Bring ya notebooks kids

A fiction writing blog dedicated to giving ideas to the struggling writer. Everything posted on this site can be utilized. All things on blog are written by me to inspire you! Now excepting asks!

[saltyseve]

It might be my sadness but it's not my whole existence.

[saltyseve]

There was madness in her.

Soft skin.

Big eyes.

Aching.

Aching.

She was the shadow and I the sun.

[saltyseve]

The Day Time Stopped: Prompt #21

He was tired, and terribly cold, so cold it felt like he would never be warm again. He moved very slowly, his body aching with the simple action. A murmured complaint was mumbled against his coat, the body that helped keep him warm moved gently against his side.

He reajusted his arms around the much smaller frame of his companion, brushing his chin over their hair delicately, breathing in their comforting and familiar scent. It was like a drug. The only thing that brought him any comfort during these dark days.

So strange that this soul he had once hated now was the only thing that was truly his, though he dared never express his possessiveness outright.

Before the war and the nuclear winter they had fought on opposite sides, but now he wasn't even sure what they had fought for. The world they had both lived, fought and nearly died for was gone. It all seemed so fruitless.

They had been in the same city when the bombs fell and coincidentally the same shelter. The desire for survival in the upcoming winter had been their reason to put their differences aside.

Strangely it had been easier than they both would admit.

How was it that becoming allies, no friends, no, not even just friends could be possible for them?

He would never know.

Brushing his lips slowly over their crown he hummed softly. Urging them back to sleep.

"What time is it?" Came a very soft voice muffled by his coat which they happened to be barried in. He grinned at that. It was their only running joke and had been for nearly the two years they had joined together. He lifted his electronic watch to his face and stared at it intently, as if he was actually reading the time.

"Hmm, it looks like it's time for something new." He said again, like he said for the first time all those years ago when time stopped for the whole world, and every day sense.

His smaller companion tightened their own hold around him.

"New is fine with me." Came their sleepy voice that grew quiet after that.

He rolled them over to lay ontop of him which they allowed without complaint. Brushing a scarred hand through their hair he gazed at them as they went back to sleep. They were what he fought for now. The world could go to hell for all he cared, but as long as this one stayed beside him he would find peace and purpose.

[saltyseve]

Scummy characters aren't always black and white and they need to be written more.

Now I'm not talking about the stalkerish, rapey, abusive scummy lot.

They suck and need to be written a little less in my opinion. (Unless you do it right but apparently everyone likes to write about them and I HATE it.)

Anyway.

A good scummy character is something I dont see very often and I catch myself wonding why because I usually quite enjoy their characters and it's a proverbial goldmine when it comes to character development and humanization.

Let me first explain what I mean by a "good scummy character"

Characters that have wrecked their lives/done deplorable things/betrayed people they loved/retired vigilantes/thieves/spies

I could go on and on honestly. Any backstory will do.

I'm talking about bar flies. The ones that sit in the back of bars and are the people you get shady information when you need it. People usually stay clear of them but it so happens that your MC grows an odd relationship with said scummy bar fly and now they are friends. The bar fly may have very horrible morals but he would NEVER betray his strange friend for reasons only known to him.

Or a scummy character that works in the underground. They somehow get affiliated with your MC who somehow chatches their attention and they spend alot of their time keeping the MC (whom they've kinda adopted) from the dark side of their world.

Or an old addict who just can't seem to get their life together and are prone to being a total jerk but when it comes to the orphans of the city they would pick up their sword again to protect them. Why? Maybe because they were forced to kill orphans in the war or whatever.

Stop making all scummy characters just that. Trash. Even bad people arent just black and white and how dare you for assuming that every character that has led a dishonorable or "bad" life can't try and find redemption in some small way.

They CAN still be scummy but not to the people they look out for. NEVER TO THEM. Because at the end of the day there will always be someone to love.

You can make them more then just a broken soul.

People make mistakes. No one is just indifferent towards the horrible things they've done. Make your scummy characters real. Human.

Its just nice reading about broken and horrible people having redemptive qualities. Growing and trying to do even one good thing for someone even if it's insignificant.

[saltyseve]

A Warm Place To Stay: Slave Boy Prompt Series Prt 1.

"Mistress please. You mustn't do this." The young man uttered timidly, his voice strained as he squirmed in his spot. "What if someone were to see?"

The air in the small bathhouse was humid, creating a sheen of sweat over the young slaves exposed chest and face. He felt anxious and embarrassed by the place his mistress had called him and also the fact they were very much alone.

"Oh hush Asher," Replied his mistress's gentle voice near his left ear. "I promise there will be no repercussions concerning what happens in this room and I want to do this."

"But!-"

"Asher thats enough." The girl said once again, her voice growing more stern but still holding that gentle tone she always used with any of the slaves. He may be quite a few years older than her but she still was the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in all of Rome and he was a lowly slave.

He closed his open mouth, swallowing his complaint. Bowing his head in submission to her he didn't dare to utter another word, afraid of her wrath.

He had to remind himself he was merely her slave and had only been in this household for a few months.

The bath water sloshed around his sternum, leaving half of his body protruding out of the water. His own nakedness made him blush in embarrassment and even more so with the knowledge that his young mistress wasn't even phased by it.

The culture he had come from before he had been inslaved was an extremely modest one and to his horror the Romans were prone to being a rather indecent people.

His young mistress's name was Camilla Pompeius. She would one day inherit her fathers extensive holdings and become one of the richest women in the world, but for today it would seem she was content on making her slaves suffer.

He had no clue on why he was here or why she had requested him to strip and get in the tub full fo scented bath water. Nor did he know what her plan was as she took a seat behind him after he had seated himself.

He could only guess she planned to use his body. He prayed she wasn't a wicked woman to her slaves when she decided to use them. His heart thundered in his chest his hands shaking under the water.

Thr air felt so thick he could hardly breath. His anxiety nearly as heavy as the humidity.

Suddenly he felt her finger graze his ears and cheeks. He flinched instinctively but dared not pull away from her. She paused for a moment her delicate fingers softly rubbing his stubbled cheeks before they moved to his hair.

He closes his eyes tightly his hands grasping his knees under the water. Waiting for her to do something painful and cruel but when her fingers began to gently massage his scalp he nearly deflated with relief which was quickly surpassed by confusion.

She was washing his hair?

She said not a word but worked gently on his filthy hair. Her hands surprisingly skilled and firm but not painful. She would rinse out his hair and then rewash again, over and over.

"How long has it been sense you had a decent wash Asher?" Camilla asked softly from behind him.

He stiffened, humiliation causing his large shoulders to sag.

"Before I came to Rome" He said quietly his head bowing in shame.

"How long ago was that?"

"Two years."

There was a great silence and then the mistresses hands were on his shoulders squeezing them gently. "Well we will change that from this day forward. I want you in this bathhouse at the beginning of every week so we can give your hair a good wash and make sure you are properly cleaned."

He was shocked by that soft statement. Confusion clouding his mind. Why would she do this? Why take care of him? He was a slave and one that was not of worthy note. He wasn't smart or learned and he wouldn't say he was an attractive man either. He was homely in every way.

She must have sensed his inner turmoil because her hand squeezed his broad shoulder once again. "Asher please turn and look at me."

He did as he was told. Trying to conceal his nakedness while he did as she bid. He kept his eyes down, head bowed and waited patiently.

"I want you to look at my face." She said.

He slowly did as told and was surprised to find that Camilla was blindfolded, a big grin on her delicate face.

She reached forward very slowly, searching for him and finally finding his wet face under her fingertips. "I may be your master but I also wish to be your friend someday. I know it is scary but I would like you to try and trust me in your own time, if that is alright by you?"

He couldn't speak so nodded in a daze, realizing she couldn't see him he grunted and croaked out "Yes Mistress."

She smiled at that, withdrawing her hand from him she stood slowly. Turning she undid her blindfold but didn't look back at him.

"But why?" He asked softly. Overwhelmed but her tenderness towards him.

She paused by the door to the bathhouse her shoulders slumping.

"This is a big house Asher and I would like to not feel so lonely. I desire companionship." She sighed heavily at that, almost wistfully. "Not just a slave but someone who trusts me as much as I them. I want...." She paused as if searching for what to say. "I want to connect with someone."

She left him then, sitting stunned and confused in the still warm bath water, a small piece of his heart full of a warmth for his strange Mistress that hadn't been there before.

[saltyseve]

A Poet King: Prompt

He wrote in the sleepy moments of sunrise. When the world slept and there, with his dreams still not broken he would sit, and create.

Weaving into life whatever he wished.

He enjoyed the feeling of the sun touching his face every dawn. The way it warmed and caressed him tenderly.

The touch of that warmth melted away all the hardness that was life.

It became his addiction, to watch, chase, and feel the sunlight; and aren't we all addicted to something like that? Something so simple but so wonderful you can't help but want it forever?

Ah and he loved the golden light the most!

For it reflected the halo he was sure to have one day.

He was a gentle boy, with red tussled hair and inky black eyes, far too large for that face of his.

A wonderful boy who loved to write and to watch.

Sunsets, people, sometimes they were one and the same.

Beautiful and never the same.

He would someday become a poet king, one that would write many beautiful and profound things in his life.

I do not wish to ruine this moment, so for now let us be content with the shepherd boy who sat on hilltops with his flock and loved the sunrise.

For now let him be how he is.

To the end.

[saltyseve]

Please write a book on my weird dream.

So I had a weird half-awake half-asleep dream the other day and imma turn that sucker into a prompt as you do, and maybe y'all will write something about it!

The collector.

A seemingly normal man that travels the countryside looking for collectables.

He is a little odd but charming and handsome, and very mysterious.

What does he collect you ask?

If I had known I would never have ventured out that fateful day.

He had simply passed the same dirt road I had been on.

I had been so absentmindedly picking flowers and singing to the birds and bees, I had not heard him approach nor had I realized he had sat and listened from a fence post nearby.

I had seen him towards the end of an especially peculiar diddy. My song coming to a stuttered stop. A blush blooming on my cheeks.

He had gazed at me with open mouth facination. A twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

"You have a pretty interesting voice, dont ya?"

My blush had only intensified as I tried to find the right words which would not take form on my shaking lips.

He smiled again. "Ya know I'm sure a family member would sing to their family." He gave her a small questioning look his eyes squinting as a broad smirk danced over his lips. "That's normal, wouldn't ya say?"

I hadn't responded and he had gone on his way after saying that with a bow and small wave. I had firmly believed I would never see him again and so had gone on my own way.

How wrong I had been, for he was a collector and like all collectors they come to take what is due them.

Men came for me in the middle of the night and took me away screaming and pleading.

What does he collect you ask?

People.

Collecting people may sound a bit extreme, but he is a man rumored to not understand family bonds or relationships and so desperately tries to fabricate a traditional family.

He finds anyone and anything that may fit a family dynamic and comes to take it with him.

Such as a sweet old couple living deep inside the woods would make a wonderful pair of grandparents.

A set of twins would make good younger siblings.

An old lonely widow that makes amazing bread would make a wonderful mother, right?

I have caught the mans eye and now I must also be apart of this "family".

He is a collector and I am the collected.

[saltyseve]

Ah.

Yes the collector, I see why he would seen like some terrifying nightmarish shadow, snatching at everything pretty and pleasing to his eyes but I must tell you he was far from ghoulish, far from anything evil actually.

You could take the dream either way and I believe it would be a wonderful story no matter what you decide but allow me to tell you of the collector in the way I knew him.

In my dream I hovered over that unfamiliar earth, like some strange spirit, watching the lives of those in the land, never being seen, as if I didn't really exist, and I suppose I didn't.

When I saw the collector for the first time I was struck by his boyish face. He did not have the chiseled jaw of a handsome man, nor did his cheeks sink in in the way women desire, he had a round face, one speaking of youth and innocence. Freckles were like stars on his tanned cheeks and when he smiled -which was often and always crooked or lopsided- dimples would pop out creating the illusion that he was even younger then one first thought.

He laughed quite often and his eyes which were dripping amber and running cinnamon always twinkled with mischief and curiosity. Though there were always dark circles under those hooded orbs, and he always seemed so tired. Strange for a boy his age.

During my time of observing him I noticed that his nose would wrinkle with giggles and when he was rolling on the floor from deep belly laughs he would snort occasionally. I also noticed that he never brushed his hair and he always had a permanent bed head. He also would try to count his freckles whenever he was exceptionally bord and he would always lose count and then start over.

His hair was short and curly, crudely cut as if he had done it himself and it was just as pretty as his eyes, almost the same shade of cinnamon.

As I watched him collect people I became more and more curious about this strange sweet boy. He loved to play with anyone who would give him the time of day and he mimicked bird warbles when he was lonely. He wore tattered cloths to draw more attention from strangers but he did not care for the money they gave him only the simple head pat or the occasional kind word. He would smile so big I was afraid his cheeks wouldn't be able to hold his happiness.

He would take those he collected to his mansion-The boy was not born into wealth but somehow had gained great treasures in time- and he would just let them live however they chose. He found great joy in that alone.

For example he would sit on a stool in the kitchen and sing songs for the elderly couple he had collected for they loved to cook and he had a good voice, and he thought it would make them happy.

Whenever the twins cried he would tell them wild stories and create elaborate plays with puppets for them.

The widowed woman would sew him new clean shirts and he wore them to make her smile-always with tears in her eyes- for she had lost a daughter and he reminded her of those sweet days.

He never collected anyone with immediate family.

He cried more than I would like to admit, but always alone in his room when it was dark and everyone had gone to bed.

I hated that the most.

I remember thinking in that strange dream that he was a deeply wounded boy. One that was experiencing great sorrow but didn't know how to heal or where to find a savior.

I don't remember why he suffered so.

He didn't quite understand what love was but he really wanted to, more than anything else in the whole wode world and he tried so desperately to obtain a family for in his mind that was the greatest form of love he could ever have.

That's why he collected people.

He really just wanted a family to love him. And in an odd way he reminded me of my little brother. He was willing to let anyone in if they simply gave him affection and wanted him. He would do anything for them if the would just recognize him.

He was like some poor touch-starved creature and I could not feel anything but love and sympathy for the boy.

The Collector.

[saltyseve]

Give me Dorky and Beloved not Dark and Broody.

Now what if (And this is a big IF) what if the main male lead who is strong, brooding, rich, and has the physical prowess of a god and is literally Italian doesn't get the girl. Every. Freaking. Time???

(Nothing against you beautiful Italians BBs, y'all are gorgeous)

Like what if the girl chooses his second in command/best mate/General/Servant/Beta, who is madly in love with her or falls in love with her and has only been kind and gentle to her instead of the giant beefcake that is borderline abusive but we all pretend he isn't????

Like what an idea?

Do you realize how many tropes you would brake with THAT power move??

Also I would ship it so hard.

But like those fanfics or Wattpad/Inket fics where the girl falls for the ML cuz he's hOt and RiCh and she slowly falls in love with the diptard because she thinks he's a GoOd GuY. (Even though he pushes her around and has abusive traits and doesn't really care about her until like sixteen chapters in)

LOL don't make me laugh. (Please I have a broken rib rn)

But like you could play with this idea so much! You could have a peasant girl that a wealthy prince decides to take for his own and she falls in love with a servant boy who tends to her care in the palace.

Can you imagine the drama you could create with that?

The secret kisses and hidden smiles, the soft blushes and small touches, the horrible reality of being forced to play the role of "lady and servant" all the while being in love and having to hide it from the gorgeous and brooding tyrant because he will kill her innocent and sweet lover just to get back at her. (Because that's obviously what the "brooding" type does)

I like a good wump like anyone else but please for the love of peas and christmas shake it up a bit! Not every dark and brooding ML needs to be the love interest!

Give me dorky and beloved not dark and broody please.

Like what happened to MLs' being likable? Why is that not tottaly cool?

Like, GIVE ME ROMANCE BUT SPICE IT UP GOSHDARN!

[saltyseve]

Love Is Kind: Part 2 in The Love Is..... Prompt Series

The woman looked up from the flowered crown in suprise, her gaze meeting the more bashful glance of the giant man before her. His youthful face was turned sideways and away from her own as he held the circular mound of flowers out to her, his second large hand scratching his stubbled cheek nervously.

"I was thinking the other day when I was hunting that flowers would look very pretty in your hair so I made this for you." He said his neck taking on a red tinge.

The woman stood speechless outside her place of work. She had stepped out because she was told someone had been searching for her. She didn't know who she had in mind when she had come out, but the quiet boy from the mountian who she had clung to so desperately all those nights ago was definitely not someone she had even considered.

"If-if you don't want it that's fine too, I just wanted to take a quick trip down the mountian to see you and I...."

She drowned him out her mind running wild.

A short trip down the mountian from his village? His village was so far up and deep within the forest that it took nearly two days to get from her village to his.

Her eyes trailed to the flower crown he held.

She was not aware that men knew how to make such delicate things. Little girls were the common masters at such a craft. She thought young men like him spent their time drinking and fighting, not making such wonderful things.

The crown was lovely, hundreds of wildflowers she had never even seen were intertwined together in a swirling circle of color. It was so pretty she was scared to place her fingers on it in fear she would permanently stain the pure petals.

She had recieved so many gifts from men that had taken a fancy to her but those gifts were always golden and hard. Lifeless. They meant nothing to her. They were as useless as the men who gave them.

She would even go as far as to say she loathed them.

This was the first time she had ever recieved such a pure gift. She hadn't given him anything. Why would he possibly do this for her?

"It's lovely." She said her voice shaking with nerves she didn't know she had.

This boy, always bringing out the girl in her.

A slightly crooked tooth popped out at her as he gave her a big grin. The smile gave him an almost boyish edge that he normally didn't have. He looked more his age.

Young and handsome.

It was far more lovely than anything she had ever seen.

"May I?" He asked timidly while holding the crown out.

She gave him her best smile, bowing her head, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. "Yes, of course."

He gently placed the crown on her head, his hands brushing her ears and cheek as they pulled away.

She was so nervous she could hardly look up to see his face.

She thought how foolish she was for being even vaguely intimidated by this boy, but he was different. He unraveled her in the most odd ways.

She was stunned at the gentle adoration she saw behind those dark eyes of his.

Stunned by his strange sincerity.

She had never seen someone look at her like that.

He smiled, a hint of sadness coating his smile. "As I thought," He muttered reaching up to tug lightly on a strand of her hair. "The flowers grey in comparison."

[saltyseve]

Stand Tall: Prompt #20

"You forget where you stand, and that is why you suffer."

[saltyseve]

Please write a book on my weird dream.

So I had a weird half-awake half-asleep dream the other day and imma turn that sucker into a prompt as you do, and maybe y'all will write something about it!

The collector.

A seemingly normal man that travels the countryside looking for collectables.

He is a little odd but charming and handsome, and very mysterious.

What does he collect you ask?

If I had known I would never have ventured out that fateful day.

He had simply passed the same dirt road I had been on.

I had been so absentmindedly picking flowers and singing to the birds and bees, I had not heard him approach nor had I realized he had sat and listened from a fence post nearby.

I had seen him towards the end of an especially peculiar diddy. My song coming to a stuttered stop. A blush blooming on my cheeks.

He had gazed at me with open mouth facination. A twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

"You have a pretty interesting voice, dont ya?"

My blush had only intensified as I tried to find the right words which would not take form on my shaking lips.

He smiled again. "Ya know I'm sure a family member would sing to their family." He gave her a small questioning look his eyes squinting as a broad smirk danced over his lips. "That's normal, wouldn't ya say?"

I hadn't responded and he had gone on his way after saying that with a bow and small wave. I had firmly believed I would never see him again and so had gone on my own way.

How wrong I had been, for he was a collector and like all collectors they come to take what is due them.

Men came for me in the middle of the night and took me away screaming and pleading.

What does he collect you ask?

People.

Collecting people may sound a bit extreme, but he is a man rumored to not understand family bonds or relationships and so desperately tries to fabricate a traditional family.

He finds anyone and anything that may fit a family dynamic and comes to take it with him.

Such as a sweet old couple living deep inside the woods would make a wonderful pair of grandparents.

A set of twins would make good younger siblings.

An old lonely widow that makes amazing bread would make a wonderful mother, right?

I have caught the mans eye and now I must also be apart of this "family".

He is a collector and I am the collected.

[saltyseve]

Me to Me: Abandoning people is lame.

Also Me to Me: Being emotionally bullied and manipulated by someone you consider a close and dear friend, all the while becoming more traumatized and more emotionally detached from people in order to try and protect what is left of your own self worth and seeing the physical and physiological changes their impact has had on your life and decision making is also, in essence, lame.

[saltyseve]

'You want someone to sweep you off your feet and love you with all their heart, no boundaries, no walls. But, my dear I can not, I am not who you seek. I am conditional. I do not give without getting in return.'

[saltyseve]

You Are Not Our Salvation: Prompt # 19

They were our heros.

Then they drank the blood they swore never to spill

[saltyseve]

A Price: Prompt #18

Always so silent.

Always so selfish.

Idiotic and shallow, do you fools comprehend war?

Do you see the stain of sin upon your flesh?

There is a mark on us from our forefathers of wars that we are detached from.

A haunting still plagues us.

Do you take into account the blood that still spills so that you can live?'

[saltyseve]

All The Day's Of Your Life: Prompt # 17

'Why are you doing this?' The girl whispered timidly from the corner she had protectively placed herself. Her eyes could barely pick up the man in the light of the dreary cell. If it were not for the one candle that flickered by the door she wouldn't be able to see him.

The man sat comfortably on the small straw bed in her cell, back pressed against the stone wall across from her, legs splayed out, heavy ridding boots covered in dried mud and dust.

It was stuffy and dark in this small room. She had concluded days ago that she must be underground somewhere. The dripping of water and the constant dark were her only clues and they brought little comfort.

'Because you remind me of someone.' The man said plainly as he continued widdleing the piece of wood in his hands skillfully.

He did this often. He would sit and say nothing, working on a small piece of wood and by the time he would leave he would place it on the table in the corner of the room.

A small assortment of forest creatures had began to compile from his odd visits. They were uncanny and very pretty in their own right.

She struggled to keep her voice calm, for she was so very confused and afraid. 'You do know by now I am not who you remember or who you seek, please...' She swolled, licking her dry lips. 'If you could just let me go back to my parent-'

'No.' He said firmly cutting her off, his hands stilling. Dark hooded eyes drifting to her. 'No, you will remain here.'

'Why? I am of no use to you,' she bit her lip tentivly before speaking again, afraid to press him too far. 'I am merely another mouth to feed Milord, surely I am more trouble to you than I am possible worth.' She paused her heart pounding nervously in her chest. 'Surely it is not worth a few memories of someone you use to know.'

The man watched her critically in the light of the room his eyes hard, expression difficult to read. 'It is not the physical person that reminds me of you, infact you are not even the same gender let alone holding the same resemblance.' He stood suddenly her heart catapulting upwards in fear. She flinched violently away from him her arms coming up in a shielding manner, her muscles trembled under her flesh from nerves.

He did not seem to notice for he walked to her and crouched before her. Reaching those large tanned hands out - the same ones she had so critically watched for weeks - he took a strand of her dirty hair between his fingers.

'It is the feeling you give me,' He said his face somber. 'You feel like that man.' He brought the piece of hair close to his mouth and nose, inhaling deeply, eyes closing as he held her in place with his presence alone. 'Peace. I sense it hovering around you the same way it did with him.' He smiled then, his teeth glinting sharply in the dim candle light. 'I missed the feeling, that peace.' He tugged her hair gentle while keeping her eyes trapped by his gaze.

She could feel the hair stand on the back of her neck but she dared not to move. Not to look away.

He blinked and if by magic the spell broke and he pulled away.

'You will remain with me all the days of your life, or until you do not give me what I want.' He turned away from her, ignoring the distressed sound that came out of her mouth. 'I need you.'

[saltyseve]

Love Is Gentle: Part 1 of The Love is.... Prompt Series

The woman smiled drunkenly, the smell of alchohol heavy on her breath. The sound of the happy pub she worked at dancing around her bejeweled ears.

It was often not this pleasant at the pub, her cage and place of work.

Yes, today seamed different.

She leaned her head delicately against the strangers chest on who's lap she was perched, his body tensing in response, but his hand temidly ran up and down her back in a slow lolling motion.

He and his subordinates were a rugged people of the mountian, and those innocent enough to her obvious advances.

The man she had picked was quiet and kept to himself. Young. He was immense in height and had a homely face but she didn't mind, for his eyes were gentle and soft.

She was swept away by those eyes. They made her sad and oh how she just wished to feel something. So she clung to him like a moth to flame.

'M'lady I think you should not sit upon me like that.' Came the strangers soft voice near her ear. She could practically feel his anxiety which made her amusement only grow.

She giggled, intertwining her slim fingers into his murky brown locks, his other leg beginning to bounce anxiously at her sudden touch. 'Why is that Milord?' She hummed back with a smile. Now she was just teasing him.

'Well....' He looked sideways a small blush coming to his young face. 'A lady as pretty as you should be respected.' He made nervous eye contact his soft orbs pleading with her. 'I want you to take yourself as seriously as I take you m'lady.'

The woman sat stunned at his innocent response, a blush heating her own cheeks.

She hid her face deep in his chest, his body becoming impossibly more rigid at her sudden retreat.

She hadn't blushed sense she was but a girl, how mortifying that a man as young and obviously inexperienced as he could make a woman in her profession turn to mush with just a few niave words.

'Oh sweet boy,' She whispered her belly full of fluttering and warmth. 'I'm afraid I don't take myself very seriously at all,' Her fingers gripped the heavy wool of his dark ridding cloak as she sunk into him as much as she could, savoring his body heat. 'And perhaps you are right, and that is my problem.'

Yes, something was definitely different today.