good in jeans and a tee shirt and you really couldn't help yourself one afternoon as you were trying to teach him how to use the camera on your cell phone. He’d taken something like fifteen selfies and not a one that captured his entire face. You took the phone from him, showed him how far to hold it away, and as you took the shot, you meant to press your cheek to his, only to have him turn toward you at the last minute and kiss you fully on the lips. It stunned you at first, but then… oh… your knight knew how to kiss. His lips were soft. His tongue teasing. And when you finally pulled away, he actually smiled. Smiled and winked and showed you he did, in fact, know how to take a selfish. Jerk. Nuzzling you, he confessed he’d faked not knowing how purposely, with the sole intention of luring you in for that damn kiss. Stinker. 

The first time you slept together came about when, after several glasses of wine, you’d asked him about the scars he bore—a j-shaped one on his right cheek and the ragged looking one on the same side of his neck. He refused to tell you how he’d gotten either one, but instead began showing you the other scars his body bore. Most were on his torso, but then he stood and tugged down his jeans to show you one on his thigh. At this point, you’d matched him, scar for scar, although yours were not nearly as interesting as his. Still, between the wine and lack of clothing, it was only a matter of minutes before your underwear landed atop the heap of discarded jeans and tee shirts and socks and shoes, and you and Raymond were going at it like a couple of horny teenagers right there on the living room floor.

And now there you were. In the arms of a thirteenth-century man you were slowly converting to a twenty-first century man. 

Of course, that didn’t mean the thirteenth-century ideals men had about women didn’t surface from time to time. When they did, you reminded yourself that killing him would be wrong and you wouldn’t be able to hide his body, anyway, and he did make up for it when you called him out on it. Besides, to be fair, he’d come a long way, so his occasional lapses were forgivable, especially as they came fewer and farther between.

Besides, moments such as these made up for his somewhat chauvinistic views, moments when he eased himself over you and bent to just nibble your lips teasingly. Or when he did this, but then leaned closer and nuzzled you, whispering endearments in French as he did. Half the time, you had to have him translate, as you were only just now learning his language, and you weren’t always certain he told you the truth about what he said, especially when he was annoyed at you and muttered under his breath to express said annoyance.

“Raymond…” His name floated to your lips as he swept a kiss along the side of your neck, his dark hair tickling your cheek as he moved.

“What?”

“We do need to get up. I have things to do.”

“As do I.” Another sweep of his soft lips along your skin, his beard prickly around them. “And you, ma chêrie, are the most important of them.”

You smiled. He was picking up your lingo much faster than you were his language, and you let your protests slide by the wayside as you eased your arms about his waist to trail your fingernails along his broad, smooth back. “Is that so?”

“Most definitely.”

“So, you’re happy here?” You shifted slightly to meet his gaze. 

“Do I look unhappy?”

“Well, not at the moment, no. But this world is so different from what you know, Raymond. Do you regret coming forward and not being able to go back? Do you regret being with me?”

His eyes, once so hard and cold, were now soft and tender as he shook his head. “Of course not. I love you. I love you and I am more than happy being here.”

You could only stare up at him. This was the first time he spoke of his feelings toward you, and hearing him say he loved you, in that deep, soothing voice of his, warmed you to the center of your being. 

“You—you love me?”

“I’d not say it if I didn’t.” 

“You look surprised,” he murmured, dipping to brush your lips with his once more. “Why?”

“I… I guess because I never thought something like this would happen to me.”

“Nor I to me, but here we are and here I will stay.” He kissed you once more, then with a smile, added, “Besides, you have pizza. And I’ve found I do enjoy pizza.” 

“Pizza. You want to stay here because of pizza.”

He offered up a wicked smile and wiggled his eyebrows. “And the Pill. A glorious thing, that.”

“You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Am I, though?” He carefully lowered himself completely against you. 

“No,” you whispered, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes, “I don’t suppose you are. And you know, I love you, too, right?”

“Good answer, love,” he murmured just before his lips claimed yours and you lost yourself in the magic of his kiss.

***

Like it? Love it? If so, please love it, leave a comment, reblog it, or do all three! 💜💜💜

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

[dumbassunderthemountain]

So….

Strangely enough I’m writing the epilogue of Ange

But I still haven’t written the last chapter

But it’ll make sense. I promise.

At least I’m working on it right?

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Aaaaaaaaah my name was in that fic 👀👀👀

Also...yummy...you paint such a beautiful picture once again and I for one would very much like a piece of fruit cake. Thank you very much 🥺

Ah that was so tense and beautiful. You have a real knack for making danger sound so alluring ❤️

Le Désir

Part 1 l …

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

Summer had only recently turned its back on the endless green hills, and the evenings were not yet characteristically dark—but the wind howling from the sea brought an icy foreboding of an approaching storm. Along one of the most dramatic coasts of Ireland, far from what was considered to be real civilization, the great distance between the inns often left travelers with no other option except sleeping under the stars. The landscape offered a spectacular view, and during summer, when the winds were mild, it was as close as one could get to paradise. But as the days turned shorter, the strong force of nature tested the persistence of anyone traveling along the coastline.

During their return from yet another mission, Raymond de Merville and his closest men rode in silence up the winding path. The wind tore at their cloaks, and the horses’ manes whipped angrily from one side to the other. Thankfully, it had not rained since the previous day, but Raymond’s mood was still sour. He hated sleeping on a damp bedroll and longed for a warm, dry bed. Any bed. His buckskin mare walked with her head bent to the side as if trying to shield her eyes from the wind, and he gave her a gentle stroke on the neck. She had carried him through many dangers, and he valued her more than he would ever admit. His father, Baron de Merville, had questioned his choice of horse more times than Raymond could remember. In the Baron’s opinion, a larger and heavier horse was more suitable for a knight, but Raymond liked the speed and temper of his mare. He had never seen a faster horse, and what she lacked in strength, she compensated with willingness and bravery.

The sun was slowly coming to rest behind the fast-moving clouds in the west, and the small group of riders searched for the old inn at the far end of the rocky road. Among the loyal group of soldiers accompanying Raymond, only his closest man—Dugald—had stayed at the inn before. Raymond vaguely remembered the location and the meals served there. It was a remote outpost, and the temperamental knight discovered it a few years earlier when he took the same godforsaken route. Focused on the task at hand, Raymond urged his horse forward. They needed to find the inn before they lost the light. After that, only hard rocks and the merciless wind awaited the exhausted horses and their riders.

Suddenly, a small collection of buildings appeared at the very end of the steep cliffs. With new energy in their bodies—fueled by the thought of strong ale—the group quickened their pace, and right before the last rays of light disappeared, they reached the stony yard in front of the inn. Candles were lit inside, and the innkeeper himself—a short, stocky man with a ginger beard—was busy sealing the small windows for the night. The approaching storm was not to be taken lightly. Thrilled to have a noble guest, the innkeeper assured Raymond they could find shelter within his walls before Raymond even had time to dismount his horse. Fair settlement would come later, but for now, the company was welcome to enjoy whatever the house had to offer.

Cecilia had been up since sunrise and dutifully done all the chores her father assigned to her. Only a few years ago, her main responsibilities were limited to serving their guests during the evening and caring for the sheep while the sun was up. But lately, probably due to her father’s increasing age, Cecilia more and more often found herself doing other tasks as well. While her mother spent most of her time preparing or cooking food for the steady stream of guests, Cecilia and her two younger sisters helped their father with everything he would have asked of a son—if he had one.

As a young girl, Cecilia overheard her father speaking to her mother about their incapability to conceive a boy. After their third daughter, and a good amount of tears, her parents understood that God would not bless them with another child. It became a great concern for Cecilia’s father, who—like so many other men—took an heir for granted. The thought of having one of his daughters take over the inn when he could no longer manage was unthinkable. Even if the girl’s mother did everything to convince him, there was no point. On the day of the argument, Cecilia swore to prove him wrong. Even if her father would never leave the inn to her, she was determined to show her value as a hard-working woman, and the older she got, the more difficult tasks she was entrusted with.

The inn was unusually empty, and Cecilia looked forward to a quiet evening. Maybe she would even have time to have a cup of warm cider with her mother. As she was sweeping the floor next to the door, raised voices from outside caught her attention. Her father’s voice sounded excited, and he was talking—or rather shouting—to someone, but she could not hear what was said. A horse suddenly neighed loudly, and Cecilia realized they had new visitors. Before she even had time to put on her cloak, the door was brusquely opened, and a man of impressive height bent down to avoid hitting his head while entering. When he straightened his back, Cecilia became certain he was the tallest man ever coming through their door, and she could not help but gasp when she took in the sight of him. The man’s dark hair was unruly—clearly from the removal of his mail coif—and he had traces of dust on his face, the kind you get from spending a long time on the road. Still, his short beard was well maintained, and under his dark eyebrows, a pair of cerulean eyes gleamed in the dim light. His jaw was set in a displeased expression, and Cecilia did not doubt he was as terrifying on the battlefield as he looked. A deep scar ran from his temple all the way to under his eye, and it made him look even more grim. His armor—together with the coat of arms on his chest—revealed his powerful status, and Cecilia averted her eyes while blushing. She had no right to study him so intensely, and he would certainly not approve.

A couple of other men soon followed the knight, and when her father finally appeared at the door, Cecilia sighed in relief. Even if she was used to handling most types of men while serving—not all travelers were gentlemen—there was something dark and unpleasant about the man who walked over—with no small amount of self-confidence—to the largest table in the room and sat down at the end. Another dark-haired man took a seat next to the first and then followed the rest of their company. Soon the men demanded ale and roasted meat to be brought to the table, and Cecilia looked at her father with a question on her face.

“What are you waiting for? You heard the men, did you not? Go see what your mother has ready.”

Cecilia sighed again. She would have preferred to keep sweeping the floor.

As the strong wind tried to rip the land apart, the heat from the fire warmed the newly arrived group of men, and as soon as their plates were filled with hot meals, their initial grumpy mutterings were replaced with laughter and merry chattering. Only one face remained displeased.

Raymond sat quietly and ate his roasted chicken directly from the bones. The skin was crispy—just the way he liked it—and well-seasoned. The innkeeper's wife was a good cook, and Raymond swallowed the last of his food together with a few mouthfuls of ale. It was the best meal he had enjoyed in days, but he was still not satisfied. He told Dugald to order another round of ale, hoping it would help him let go of the restless feeling in his chest. The howling wind increased in power, and he was grateful they reached the inn before nightfall. He could hear the wind tearing at the roof, and the house creaked as it fought back.

It did not take long before the young woman arrived with more foaming ale. She offered sweet smiles to all his men while handing out their drinks, but when she placed his pint on the table beforef him, she did not even meet his gaze. A short “Sire,” was all he got before she quickly walked away. Raymond watched her as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping away the mud they had brought inside upon their arrival. He was surprised he did not notice at first how beautiful she was. Her thick copper hair was pulled back and held in place with a ribbon, allowinghim to study her facial expressions as she worked. The way she moved her body made Raymond think of dancing—something he had not done since he left Rouen. Her waist was slim, and he briefly wondered how it would feel to put his hands around it. He took another mouthful of the strong ale and allowed himself to shamelessly admire the curve of her hips. It was something special about her that he could not really explain to himself. The young woman glanced at their table on several occasions, but not once did she meet his gaze.

When he finished his second ale, the burden of stress in Raymond’s chest was almost gone. The men around him became louder, and Dugald made an attempt to get the barmaid’s attention for yet another round of pints.

To Raymond’s displeasure, the ale was brought to the table by another young woman. The new girl was a significantly younger copy of the first, no doubt her sister. As she placed the pint in front of Raymond, he grabbed her wrist. She met his cold, intense stare, and her smile died on her lips.

“The woman who brought us food, what is her name?”

“Cecilia, Sire. Please, let me go,” the girl responded with a frightened look in her eyes.

“Tell Cecilia she is not done here,” Raymond muttered and lifted his hand. The girl practically ran away from the table, and Raymond wondered if she would tell her father—the innkeeper—or if his message would be delivered. Cecilia. Pretty name for a pretty face, he thought as he met Dugald’s amused look.

Dugald leaned in closer to Raymond and held his voice down. “Taking an interest in the soft flesh?”

“Mind your own business, Dugald,” Raymond snapped with a clear warning in his tone.

“For the right price, I am sure she can be persuaded to warm your bed tonight, if that is what you need.” Dugald ignored the icy stare Raymond shot at him. If it were not for their long friendship, Raymond would never have allowed Dugald to speak to him like that.

“I do not need to pay for a woman’s company, you know that.” Raymond took a few large gulps of his new ale and then grinned. “Besides, if I take a woman to my bed I prefer someone who actually wants to be there. Harlots lie dead on their back—a willing woman is far more interesting.”

“Fair enough,” Dugald laughed and looked appreciatively in the direction of the younger of the women. “One thing is certain: they did not get their looks from their father.”

“Cecilia, I need to speak with you!”

Cecilia turned at the sound of her youngest sister’s voice. She had gone to offer her mother some help but was pulled to a quiet corner and hushed when she tried to ask what was going on. Alice's voice was rushed and she kept her tone down.

“The scary-looking knight at the end of the table was asking for you. He asked for your name, and I gave it to him. I am sorry, but I could not refuse him. Did you speak to him?”

“I did not, I just gave them what they wanted.”

“He said you are not done yet. What does he want? Shall I go tell father? So he keeps an eye on them?”

“No, I can handle it myself,” Cecilia said with a confident smile. “We do not need to worry him.”

“Alright, as you wish. But I do not like the look on that man’s face. He looks cruel.”

Cecilia peeked around the corner, out into the main hall where their guests were seated. The room appeared even darker than usual now thattheir father had covered the windows. Candles and lanterns were placed on every table, and they spread a faint, warm light over the different faces. The knight with the horrifying scar was in deep conversation with the man next to him and paid no attention to anything else at the moment. Or so she thought.

“He does look grim, I agree. But we have seen worse, I think?”

“We have. Just be careful. And scream if he tries to touch you!”

“I promise! Stop being so dramatic, you are making me nervous with your thoughts. I am sure the evening will be quiet. Let us serve them ale, that will keep them happy.”

The sisters exchanged smiles, and Cecilia took a deep breath and stepped out into the main hall again. Alice’s words rang in her ears. He knew her name. Why did he ask for that? She did not have time to think of an answer, for as soon as she made her presence known, she had new requests to fulfill. The few other guests staying at the inn had taken their seats at another table, and Cecilia was glad for the distraction. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron and started working with a forced smile on her face. More meals and ale were prepared, and Cecilia and her sister hurried to serve the new group of hungry guests. As she worked, she could not help thinking of the knight. When he stepped over their threshold, she instantly saw the unusual color of his eyes, and the way he moved as he walked past her almost made her heart stop. He was danger personified, but a secret part of her liked that. She knew it was stupid, but she wanted to glance toward the other table and see if he was still as stern after all those strong ales.

Raymond instantly noticed Cecilia when she walked back into the room, and he did not care about Dugald’s inappropriate comment about it. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty as she smiled welcomingly at some other guests. But frustration grew inside him the longer he watched her. She had refused to look at him as soon as they were seated, and yet everybody else was treated with warmth. He emptied his pint and slammed it down on the table, earning a frown from Dugald and a cheer from the rest of the men. They quickly followed his example, and soon voices were raised for even more. It was going to be a long night, he thought, if his men kept drinking like that. But with the storm raging outside, what else could they do?

A feminine laugh, light and clear as the water in a spring brook, rose over the tables and landed like a sharp slap on Raymond’s face. He could not explain why it made him bitter, but he demanded to know why she ignored him—Raymond de Merville—while other men were generously met with kindness. The strong ale chased away the restlessness, but, it awoke something else instead. Desire. He stood up from the table, and without even a look at his men, he followed Cecilia when she once again left the room.

Cecilia was on her way to the pantry when she heard steps from heavy boots behind her. Before she could react, a warm, large hand wrapped around her wrist, and a not-so-gentle pull made her spin around and collide with a broad chest dressed in a stained burgundy surcoat. The masculine scent of musk mixed with leather and smoke surrounded her, and in the narrow passage, she had nowhere to go—she was trapped without any possibility of getting away from him. He towered over her, and she had to stretch her neck to meet his gaze. A small gasp escaped her lips as she stared into his cerulean eyes. She could not really make out the stormy expression in them, but the frown on his face told her that he was not pleased. Cecilia instinctively put her hands on his chest to push him away from her. The long hauberk made his upper body even harder than she assumed it was. Not that she had thought about that while sweeping the floor.

“Are you avoiding me?” His low, commanding tone was unlike any other voice she had ever heard. Who was this man, and what in the Lord’s name did he want?

”Sire?” Cecilia tried to think of a suitable answer. The truth was that she had indeed deliberately avoided any type of interaction with the man. In her mind she had the picture of him clear: he was a cruel man, a merciless slayer, and he had sworn to serve the crown—for as long as he lived. She was not sure what crown, for the men at the table spoke a language she did not understand, and the knight in front of her had an accent laced with a softer melody than her own. But he was also dangerously alluring, with his sharp jaw, patrician nose, and the confidence of a true warrior. And his lips. One quick glance at them made her warm, and she cursed herself for her reaction.

”I said, are you avoiding me?”

She forced a smile on her face and secretly let her fingernails dig into the soft skin of her palms.

”Of course not, Sire. I was just going to get some fruitcake, if you and your men would be interested in having some.” Cecilia knew most people had a change of mindset when threats were involved, but the man just stared back at her. The clouds in his eyes seemed to slowly fade away, and Cecilia exhaled a little too loudly.

”I am sure my men would appreciate some.” His breath was warm, and he smelled of ale. It was not unpleasant, but Cecilia would rather die than admit it.

”And you, Sire?”

”I have no interest in fruitcake, Cecilia.” She flinched at the way her name sounded when spoken by him. He made it sound exotic—like an endearment even.

”Is there anything else I can get for you?” Cecilia did not approve of the weakness in her voice. This was not how she usually handled guests who had too much to drink, and with a frustrated sigh, she pressed her nails deeper into her skin. He was no different, she told herself—no different at all.

”No,” he said, but something sparked in his eyes. For a second, Cecilia thought he was going to touch her, but then he took a step back and freed the passage.

”Let me know if you change your mind, Sire,” Cecilia replied, but as soon as the words were out, she wanted to sink through the floor. That did not come out as she intended. What if he thought she was implying another type of service? She had heard of women offering their company to guests for payment, but that was not what she was doing. “I did not mean to—”

”I will keep that in mind,” he cut her off with a grin. Then he turned and strode back to his men, leaving Cecilia in the narrow hall with blushing cheeks while his musky scent lingered like something forbidden in the air.

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[sunflowers-heart]

May 28th – “I hate you.”

Lyn’s Writing Event

Pairing: Raymond de Merville x Reader

Word count: 1,118

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

Storming into the dining hall you almost bumped into one of the guards before passing him by and walking to the enormous, long table standing in the middle, the variety of meats, fruits and vegetables mixing with the drinking cups and the smell of mulled wine. It was warm, almost hot inside, the stone walls keeping the high temperature coming from the burning fireplace and the narrow windows not allowing the cold, winter air to breeze inside. The dinner was, indeed, kingly, worth every coin spent on the supplies which were now being consumed by the residents of the castle and the guests, accompanied with the loud conversations, laughing and music played by the minstrel. And it would be wonderful, the abundance and wealth being enough proof that you were going to survive this harsh time of the year, safe and definitely far from starving.

You should be happy for your husband’s prosperity, you should be grateful for his generosity, you should be supportive for his decisions and yet, you simply could not sit and watch as your world, the castle built on the sand, was going to fall soon.

You did not pay attention to the guests which were inviting you to sit with them and join in the dinner, nor did you notice the delightful, mouth-watering scent of the freshly prepared food, way too occupied by the chaos in your head to get distracted by something so trivial. Approaching Raymond, you crossed your arms across the chest and waited as he dried his cup of wine and placed it on the table before looking up at you, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“I need to talk to you,” you told him, barely hiding the nervousness. “Not here, not in front of them.”

“Then you will have to wait,” was his answer, as expected.

You did not allow him to come back to eating and ignoring you, instead you leaned over him to make sure that nobody could hear your next sentence spoken in a trembling voice, dying in the sounds of cheers and music.

“I know about Athlone.”

Raymond seemed to not hear you say a word, taking a piece of bread and chewing it, looking at the minstrel who was just starting to play another melody, applauded and encouraged by the other feasters. You waited patiently for his reaction, knowing your husband well enough to remember that he would never ignore such news. In the end, he refilled his cup of wine, took a big gulp and wiped his hands and mouth before standing up from the table, grabbing you by the arm and walking you out of the dining room.

The wave of chill air hit your face as you were both on the corridor, door closing behind you with a loud thud and Raymond’s expression simply disappointed. He was not drunk, he never was, way too wary to always keep his guard even during celebrating time like this.

“Who told you?” he asked, letting go of your arm.

“Nobody,” you lied. “I found out by myself and I need answers, Raymond.”

“You are free to ask for whatever you please but I won’t guarantee you any answers.”

You were done. You were tired of his behaviour, acting as if nothing happened and as if it was not any big deal, and so, you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you in the eyes and hissed through the teeth:

“Raymond de Merville, I forbid you taking any part on this quest for this is nothing but a certain death and you are very aware of that.”

He was going to die. You knew that if he would eventually go to the battle to conquer the city of Athlone, he would be lost. He did not have enough people and the winter was way too merciless for the long journey through the snow and storm. If you let him go out of the castle, you would never see him again.

“This is the kind of risk I am willing to take.” He straightened up and moved your hands from his face.

“But I am not,” you opposed. “Does my opinion mean nothing to you? Nor my feelings for you? Are you really going to risk all of that, all the goods and all your life for a single conquer more?”

“You have no idea what are you talking about,” he growled, apparently annoyed by your offensive talk.

“Enlighten me then. Explain to me how am I supposed to let you die just like that. You are going to willingly make me a widow.”

He did not answer and in his eyes you noticed the familiar equilibrium. Raymond was calm, reconciled with his future and most likely expecting you to react this way once you would find out the truth. But, what hit you the most, was not the disgusting indifference but rather the fact that was not going to change his mind, no matter what you did or said.

“Raymond,” you started again, this time trying to keep calm. “At least allow me to go with you. I am a good warrior, one of the best of my kind and if you believe that you can handle it, then surely so can I.”

“This is not a negotiable option,” he answered firmly, his brows furrowed. “And do not even try to fool me, I already made sure that you will stay here during my absence.”

“What are you going to do to stop me, then?” The irony was sipping from your tongue like a bitter venom. “Lock me up in the dungeons?”

“If I have to.”

He was serious, you could hear it in his voice, read it from his face. Raymond was slipping through your fingers like a sand—and your whole life, your home, your future and happiness was nothing more but sand. Your desperate attempts to hold it together were pointless and the more you wanted to keep it to yourself, the more you were losing. You could feel the tight feeling in your chest when your heart broke, your knees becoming soft and the painful lump forming in your throat.

“I hate you…” you whispered then, observing his face and looking for any signs of change, of hesitation, only to find none. “I hate you with my whole heart, Raymond de Merville.”

To your surprise, he only nodded slightly and then raised his chin up, ready to turn on the heel and come back to the dining hall.

“Good,” he told you before walking away. “I would rather have you hate me for the next dozens of years than love me just for the next few weeks.”

[dashesofink]

Of Flowers and Pain

Drabble: “One last request for Raymond and I’ll leave you alone for a bit! Can you do a fic and incorporate the Hanahaki disease? Kinda like an !au or smth like that. Your choice to make it happy or sad. Thanks on advance!”

Pairings: Raymond de Merville x Reader

Word Count: 2259

Warnings: mentions of blood

Main Taglist: @legolaslovely @c4ts4ndstuff @t00-many-th0ughts @fizzyxcustard

A/N: I think I might turn this into a two-parter request!! What do y’all think?? 

The pain that constantly bubbled in your throat and stomach was bad enough, but seeing the cause of your pain was almost too much to bare. People knew of the disease you had, as almost everyone in your village had experienced the damned thing by now. If not, they were destined to succumb to it eventually. It was difficult, coming up with ways to excuse yourself when he was constantly in your pub, hoping that you would make it out in time to vomit out the earthy build in your throat without him knowing. Each day the petals were a new color. Each day the thorns from their stems ravaged your throat. Each day the blood came out thicker. You knew if you didn’t tell him of your feelings you wouldn’t survive much longer. But the thought of him not loving you back was almost as painful as your disease, if not more. If he rejected you, rejected your feelings, surely you would die a slow and painful death. That was how the disease worked.

“You must tell him, y/n.” A gentle hand smoothed circles into your back. A hot, stabbing pain lining the muscles of your throat, tears trailing heavily down your cheeks as you watched the blood soaked flowers landed on the muddy ground with a splash. “My darling, please!” The hydrous blood splashed against your old boots when the last flower fell past your lips, your now red lips forming into a deep grimace.

“I cannot.” Your voice was hoarse, a loud cough bubbling in your throat and tearing at the fresh wounds as you doubled over again. No flowers came this time. “I fear he does not feel the same.” Your friend understood the dread that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You had expressed your fears of rejection to her many times, yet she still believed that there was a chance of the soldier returning your feelings for him. “I would rather continue with this pain then to die such as I migh.” She flinched when you shot her a stern glare, your hair falling into your face as you wiped the blood away from your lips. The red stained the sleeve of your tunic, yet you didn’t seem to care anymore.

“Y/n, please you must—“

“I don’t need to do anything like that.” You were stern in your ways. Death wasn’t something you feared. It was inevitable. But the choice you had to make was either death by flowers or death by rejection and then flowers. Neither sounded appealing, but you felt he wouldn’t feel the same. After all, you were just a lowly barmaid. Why would he love you? “What I need to do is get back to work.”

With one last pointed look you spun on your heel, the mud under your feet kicking up into the hem of your skirts before you stomped back to work. The air was thick and humid, and the mud under your feet continued to slosh and stick to your clothing as you hurried through the village and back to the pub. The closer you got the louder the pub grew, it’s current customers either already drunk or well on their way to being drunk. You hated working in the pub. But you didn’t have a choice. You weren’t born into royalty, nor did you family possess any large sums of money. It was either work as a barmaid or not work at all and not support your family. The later was something you tried to avoid at all costs.

“Aye, back from your little stroll, y/n?” The owner of the pub, Mathis, gave you a grim smile. He knew how the disease was affecting you, and he was gracious enough to let you leave whenever you felt the flowers burn your throat. You gave a small nod before snatching the old rag from his hands, and before you pushed your way behind the wooden counter he gave your shoulder a heavy pat. “He’s still here; back corner, to the left.” He warned low and close to your ear, his dark eyes trailing to said corner before he scurried off to deal with some rowdy customers.

Of course he’s still here. Luck would have it that the cause of your pain was still in the pub, a large tankard of ale in his strong hands as the men around him chattered about. You knew better than to look over to him. You already had to leave once today, who knew if you would have to leave twice in an hour to relieve your gut and throat of the burning flowers and blood. But you did. You kept your hands occupied by cleaning a few empty tankards as your eyes drifted to the corner in the left. Dark hair sat messy atop his head and fell against his forehead, his azure eyes scanning the crowd in the pub. Dirt was dusted across his skin, making the lines and scars that littered his hands and face seem darker than they should’ve been. Even tired and covered in dirt and grime he was handsome.

You watched as his fingers twitch and tighten around the wooden tankard. His thin lips were turned into a small scowl when one of his men bumped his shoulder, the ale in his cup sloshing around and over the rim of the cup. While usually he would’ve gotten up to punish the man who disturbed him, he remained seated, only bringing the now half-empty tankard to his lips to guzzle his beverage. He set the tankard on to the table with a slam, swiping his hand over his lips before he turned to the man next to him. It was then that you tore your gaze from him. You couldn’t bare to watch him any longer.

“Still pining after Raymond, I see!” Your blood turned to ice when a shrill voice suddenly sounded throughout the pub. The chatter amongst the drunkards and other customers dwindled and eyes turned when a familiar face sauntered into view. “I’m surprised, y/n,” Thick curls bounced around her round cheeks, her bright red lips turned into an evil smirk while she swayed her hips. Your eyes blew wide the closer she got to the bar, and if it wasn’t for the counter in front of you the tankard in your fingers would’ve fallen smack into the floor. The sound of your name seemed to echoed off of the wooden walls in the pub, and suddenly dozens of eyes were looking to you, watching as your face grew pale. “Thought you would’ve made it known by now.”

“Esmée, please.” Your lips began to tremble when she came to a stop in front of you, only the wooden counter separating you from her. She leaned in close, smacking her lips after chuckling at the terrified look in your eyes. She no longer had the disease. A painful surgery was the only thing— aside from your love admitting to loving you back— that could remove it, but that surgery was costly, and only her family seemed to have the money for it. You hated the way she flaunted it, showed off that she no longer had to suffer through flowers and blood. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Oh I know, sweetheart.” Esmée’s manicured fingers reaches forward to brush some hair behind your ear. She pulled away almost immediately after dragging her nails across your skin in a taunting manner. Your heart was racing when she turned away from you, your hands trembling with horror when you saw where she had locked her gaze; Raymond. Her hips swayed tauntingly as she neared him, pushing past the drunks the crowded the pub. Your eyes blew wide and suddenly you were moving forward, hands desperately reaching to grab her. However you suddenly found yourself being held back, the strong grip of a soldier holding you in place.

“No, let me go!” Your terror filled eyes locked with the battle-worn soldiers. He kept his grip firm. You continued to struggle even when you turned away from him, your eyes suddenly meeting a pair of piercing blue ones. You froze again. Raymond had been watching the entire scene, eyes filled with curiosity as he kept a tight grip on his tankard. You paled again, keeping your eyes locked with his for a moment longer before he looked to Esmée. You felt your knees knock together when she sat upon his lap, her arm thrown over his neck as she traced circles on to his chest. You suddenly felt sick. A familiar liquid bubbled in your gut, your eyes blowing wide again when a burning sensation grew in your throat. No. Not again!

Your not sure what came over you, but your foot slammed down on to the soldiers foot hard and fast. A single yell of pain echoed throughout the watching pub, eyes turning to you once again to see you drive your elbow into the nose of the soldier. The pain in your throat was growing. You snapped your lips shut to try and hold off the vomit for as long as possible, your hand slapping over your mouth like a barricade. Tears filled your eyes when you looked back to Raymond and Esmée, her lips just brushing over his ear as she paused to watch you. His eyes flashed with something unrecognizable for a moment, his lips pursed together as he watched you struggle. It wasn’t until your locked eyes with Esmée did you turn, seeing the horrid look of evil in her brown eyes.

Your footsteps reverberated through the pub as you slammed the door open, blood beginning to spill past your pale lips and coating your fingers and palm as you gagged. You ignored the calls for you. The biting pain in your throat was almost too much, the hand over your mouth just barely holding back the flowers as you rushed away from the pub and through the village. Another gag fell past your lips and tears flowed down your cheeks due to the pain that coursed through your throat and gut, your body jolting forward before your feet slipped on the slick mud. Ugly, red-stained flowers spilled out of your mouth. Your body was covered in mud the minute you fell to the ground, your hands clenching into fists as your worst nightmare came true. The village people watched as your succumbed to the disease. Your throat burned as the flowers continued to blossom in your body, coating themselves with sharp thorns and your blood before mixing with the mud on the ground.

It felt like an eternity before your throat was empty again. A large pile of flowers and vicious blood was in front of you, your eyes wide with fear and agony. It was getting worse. Laughter soon pushed through the buzzing in your ears. You recognized the laugh. Your hands shook as you tried to push yourself up, your legs shaking as your body tried to heal itself from the pain and the newer wounds in your throat. You kept your eyes low as you stood to your full height, looking at the disgusting brown and red stains that soaked through your tunic and skirts. The mud that coated your face, arms and hands made you feel even more gross now that blood was added into the mixture. The bloodied flowers were ugly and gross, melting into the mud. Must I always live like this?

“Aw, poor thing.” Esmée’s voice made you snap your bloodshot eyes in her direction. Her whole body was shaking with laughter, and the pain in your body only grew when you saw that most of the people from the pub were as well. “It was only a matter of time before you made a fool of yourself.” You looked down again. Your body ached all over. From the pain in your throat to the throbbing of your head, even down to the fear and pain that clenched your heart in its tight fists. You tried to tune out the laughter, you tried to ignore the staring eyes as you stood in public, skirts covered in blood and mud and your emotions piled on to the floor. But you could still hear her taunts. “... isn’t that right Raymond?”

You couldn’t bear it anymore. Sobs racked your already trembling figure. With what little strength you had left in you you spun on your heels, kicking up the ugly reminder of flowers and blood that he would never be his. A cry of agony bubbled in your torn up throat. Your eyes were blurry as you cast one last glance in Esmée’s direction, but to your surprise you met blue eyes instead brown. Though his face was stoic and unwavering, Raymond’s wide eyes swam with emotion, his lips parted in disbelief. You almost paused when he went to say something, hoping to hear what he had to say, but he snapped his mouth shut.

You blamed it on the sharp pain in your body and your blurry eyes, but even as you turned away you thought you saw him move to you, but surely it was only your imagination. He didn’t love you like you did him. You two weren’t meant to be together, you knew that. But still, even as you ran away from the crowd, away from him, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was a chance of you finally having a cure from your disease.