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skyrimkinkmeme CLOSED FOR PROMPTS,
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BUT OPEN FOR FILLS
HELPFUL TIPS
>Please post your prompts with the paired characters and any notable kinks/trigger warnings in the title.
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>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
The Hardest Part [16/?]
Date: 2014-03-07 11:00 pm (UTC)She stared into the eyes of her Jarl, her heart moving to her throat, her entire body shaking and he looked at her, disturbed. His eyes were on her scars, the jagged marks on her face and his wife let out a gasp.
“Kjersti?!” she asked, genuinely concerned. She bit her lip hard, nearly drawing blood. “What happened?!”
She snapped her wrist back, staggering away and she said nothing, looking back at the tiles before she pulled her hood over her head.
She had noticed on his finger he had a ring of diamond and gold. The ring of emerald she had found him was paltry in return and she pulled her cloak around her so he could not grab her again.
“Excuse me,” she said and she fled, moving out into the rain. The drops pelted her, her body becoming soaked within minutes and she ran out through the western gate, not looking back as she did. His fiancée – no, she was his wife – was pregnant and diamonds adorned their hands. It was too much for her to bear and she rushed down the road, not seeking shelter even when it began to hail, the chunks of ice bruising her skin.
She ended up taking refuge in the broken watchtower of Falkreath, hyperventilating as she did. It had been more than six months yet she could not compose herself. His wife, his sweet wife was pregnant, they were married and she was the uncomfortable third wheel. Her Jarl’s eyes told her everything, his almost anger at her returning still piercing her heart and she drew her cloak around her as she had her fit.
Six months and she wasn’t over him. She cried out to the gods, spitting on the ground as she did. She was so weak. She shouldn’t have returned, there were other ways to give them money for the treasury and yet she subjugated herself to it. She hit her eyes with her palms, twisting her robes in her hands before she leaned against the stone, her skin cold.
She touched her scars. They dug into her face, marred her nose, cheek, lips and chin. They reflected her pathetic, cowardly personality. She buried her face in her hands.
The time passed slowly and she sat cross-legged in the entrance, watching the rain pour down, the hail stopping after some time. The soft earth turned to mud in front of the ruined steps and she found some loose stones, tossing them out to watch them tumble down the hill, her game boring her after a while.
She rearranged her pack, dug in the barrels near the door to discover them empty and she peeked up top seeing only a ruined shelter where a necromancer once lived. She eradicated them long ago and it looked like no one had found the place to try it again. She contemplated setting up camp and living as a crazy witch, terrorizing anyone who came near. One look at her face and they would flee. She laughed about it for a moment but stopped when she realized people had already run from her.
She felt like a starving half-dog among wolves. She didn’t belong with a pack nor did she do any good on her own. She ended up setting up the fire pit on top of the ruined tower, lighting it under the small remnants of the roof and placing the pot on the stones, filling it with small scraps of food. The rain kept coming down and she stirred her meagre stew, struggling to keep the fire going.