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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years ago

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{February Collection} #5

Possessive

“All that you are is all that I will ever need...and it is you, I need.”

“I-I don’t...I don’t understand h-how you all can...l-love me so much, so fast?”

Fintan Rivershire opened his bright yellow eyes, stunned that Monica couldn’t, that she didn’t see what they all saw in her. After a moment his surprise gave way to amusement, especially when she heard his deep chuckle and buried her face in his bare chest. Around them, Fintan’s luxurious rooftop penthouse was silent; it was just them, just the two lifemates for a full 24 hours. He’d pulled his rank and used his influence and relationship with the Patriarch Atamu for this privilege and he felt it was well-earned. It was no secret, now, that the Triquetra has been here for the past year but have respectfully given the space to Monica that she asked for. Fintan didn’t blame Monica for her request; none of them did. He understood the might of his empire, the sheer number of Company members was enough to make competition wither and bow out for fear of being completely eradicated. When it came to Monica, it was as if she blinked and overnight she had not just a Tribe, but an entire Empire full of hundreds of men who were claiming to be her soulmates, more lifemates to add to her ranks and Fintan understood she was overwhelmed. Who wouldn’t be? It was that understanding and that compassionate caring that had Fintan shaking hands with Atamu when the Patriarch asked him to give Monica a year to get used to the idea of them being around. The Triquetra were here, every day of 2018 same as every member of the Family, but they gave Monica her respectful space and they simply contented themselves to watching her, learning about her, loving her from a distance until 2018 concluded and with it, their year of separation. Now that it was 2019, the Triquetra fully merged with the Family and Monica could no longer shy away from them and the knowledge that they were hers, same as the Dreadful’s.

“Atamu warned me that you didn’t think very much of yourself,” Fintan’s deep, thick accent spoke of his Celtic homeland same as his red hair and the pale complexion that complimented extremely handsome, if not archaic features. FIntan was in his late 40′s and he looked it the same way one can taste a good, aged whisky the moment they put it to their lips. “He told me,” Fintan continued, lowering his head to speak against the soft strands of Monica’s hair, “that I must always work to keep you from shying away from my love and affection.”

Monica made a quiet, little noise that spoke of her standing as a babygirl who needed the comforting touch of a Daddy and Fintan delivered as if on instinct. His strong arm was already around her waist, keeping her naked form pressed to his as he wasn’t allowing any space between them. He spent a year without her and as far as he was concerned, he had lost time to make up for. That year was part of why Atamu had enforced Fintan was allowed to have this time with Monica uninterrupted. Fintan was to the Triquetra what Atamu was to the Tribe, and while Fintan was not a Patriarch he had his standing and it was something he carried in the proud line of his broad shoulders and in the accented clip of his voice. He spoke with authority and that authority is what made Monica feel safe with him. Fintan treated her much as Atamu did; he protected her, treated her as a little doll and he’d told her between their lovemaking that he wanted her to think of him as her safe place in the Company. There were so many of them who wanted her that it might be scary, it might be difficult, but he would always be her safe place--

“And if you cannot get to me, find Hayden. I trust Hayden with every part of me and that means you, little love. He will protect you same as I do. When you think to call out for Atamu, think of us as well.”

This time with Fintan had taught Monica a lot about the Company; she was hearing names she had never seen around but Fintan reassured her, they all knew who she was. It had taken some doing, but Fintan reassured her repeatedly that the same way the Tribe loved her, the Company did, too--but that led her back to her question of, how? How can so many love her so fast?

“Did you question the Dreadful’s as you are questioning us, my love?” Fintan showed off a bit of his prowess as a gifted psychic, an Oracle-type supernatural gifted with precognition and telepathy on a level some could only dream of. It helped explain why Fintan was a figurehead in the business world; he could always be two steps ahead of everyone, and that was also why he would be perfect for Monica. Two steps ahead meant he could always catch her before she ever stumbled.

“I-I...I just don’t...ever think a-about what you guys think of me.” Monica mumbled, taking comfort in the warm heat of Fintan’s chest. He smelled like wood spice and it was a scent she took comfort in. He was a steady presence, always calm and in control and she responded to that about him immediately.

“Atamu has said it and I will say it, now,” Fintan turned his head, resting his cheek against Monica’s forehead. “That needs to change.”

Monica would have blushed a pretty crimson if she could have; the knowledge that Atamu and Fintan had talked so much about her made her tummy flip and she wanted to shy away from that...but Fintan had just drawn attention to that bad habit of hers. She bit at her lip, one fang sliding against the swollen fullness of her lower lip, reminding her of the drugging, draining kisses Fintan had been bestowing upon her all night. The sun was rising on the end of their private day together but Monica was in no rush to move; she was beautifully spent and sore, her body a testament of Fintan’s loving claim, with bruises left on her throat, her breasts, her hips, between her thighs--there was nowhere Fintan’s mouth hadn’t laid claim to, hours spend languidly exploring a body he’d been denied for a year and Monica had never felt such desperate need in such a collected man, before. Fintan hadn’t rushed, he’d displayed infinite patience and even when she’d begged him to lift his head from between her thighs he’d merely smiled and dipped his tongue deeper, his voice in her head asking her to be patient with him and his love, for he was a needy, greedy man who was used to getting what he wanted--and what he wanted, was her.

“It has always been you,” Fintan caught her thought with ease, his breath feathering over Monica’s bangs and causing her to smile without thinking. “It has been, for me, for Atamu, for my nephews and my niece. It has been you for the Company, as well, and you wish to know why?”

Fintan’s question came out genuine, and Monica nodded even if she wasn’t certain she could handle the answer. Some part of her needed to hear this, to be reassured of the love she never wanted to lose.

“It is the same reason for us as it is for you.”

It seemed...easy. Too easy, that for a moment Monica even started to shake her head. It couldn’t be the same! The Family was...there was a stirring in her mind, a touch she recognized as Milano’s and she knew without having to ask he would make good on the promise he’d made recently, that she would stop putting the Family above herself. Milano’s dark, yet comforting presence in her mind stilled her protest, her rush to deflect and to argue, even as he filled her mind with the image of wrapping her in an unbreakable, safe, possessive hold.

“I would say something to our...uninvited guest, but he’s got the right idea.” Fintan urged Monica’s head up, those luminescent eyes of his seeming to nail her to the bed he’d spent hours claiming her upon. Their bed. “I want you to hear what I’m saying, to really hear me, Monica.” Fintan slipped his arm up, catching her fingers to bring to the heat of his mouth, refusing to let her gaze go. “We love you wholly, completely, we loved you instantly because what you feel for us, we feel for you. You have been and always will be our world, as we are your world.”

Monica knew the world didn’t always feel safe, and sometimes she was too tired, too drained, to fight what might make her feel a little insecure, a little defensive and unsafe. The Family didn’t fight her on that, and no one ever tried to make her feel anything other than what she was at that particular moment...but in this moment, Monica closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel FIntan’s physical presence, his protective form cradling her, and the way Milano cradled her in her mind, surrounding her on all sides so that the cold world waiting just outside the penthouse seemed a little...far away. It was easy to tell herself negative things, to convince herself that insecurity was what she deserved and what she didn’t deserve was the Family that would move heaven and earth for her, but it didn’t feel good to tell herself these things. In a low moment, what one needs is to look up, and Monica had someone here to help her. Fintan ran his thumb over the back of Monica’s hand, giving her a handsome, soft smile as his eyes warmed to liquid sunshine and Monica felt the response in the stirring of her still heart. As much as she may want to deny the might of the Triquetra Empire--she could hardly take the Dreadful’s claiming her!--right now it felt good to know if she asked Fintan, he could fill the penthouse with hundreds of men who were at her beck and call, who worshiped her because they loved her and she...loved them, too.

“Atamu was right about something else,” Fintan spoke so lowly, so intimately, it reminded Monica of flames licking over her skin like a brand. He nosed against her cheek, urging her head up further so he could speak against her mouth. “You’re such a good girl, Monica.”

Fintan claimed her mouth in the next instant, as if he couldn’t help himself, and if Monica searched his mind she would find he couldn’t. Everything Fintan told her over the last day had been true, and there was even more he hadn’t been able to put to words, no matter how eloquently--but Monica believed all he said and all the things he didn’t say. He loved her, they loved her, and even when the world wanted to cave in and take her with it, she felt she could resist the urge to give in to how it felt when she felt Fintan’s lips over hers, his body so much larger she knew she could weather any storm by his side.

“You can, little one, my good little girl,” Fintan encouraged her thoughts, fed them as one might a small child, with a tender but insistent touch. “I know it can be terrifying to give of yourself to someone else but if you trust me, if you trust my Empire, we will never let you down. I swear it, on this heart that beats for you.”

Fintan moved Monica’s little hand to his chest, knew she felt and heard his heartbeat and that she could read the truth in his tone that he meant what he said. Her fingertips trembled against his skin and he smiled in response.

“I have waited a year, Monica, to ask you and I cannot wait a single second longer.” Fintan’s eyes were restless, raking over her face with the same brilliance as the sun. “Can I call you mine, now? Can I tell my Empire that their love is finally here with us? Finally home where she belongs?”

Monica wanted to turn her face, to hide from the raw emotions she could see on Fintan’s face but she...wanted this. She wanted him, she wanted what he was offering, and she bit her lower lip, nodding. “Y-Yes--”

“Allow me to be selfish,” Fintan released her hand, cupping her cheek. “Tell me, my love, tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m y-yours,” Monica managed, but the end of her sentence was swallowed by Fintan’s greedy mouth, making good on what he’d spent the last 24 hours telling her. Promising her--once she gave herself to him, to them, never again would she ever find herself alone and at the mercy of a world too big, too scary, for her to face. That is the forever promise of the possessive lover.

And now, Monica had more possessive lovers than she could name on all her safe, protected little fingers and toes.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : february 2019 #{character} : fintan rivershire #{ tweaked the original idea to fit possessive and protective in the same hand }#{ i mean they already are but i wanted to amplify the fluff }#{ babygirl needed the fluff AND FLUFF SHE SHALL HAVE }

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danniegp-blog · 6 years ago

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A crocodile had snatched a fisherman from the banks of the Shire an hour earlier. People watched the macabre spectacle as a couple of policemen attempted to shoot it everytime it came up for air with its prize still firmly between its jaws. #kamuzubarrage #barrage #Kamuzu #KamuzuBanda #shireriver #rivershire #liwonde #crocodile #crocodileriver #Malawi #beasts https://www.instagram.com/p/Bq2f2RglMGx/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1jn7ge0fbrhe1

#kamuzubarrage #barrage #kamuzu #kamuzubanda #shireriver #rivershire #liwonde #crocodile #crocodileriver #malawi #beasts

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gamehayapkmod · 4 years ago

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Hidden object - Enchanted Kingdom 3 (Free to Play)

Game Hidden object - Enchanted Kingdom 3 (Free to Play) là dòng game Puzzle

Giới thiệu Hidden object - Enchanted Kingdom 3 (Free to Play)

A new free to play version of hidden object games Enchanted Kingdom: Fog of Rivershire that many players will like to play and find hidden object games free! This version of object finding games has no plot differences with the original hidden objects game adventure, and its main feature is that you can play the entire game FOR FREE! The citizens of Rivershire have been infected with a terrible disease that is slowly turning them into monsters. Because of your magical immunity, you are the only person that can go through mystery, adventure, fantasy and seek and find games free, and heal the townsfolk and stop the infection from spreading across the entire kingdom! You set out to a breathtaking seek and find adventure to play free hidden object games and the cure against the infection! Can you locate the source of the infection and return the town to normal before it’s too late? Find out in this amazing adventure of finding object games on your phone! * SAVE THE ROYAL FAMILY FROM DANGER IN THE HIDDEN PUZZLE! A wicked demon kidnapped young Prince Carven! You must go through many fantasy games and find hidden objects to stop the demon and save the heir of the Tar Empire! * CHOOSE WHICH ITEMS TO UNLOCK FIRST WITH YOUR COLLECTIBLE COINS. This Collector’s Edition provides a lot of bonuses like collectible coins, artifacts and morphing objects! New hidden object games are waiting for you, enjoy playing search and find games and gather all the Collections! * VISIT YOUR HATCHLINGS IN THE MEDICO IMPERIUM INCUBATOR! Gather eggs of mysterious creatures as you play mini-games and visit your hatchlings in the Medico Imperium Incubator of our top hidden object games! Download the most amazing find objects games free – Enchanted Kingdom: Fog of Rivershire Collector’s Edition! Play the game for absolutely free, but if you feel stuck or don’t want to solve a mini-game, you may buy hints to help you proceed quicker! ------------------ Questions? Email us at [email protected] Find other games on our official website: https://dominigames.com/ Become our fan on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dominigames Check out our Instagram and stay tuned: https://www.instagram.com/dominigames ------------------ Our hidden object games are free for you to play. Enjoy object finding games and hidden objects in your free time.

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goonsquadme-blog · 4 years ago

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Trompe Loeil :: Rivershire Waterwheel

TrompeLoeil_RivershireWaterwheel.rar (Size: 35.19 MB / Downloads: 0)

Download from Source link

Trompe Loeil :: Rivershire Waterwheel was originally published on Second Life

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spysfreenot-verygreatoldfiction · 5 years ago

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The Great Gnome Migration

Fantasy

Prologue and Chapter One under the cut.

Prologue

He had always been a just ruler. Not soft-hearted, but clearly not cruel.

His tomb, she supposed, would not be where his pyre burned, but in the heart of the people.

In a land divided into five counties, with Lords and Ladies presiding over the petty affairs, the King was definitely more of a ceremonial title. However, he always had the last say in matters regarding the realm. He had the ability to declare war and peace, to change the laws or to set a prisoner free.

There were speculations that he was assassinated, that he angered one too many of the poor and wretched rebels. Though it couldn't be proven, there was just too few clues.

The flames gave way to a loud crack and Kaleigh jumped in surprise.

It seemed nothing was expected anymore.

She found it hard to watch her father’s body burn, but it was even harder to look away.

Tears ran down her soft cheeks, tracing lines over the rosy hue. She didn't know what to do. She had never been left to her own devices before.

When she finally looked up from the mournful pyre, she turned to the faces that surrounded it.

The grim visage of her father’s Lord Chancellor was the first to be seen as he stood directly across the flames from her. His ever-solemn features, darkened even more in a steely grief, after all he wasn’t one to show emotions. He had rode into court years ago, a representative of the Darkshire, and everyone knew that Nymphs in the Darkshire believed emotions to be a sign of weakness. He was always described as having a haunted look about him.

Kaleigh supposed it was the grey shadows that hid under his eyes, or the sickly ivory tint of his flesh. His pale silver eyes never twinkled, but narrowed in thought. He was serious, and mysterious, pensive and silent as the grave. Whenever he entered a room he kept to the darkness of his beloved shadows and watched. Always watched as an outsider looking in. His black hair was short, with two long strands beaded before his pointed ears, hanging down like decorations of honour. On the crown of his head he wore a black skullcap, a sign of the Lord Chancellor. He always wore black. Mostly the shapeless robes of his profession, but on the rare occasion when he was forced to dress up he would don a long black frock coat with a high collar. Once, when Kaleigh was young, she caught a glimpse of black leather pant legs under his capacious robes. At the time she didn’t know that it was a tribal costume of the Darkshire and merely thought the secretive Lord Chancellor was a completely different man underneath it all. Still she liked to think of him as a two faced man, perhaps cold while in the presence of others, and warm with his family at home. Not that she knew of any such family, as far as she knew he was bound to his duties. His tribe, the Lunar Nymphs were secretive, and one could always tell them apart from the fair-haired Nymphs of the Roseshire.

Kaleigh looked to his right at Lord Dakarai. He was looking at the flames with a thoughtful crease between his brows, as though trying to understand the loss. Lord Dakarai was handsome and impish, young and adventurous. His long brown hair was pulled back in a manner befitting his nobility, for he was a blue blooded royal Terra Nymph from the Greenshire, the land on the edge of the land, through the thick forest. It was once said that Lord Dakarai had so much charm he could dicker with the God of Death and win ten more years on his life. Of course it didn’t hurt that he was dashingly good looking and charming, with his sparkling blue eyes that never seemed to be sombre or grey. He dressed as a noble would, in black satin breeches and royal blue velvet waistcoats. His white shirt cuffs were of the finest lace and his stock the softest silk. He was Kaleigh’s personal favourite, and had been since they were children together, playing in the sprawling gardens of the palace. His people, the Terra Nymphs, were noted for their brown hair and green eyes, for their laughter and their music.

On the other side of the Lord Chancellor, was Lady Kirsika, looking down her nose as usual.

She was a petite woman, with a large hatred for Kaleigh for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was because Kaleigh was the next monarch and she was envious or perhaps because of Kaleigh's youth. Whatever the reason, Kaleigh couldn’t help but admit that Lady Kirsika was a stunning example of femininity. She had skin of the softest shade of tan, and sweet dimples on each cheek when she smiled. With impish silvery-blue hair that was short and curled at the hairline and a youthful look that attracted men to give her soft, gentlemanly compliments of her features. It was the way her skin was flawless, the way it look so silken. In her soft velvet dresses, with their laced up fronts and ivory chemises underneath she was truly a Lady of the fashionable Rivershire tribe of Water Nymphs. Her bell sleeves were always the longest, and her slippers never soiled. Men would lay their very jackets upon a spot of unsavoury landscape if only to save her from dirt and gain her favour, only to be rewarded with a dismissive look from her brown eyes.

Beside Kaleigh, with golden eyes that sparkled with tears, stood the meek Lord Piotyr.

He was a man, who despite all attempts to be brave, spoke in stuttering, muttered sentences and fidgeted something terrible. Regardless of his incoherent speech, he was handsome as any plain man could be. He had a certain look in his darkly framed eyes that gave away his kind hearted nature. It was a calming look, a look that informed all of his easygoing spirit and sharp will. His clothes, although always rumpled, were simple and always well worn. In his black pants a finger and a half too short revealing his white stockings and short black boots underneath, his plain black jacket with simple clasps, and a crisp white shirt underneath, he resembled a farmer more than a Lord of the Roseshire. Especially when he wore his wide brimmed black hat. Kaleigh loved the way his smile would tug at only one side of his mouth, pulling his ruby lips into a crooked grin. She loved how his dark red hair would fall into his eyes, giving him an endearing look of innocence. It was he whom she found most interesting; to be a Nymph from the shire known to produce war heroes and be as timid as he was, was surely an accomplishment at best. But there was something more to him than met the eye. She knew he had a valiant mind when it came to his shire, or to the realm itself. That he would take up arms, if the need came, and fight alongside the warriors and knights of the realm. He was bravery, hidden under modesty, disguised as frailty. His warrior people of the Fire Nymph tribe were feared for their cold, calculating gazes that they could lay upon a victim with their sharp yellow eyes. They were the closest relatives of the Terra Nymphs, revered for their glossy red hair.

Then there was the quiet, but certainly venomous General Burgundy who stood to the right of Kaleigh, peering into the flames like a man disgusted by the smoke.

He was tall, as tall as the towering Lord Chancellor, but made more imposing by his shoulder width. He wore the uniform of the warriors, the dark blue double-breasted greatcoat and the straight-legged black pants. But unlike the common warrior he had an arrogance about him that betrayed his noble upbringing. With his snow-white hair tugged back tightly with a black velvet tie, he looked the part of the perfect nobleman. He was tactical and quick to temper, pompous and arrogant. And when he stared down upon you, over the tip of his graceful nose with his cold ice blue eyes he struck a fear deep within, and it surrounded the heart with a thick blanket of ice. To be sure, he was not a man to trifle with. He was the proud warrior of the Frostshire, strangely named for a shire devoted to farming. Still, Kaleigh admitted to herself, he was handsome. Too handsome. His charm and his looks led many a young servant girl astray, but he was quiet about it. Using the secret passages to shuttle the girls in and out, while maintaining the appearance of propriety. She especially was smitten with the beauty mark that perched high up on his left cheekbone, near his eye. And his eyebrows rose whenever he spoke. As if he were mocking the person he was addressing, which he usually was, by treating them like children beneath his boots. His people were the tribe of Ice Nymphs, named for their silvery white hair and icy cold eyes.

Inhaling the tangy scent of burning flesh, she choked back a sob and turned her eyes away as she realized the death shroud had been reduced to ash and her father’s corpse, charred and blackened was slowly being burned away from her life before her very eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t a Queen and there was no way they could make her fill her father’s throne. For they would tear away her boyish garb, breeches and knee high boots, to drape lavish purple velvet over her. They would pull her beautiful long butter coloured hair off of her face, binding it tightly up in the style of an older woman. She would be forced to become something she wasn’t.

She would be forced to grow up at only eighteen winters. Not that she wasn’t already grown; she just wasn't as mature as a Queen should be.

She wanted to pout, to scream, to shriek as loud as she could at the injustice. Instead she swallowed the urge and remained silent. For it was inevitable.

She would take the throne.

Chapter One: As a Young Queen

Kaleigh watched her Lady-In-Waiting bustle about and felt at ease with her new found solitude. Cara always seemed to do that to her, just the presence of the slightly older girl gave Kaleigh the feeling of warmth.

She watched as Cara brushed stray specks of dust from the white silk coronation gown, but her mind was wandering a different path. She knew that soon there would be a knock on her door, and her father’s Lord Chancellor would step in, bow to her for the first time and inform her of the meeting she was to attend before her crowning.

Her chest felt tight, and for a moment she had to force herself to breathe.

Cara smiled. “Would you like me to do your hair now, your Majesty?”

Kaleigh sighed. “Yes.”

As her silken hair was pulled back gently by her servant, Kaleigh sighed again. “Do you think I’ll be a good Queen, Cara?”

“I imagine so, your Majesty.” She replied playfully.

“Stop that.” Kaleigh said with a nervous grin.

Cara giggled.

“I’m serious, Cara, will I be good?” She looked at herself in the mirror. Her laughing blue eyes were wide and serious for the first time in her life, she had a feeling they’d never be playful again.

“You may have a rocky beginning, dear. But I think that you’ll be the greatest Queen to grace this realm in a thousand years.”

Kaleigh felt like rolling her eyes. “Right, I have Screaming Saryle to follow. Compared to her, I’m a white lily.”

They teased and joked while Cara finished her hair, and it continued while Kaleigh slipped into the coronation gown, the impending doom forgotten in the moments of safety in her chambers.

When the knock finally came she jumped with fright, and felt her body grow weak. Again she forced herself to breathe and waved at Cara to answer the door.

She climbed to her feet, trying to feign strength, as Cara moved aside for the Lord Chancellor.

His eyes swept the room and landed on her. For a moment he simply stared at her, his eyes grazing up and down her form, and then he blinked. “Your sash goes the other way, my child.” He had a voice like honey, deep enough to be quite masculine, but smooth enough to be melodic and soothing. She had come to love the sound of it, for it always meant safety and that things were under the careful control of the quiet Lord Chancellor.

She had always wished he wasn’t so solemn, but at that moment she wanted warmth in his eyes more than anything. Blushing, she quickly switched the direction of the deep purple sash, a sash that hadn’t been worn since her mother was alive. “I’m not a child anymore….apparently.” She smoothed her gown down, as his eyes took another polite journey over her.

He bowed his head ever so slightly. “Of course, my Lady. Cara, may we have a moment alone?” He asked after a pause.

Cara bowed low. “Yes, my Lord.”

They both watched as Cara left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Lord Rajahal turned his eyes back to Kaleigh. “You’re trembling like a leaf, my Lady.”

She eased herself down onto the bed behind her. “I’m terrified, Lord Rajahal.”

He blinked. “I’m not going to lie to you, my Lady. The people of this realm will not understand what you are going through, nor will anyone alive. You are completely alone in this.”

That was supposed to make her feel better, but now she wanted to curl up into a tight ball and cry.

“However,” he added in his mysterious tone, “I shall be here…to hold your hand if necessary.”

She gave a half laugh, half sob. “Would you really?”

With his stone serious face, he gracefully unfurled an open hand towards her. “I would.”

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and reached out to him, but pulled her hand back slightly. “I-is it wise?”

“To take my hand?” His voice was flat, no emotion in it at all.

She nodded.

“I’m not going to hurt you, my Lady. I could never hurt you.” It was softly spoken for him.

Biting her lip, she nodded decidedly and slipped her hand into his. “I’m ready.”

He paused before his free hand snaked out, smoothing an escaped strand of her hair into its place.

She looked up at him with her purely innocent eyes. “I’m going to miss wearing my hair down.” She confessed as they started for the door once more.

He opened it for her.

“It makes me feel restricted with it up.” She went on, grasping his hand and holding it high as she was taught to.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Who says it must be worn up, my Lady?”

She frowned. “My mother wore hers up.”

“You are not your mother, my Lady.” He replied.

Again she bit her lip. “May we stop for a moment?”

He let go of her hand and stood by while she shook her hair free of it’s netting, letting the wavy butter coloured locks flow down to her waist. Then she beamed impishly at him.

He blinked back at her.

“I feel better already.” She stated, boldly taking his hand from his side. “I like my hair down.”

“As do I.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she changed the subject smoothly. “Will I be a good Queen?”

Glancing at her, he gave her hand the slightest squeeze. “Do you doubt yourself?”

“The people liked my father very much, didn’t they?” Again she changed the subject.

He was very patient with her and answered her softly. “Most of them did, yes. But you can’t please everyone, my Lady.”

“Do you have any advice for me?” She asked one last question as they rounded the corner, leading to the long hall with the single door at the end.

“Look stern, speak softly, carry your head proudly, think before you act and never doubt your decision.”

She nodded. It sounded like very good advice. “Will you hold my hand until we reach the dais?”

His head bowed. “Of course, my Lady.”

Never had a simple walk been so hard for her.

She could feel the accusatory eyes burning into her back as she paraded past the members of court. They blamed her for being so young and naïve to the throne, they hated her already. Her soft hand tightened around the pale digits of the Lord Chancellor, and he reciprocated with picking up the speed a bit.

There wasn’t a breath taken as she climbed onto the throne platform, standing before the golden throne that was once her mother’s.

She was reluctant to release the Lord Chancellor’s hand, but his mouth twitched up ever so slightly, giving her both shock and courage. Pulling her hand free, she tried to figure out what to do with them; panicking quickly she tried to think of what her father would have done. So she clasped them before her, the right hand resting across the palm of her left, her thumbs fitting together in the sign of peace.

A whisper rippled through court.

She bit her lip and gave the court a worried glance. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done that. She turned her attention back to the Lord Chancellor, expecting a wordless reprimand that she had done something wrong.

Instead his usually detached eyes twinkled for a brief moment, before he addressed her. “Princess Kaleigh of Devron, kneel.”

She did so, quite rigidly.

The sparkling, lace-like silver crown of her mother’s was brought forward by a page and placed in the hands of the Lord Chancellor. She tensed as it was held over her head, and then it was slowly lowered until she felt the slight weight of it.

The Lord Chancellor stepped back fluidly. “You may rise.” He whispered to her.

She did so.

“Lords and Ladies of court, I present to you Queen Kaleigh…the Peaceful.” He added.

The court bubbled with laughter.

She couldn’t help but beam as she went to bow to him, but he beat her to it, bowing so low that he was kneeling before her on one knee, his fist over his heart in a royal salute.

The rest of the court followed his suit.

And then, like that, she was Queen of Devron and all its realms. It couldn’t have been any simpler, Kaleigh was expecting enduring tests and obstacles, but all she got was a few words and a crown of silver.

It was a celebration such as she had never before seen.

There was music and dancing, jesters and jugglers, women in soft silks and men in firm velvets, Nymphs of the forest and Nymphs of the valley, Water Nymphs and Fire Nymphs, humans from beyond their realm and humans that had never seen anything but this realm.

The food was steaming and always plentiful, the chalices filled to the brim with sweet honey nectar and dandelion wine.

Beside her, on a plain wooden chair, on the floor and in the shadows, sat her Lord Chancellor. His loathing of the festivities showed in the scowl his eyes radiated, aimed towards the dancers and merrymakers.

She wanted nothing more than to leave the throne room and hide in her rooms for the rest of her life.

The swirling of the dresses on the dance floor made her nauseous and the heady scent of the perfume gave her a terrible headache.

Lord Dakarai bounded up the short steps and bowed before her. “Your Majesty, will you grace this humble servant with a dance?”

The room fell silent as the grave. Eyes stared up at them waiting for something to happen.

She looked into his beautiful green eyes and smiled ever so slightly. A woman could easily lie in those eyes for all eternity; they were just as green and as warm as spring. Quickly she glanced over at her Lord Chancellor.

He watched with guarded eyes, shaking his head once, telling her wordlessly that it wasn’t a wise decision.

She scowled at him. For some reason she wanted to be angry with him, as though it was his fault she was Queen before her time. Looking back at the handsome Lord Dakarai, she found him locked in an intense glare with the Lord Chancellor.

His attention returned as hers did.

“I’d like nothing more, my Lord.” She said pleasantly.

His face brightened once more, as he took her hand in his rough one and led her onto the dance floor.

It was immediately cleared as the Queen took to it.

The music began, and everything but Lord Dakarai melted into a grey blur.

Kaleigh smiled almost drunkenly as she swayed in her gown. “And he held me in his arms! I felt as glass, it was as though he were afraid to break me!”

Cara smiled serenely and tried to get the young Queen to stand still long enough for her to undo the buttons at the back of the white gown. “Lord Dakarai always seemed to like you best out of any of the girls of court. I could tell.”

Slumping down in the nearest chair, Kaleigh sighed. “Oh, but he’s handsome! For a moment I thought I was going to faint.”

“Then what happened?” Cara took the opportunity to tug the slippers from Kaleigh’s feet.

The Queen pouted. “Then Lord Rajahal stepped in and suggested it was time for the Queen to retire. He treats me like a child.”

“I don’t think they care much for each other.” Cara mused, plucking the string of pearls from her mistress’s graceful neck. “I could have sworn that their families have a deep blood grudge. I heard it from the kitchen girl…what is her name.”

“I think Lord Rajahal’s just a bore who won’t let anyone have any fun. If it wasn’t for Lord Dakarai asking me to dance, I would have died from boredom at the ceremony.” Kaleigh stood up and let the gown slip from her shoulders, landing in a heap at around her feet.

“I suppose that’s just Lord Rajahal’s way. He is, after all, from the Moonshire.” Cara said, picking the garment up and draping it over her arm. It seemed that was the best way to explain the odd behaviour of a Moonshire Nymph, to state that they were what they were and that was reason enough for their queer ways.

Kaleigh sighed again, slipping her white nightgown over her head. “I wish he wasn’t so cold all the time. I swear though, sometimes I see glimpses of a different man smouldering in those eyes of his. Like there’s an imp of some sort, screaming to escape.” She stated thoughtfully, biting on her lower lip.

Cara hung the gown over the mannequin and brushed invisible dust from it. “That’s Nymphs from the Moonshire for you. You never know what exactly they’re up to. Mysterious ones, they are.”

The Queen was about to retort, her mouth was open to do so, when a knock came to the door, softly and in a short cadence.

Kaleigh waved Cara on to answer the door and then watched as she said something to the visitor. Finally Cara stepped aside for the solemn Lord Rajahal.

He moved into the room swiftly, his robes whispering behind him. “Cara may we have a moment alone?” He inquired, staring at Kaleigh in his unnatural way.

Cara bowed. “Of course, my Lord.”

The door was closed, leaving Kaleigh lying sprawled on her bed and the Lord Chancellor to watch her.

The minutes passed in an uncomfortable silence.

Slowly Kaleigh moved from the bed to stand awkwardly in the middle of her chambers, her hands clasped before her.

“Your Majesty,” Rajahal finally began in a strained tone, “am I, or am I not your appointed advisor?”

Feeling the approaching storm, she worded herself clearly. “You are.”

She could tell he was fighting an inner urge to bellow, as a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Then do tell me, why it is you felt the need to go against my advice this evening?”

Kaleigh smiled, though it was out of bitter sarcasm. “Lord Rajahal, if you had been paying me any attention at all during the celebration, you would have noticed that I was on the verge of exploding from acute boredom. If you were any gentleman, you would have asked me to dance as well!”

He blinked. “Lord Dakarai -like yourself- is new to the ways of court. A virgin Queen, is in such a position of weakness, that a simple dance may result in a marriage that is completely unacceptable.”

“I’m far too young to marry.” She protested.

Lord Rajahal swept towards her quickly, grasping her brocade dressing gown on his way past her vanity. Stopping a mere hand’s width from her, he pulled the gown over her shoulders. “You’re far too young to be Queen as well, but here you are under the crown of our realm. You must understand, Your Majesty, things will be different for you now. You must hold yourself with decorum and honour in the presence of anyone other than Cara and myself, lest you find yourself in an unsavoury position or married to insalubrious characters.”

She levelled her chin out stubbornly. “Who are you to order me about? I danced with Lord Dakarai because he asked!”

At this he seemed to back down slightly. “As I said, Your Majesty, Lord Dakarai is new to court. He should know that asking a virgin Queen to dance is like taking her to his bed. There are serious repercussions in doing so.”

Kaleigh pulled the dressing gown tighter around herself. “Such as?”

“In three days time, you will have to announce the state of your relationship with Lord Dakarai.” He took a step back. “Think upon it, and choose well. Until then, trust me when I advise you, Your Majesty.”

She bowed her head, abashed.

“Before you say the inevitable, remember that you are Queen and shall not apologize for anything you do.” He then bowed low, his fist over his heart. “I take my leave of you, Your Majesty.”

She took an eager step forward. “Lord Rajahal? What shall I do now?”

He looked her over. “Lay low for a few days.”

#unedited old stories #the great gnome migration #yeah that's the name of it #prologue #chapter one #wrote this when i was in high school

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victoriajamessl · 5 years ago

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marlenf9zbp9-blog · 5 years ago

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homedevises · 6 years ago

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The Ultimate Revelation Of A Home Design | a home design

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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years ago

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{February Collection} #3

Eager

“Love is not only something you feel, it is something you do.”

How does one prepare for the meeting of a soulmate? It would be reasonable, logical to assume everyone might prepare differently.

The Van Canns were a small family; they only numbered three, silver-haired twins as the younger brothers, a dark-haired older brother, and that was where their bloodline began and that was where it had been heading to end--until Fintan Rivershire called a company meeting that changed the course of their lives. The Triquetra, a mighty empire of black market dealings and a fist wrapped around the beating heart of the world--they’d reached the end of the conquerable world but right when boredom and complacency were threatening to settle in, there was a new country breaking on the horizon with new opportunities for growth, and Fintan didn’t just mean financially. The hundreds of men who proudly bore the mark of the Triquetra on their flesh all knew who Fintan’s brother-in-law was, the infamous Chieftain from the wilds of Africa, and with his release from prison came cause for celebration but it also marked the end of an era and the beginning of another. Atamu had extended invitation to Fintan to join the relocating Tribe in New Senzannini, to merge with the likeness of the Alcari crime family, and the Rock ‘n Rollers. The Triquetra kept their finger on the pulse of the world; they had to, that was how they stayed at the top, and they knew the names being dropped to sweeten the pot. It made financial sense to move the multi-billion dollar company but what mattered even more than the bottom dollar was the heart at the center of the deal.

Felina Frenzy, inheritor of her family’s Syndicate, was presented to the Triquetra not as a prize to be won but as incentive to forget everything they thought they knew of family and the sweet promise of true love. To the men of these ranks, this was the first time they’d stopped to consider true love and what it meant to stare into her bottomless green eyes and know one day she’d be staring back. They were professional criminals, some of them professional murderers, and Greyson Van Cann stood tall among those right alongside his younger brother Sebastian. Only Nighyingale Van Cann was spared the bloody work of the empire, the one soft thing about the Van Canns and now that the move was through and now that it was time to set aside the work and begin to prepare to meet their soulmate...Nighyingale, for the first time in their lives, was the one who knew best what to do.

“I don’t...know if you should be using...blood?” Nighyingale ventured in his native Russian hesitantly--not out of fear, but in that he never liked to dampen another’s spirits. Everyone deserved to have a good day! It was just...

“You told me to do something I’m good at.” Sebastian may be Nighyingale’s twin but the two sounded absolutely nothing alike. Nighyingale was named after the songbird, the nightingale, and he had a lyrical voice that could compel anyone to do anything he asked--that was not an exaggeration. Sirens would sound like squawking parrots in comparison to the dulcet song of Nighyingale’s voice. Sebastian, on the other hand, had a voice like a gunshot. It was curt, powerful, and penetrating. He was not one to be ignored and not many argued with him as a result. At the moment, he was trying to stop Nighyingale from arguing with him, because he’d made up his mind as he turned back to the white canvas stained red with careful strokes of his paintbrush. “I’m painting her portrait.”

“And...I think that’s wonderful,” Nighyingale sweetened his tone when he paid the genuine compliment, moving a little closer to his twin. The painting was beautiful; Sebastian only had one eye, but it was an artist’s eye all the same. It was just...his preferred medium was blood. He only ever painted in different shades of blood, from fresh to coagulated, and the bitter tang of copper stung Nighyingale’s nose the closer he drew to the easel. “It’s simply, most use paint to...paint?”

“Most would not be able to capture her beauty.” Sebastian snipped the argument with his usual curtness, dipping the brush into the cup with the freshest blood. He wanted to use the bright crimson for the curve of Monica’s cheek; he’d studied all the pictures of her in the Family database with his eye for detail and he found he was in love with her bone structure. This had to be perfect. “She is a vampire, Gale. Why would she not enjoy this?”

“...I...” Nighyingale faltered; Sebastian did have a point. The younger twin put his hands on his slender hips, exhaling in a sigh but it wasn’t disappointed. No one could be disappointed looking at Monica; Sebastian had painted her gorgeously, all swirls of crimson from deep maroons to almost pink caresses of his paintbrush. It was obvious Sebastian had put thought and effort into this, and Nighyingale could see his Triquetra issued tablet beside the easel, cycling through pictures of Monica for him to use as reference and inspiration.

Nighyingale stepped around Sebastian’s side, drawn like a moth to flame at the sight of Monica and her smiling radiance. His world shrank, narrowed, until even the sweep of Sebastian’s brush against the canvas faded to the backdrop. It’s a peculiar thing, finding a soulmate. Nighyingale was the only one out of his brothers who believed she was out there; Greyson had never believed for he had a heart of stone, and Sebastian was so jaded at the prospect of love he sneered openly at it. Nighyingale was the only one who kept his desire for a soulmate, held it against his heart night after night in the belief if he kept his hope, one day they’d find her. He knew she would be the same person for all three of them; the Van Canns were a close family and they shared everything--all three, not just Nighyingale and Sebastian, and Nighyingale knew their soulmate wouldn’t be any different. Now, looking at Monica’s picture, Nighyingale felt his heart flutter like dove’s wings and he knew all his hoping, wishing, his fantasies and daydreams had been for a reason. He’d been preparing on how to meet his soulmate since he was a little boy sitting too close to the TV, soaking up fairy tale princes and princesses like a sponge. Greyson and Sebastian had their specialties, their hands were rough and always stained with blood but Nighyingale knew this world better than they did and that was why he was in charge of helping them prepare to meet Monica. They wanted this to go as well as he did, and they trusted him to guide them. Nighyingale had been preparing for this, for Monica, his whole life. He wouldn’t let her down.

Nighyingale only turned from Monica’s pictures on the tablet when he heard the door open and he turned; Sebastian didn’t, he didn’t need to. Both boys knew it was their older brother returning from doing what Nighyingale had instructed--they both needed to do something from the heart to present to Monica so she knew they were meant to be together. A grand gesture of love, a showing of forever and how excited they all were--

“Greyson...what is that?”

Greyson Van Cann regarded his youngest brother with the full weight of his odd, yet powerful stare. His eyes were a radiant sapphire purple, nearly luminescent at times, and it was wildly speculated what he could see with those eyes of his. At the moment, all he was seeing was Nighyingale’s disappointment.

“You told me to do something from the heart.” If Sebastian’s tone was curt, Greyson’s was like stone. It dropped heavily into a conversation and there was never any argument to it. Greyson spoke matter-of-factly, bluntly, and he never minced words. That...much was apparent at the slip of paper he was holding. It read, in very bold script--

You are mine.

Sebastian turned from his easel, read the single sentence, snorted in amusement, and turned back his portrait. “I like it.”

Greyson nodded, feeling accomplished but when he turned back to Nighyingale he could tell that this wasn’t what Nighyingale had intended. The youngest Van Cann had his thin arms folded, and it wasn’t often Nighyingale stood up to Greyson but he felt very passionately about what they were doing today. Today had to be perfect! You only get one first impression with the love of your life!

“It is from my heart.” Greyson insisted, though his tone never changed.

“I can see that,” Nighyingale nodded, ever encouraging, but he raised his pale brows as he pressed the issue. “But it is very plain, big brother. Sebastian’s gesture is very grand, isn’t it?”

“It’s blood.” Greyson replied.

“She’s a vampire,” Sebastian sniped from the corner of his mouth. He had no patience to begin with and he was quickly growing tired of having to defend himself and his gift choice to his brothers.

“And see, this is what I’ve gotten her.” Nighyingale stepped away from Greyson to show him a large, brilliant bouquet comprised of whites, pinks, and reds resting on the coffee table. “They are night lilies, and when I sing to them, they blossom and will fill her bedroom with perfume so she will have sweet dreams!”

Greyson didn’t move a single muscle, but all he could think was that was a very fitting gift from Nighyingale. He had a voice that could bring people back from the dead, of course he could make flowers bloom--and Sebastian’s gift choice made sense, too. Sebastian dealt in blood every day of his life for the Triquetra as part of their clean-up crew, and though he was an artist how he chose to express himself was all his own. Greyson was not an artist and he did not have a pretty voice. He was a hitman, dealing in bullets and serrated blades and broken bodies. He didn’t know pretty, flowery words and he didn’t understand the point of them. The slip of paper he held in his hand was exactly what he wanted to say to Monica because it was what she needed to know. His family was not a family without her; this was something they all realized the moment they’d seen her picture and she was the reason the Triquetra was here. Atamu had requested giving her a year to adjust to the Tribe, he’d asked the Company to wait a full year before claiming Monica the same way the Dreadful’s had and that year was finally, finally up. Greyson felt he hadn’t slept the entire year, so close and yet so far from his soulmate and now that it was time to meet her, now that it was the Van Cann’s time to personally greet Monica, he was simply anxious to get this underway and cement their ties. Greyson was a lot of things but one thing he would readily admit was that he was a selfish man; as the older brother of younger twins he’d had to shoulder a lot of responsibility and sacrifice much to give them a life. Now that they were all grown up and apart of the Company, life was much easier and Greyson was of the belief that was the reason the universe gave him Monica. He’d paid his dues, kept his brothers alive and happy, and now that his soulmate was here he was entitled to her. Grand gestures wouldn’t get in the way of that, at the root of it all, she was his and would be for the rest of their lives.

“Hm...you are insistent on giving her that note?” Nighyingale could read the determination on Greyson’s chiseled features and he nodded, once, to confirm. “Then we need to think of a way to make it a little more...sentimental.”

“Do women not like pretty words?” Greyson asked.

“They do, yes, but that’s just a single sentence and it’s a little aggressive.” Nighyingale laughed a little airily. “Why didn’t you word it, ‘Will you be mine?’ or something?”

“Because I am not asking her. I am telling her.”

Again, Sebastian added, “I like it.”

“If I were not such a supportive brother, I might be worried you two are going to ruin this for me,” Nighyingale looked between his twin and his older brother with an exasperated smile, before looking down at the slip of paper. “...Well, then, do you still have your old stuffed bear? From when you were a little boy?”

Greyson nodded.

“Then go get it, and we’ll pin the note to it and she can have your bear and the note.” Nighyingale nodded with his bright smile returning. “She will find that to be very sentimental, to have a piece of your youth!”

Greyson turned without saying a word, stalking out of the sitting room to go collect the bear from his belongings in his room. Nighyingale, feeling that crisis was averted, glanced at the clock before making a noise of surprise and moving to slip his cardigan back on. All three of the Van Canns were dressed up, wanting to look their best, and Nighyingale smoothed his cardigan in the mirror on the wall before fussing with his hair a little. His pale silver locks were unusual but he shared them with Sebastian--who usually always wore his in a low ponytail. Nighyingale’s hair was often free, fluttering like wings in the breeze; that was partly because his hair was surprisingly thick and difficult to tame.

“Are you near finished, Sebby?”

“You are not to call me that in front of her.” Sebastian responded immediately, without taking his eye off his canvas.

“Why? You call me Gale.”

“Gale is a name. Sebby is not.”

“It’s your name!”

“It is not.”

“Are you finished?” Nighyingale turned, long fingers smoothing his bangs over his forehead. “She’ll be here very soon!”

“Stop fussing. I’m finished.” Sebastian hung up his paintbrush and palette, putting the cap on his ‘paints’ before picking up his tablet. He made certain to save the slideshow of her photos, for...personal reasons, before taking a step back and a fresh look at his canvas. “...What do you think?”

Nighyingale moved to stand beside his twin, his smile easy and genuine. “I think she is going to love it.”

“...Hm. Good.” Sebastian set the dark tablet down, then added. “She will love your flowers, too.”

That perked Nighyingale up further, and the twins turned as Greyson stalked back into the room, holding a stuffed grey bear with a note pinned to his chest. It also appeared Greyson had run a brush through his dark hair, something that made Nighygale’s cheeks hurt from the width of his smile and Sebastian cocked a slight smirk. Sebastian plucked his painting from the easel and brought it to rest, propped up beside Nighyingale’s lilies and Greyson placed the teddy bear on the opposite side. With the gifts prominently on display, the brothers moved in unison in a move practiced time and again; the trio moved to the adjacent couch to sit, with Greyson in the middle, the twins on either side of him. A few moments later there was a timid knock at the door, and three sets of eyes lifted to greet the woman they’ve been waiting for all their lives.

It was reasonable, logical, to assume everyone prepares for their soulmate differently but one thing that unites the stoic and the affectionate alike is the eagerness with which they prepare for their one true love.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : february 2019 #{character} : greyson van cann #{character} : sebastian van cann #{character} : nighyingale van cann

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