Bear House Collective
Stories
1
Chapters
27
Words
87.1 K
Comments
0
Reading
7 h, 15 m
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Nothing signifies the cruelty of fauna more than a Roman rooster. Taller than a newborn child, the motley-plume monster slips through a crack in the larder door, head bobbing with every step. It loiters about the pre-dawn darkness before idling near the hearth where the ashes remain warm. It is day three—this cocker’s last day on the planet. With cautious deliberation, it saunters to the lectern, yet before it can raise its feathery head for a sunrise squawk, long fingers snatch its slender neck. A…-
87.1 K • Ongoing
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His name is Lucius Scipio Servius, or Skipio to those who call him a friend. He stands taller than most, his robust frame and shorn head shining like golden wheat. Piercing, verdant eyes appear darker than river rock moss, and his face, chiseled like a precious gem, boasts a captivating mouth no man can resist. Lucius Vitus Servius is his creator. He is a patrician farmer with a vast orchard in the Lepontine Alps that includes a thriving walnut grove. Despite this, his only son eagerly trades farm life…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Vibrant tunics litter the grasslands, their owners hacking away at the forest. Another group surrounds them, collecting newly cut trees and rolling them over a ribbed assembly of smaller logs. Workhorses form lines at the roping station, their twitchy legs eager to haul fresh timber to the carpenters near shore. Nothing matches the hardness of a tree against one’s ass when a climax comes. Britannia’s narrow forests make Skipio long for the thick oaks of home, ageless alpine giants with massive ground…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Aedan’s thumb pushes at an eyelid and reveals a lily pad floating in the white, its dark center growing with exposure. His Roman captive burns hot when he sleeps, never waking no matter how indelicate the druid’s touch. Smooth skin stinks of cooking fire and soft nipples taste of roasted rabbit. He sits, relishing how that muscular gut feels against his bare crack. Cock in hand, he grazes the tip over the Roman’s swollen bottom lip. Here lies the beauty from the falls, the lion from his…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Aedan the Ancalite is a bony sort with alabaster skin and the jawline of a corpse. Little hair grows on his face because his crotch hoards it all, and those messy black curls on his head speak nothing of his mother and everything of her father. His eyes are the darkest night, and beneath his broad pebble nose is a permanent frown. Spindly legs with rangy feet are weapons against anyone foolish enough to pick a fight, but his mind remains his deadliest instrument. His life is defined by how much pain he…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Skipio leads his scouts ahead of the legions until the roar of wind-swept trees overcomes the drum of infantry boots. Night marches are perilous without a torch or stars. It is lonely work, and anxiety consumes the hours. No one speaks, not even to their horse. A reedy marsh confronts their small procession, its insects and amphibians cavorting so wildly that they drown out the men’s thundering hearts. Somewhere within the swaying bobtails lies water, yet entering foreign wetlands invites death. Actus…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Longhouses cover the white expanse while half-built ships stretch for miles along the shoreline. The majestic forest is gone, its slenderest remains fueling barracks stoves, its thickest trunks now backbones for Caesar’s flat-bottom boats. Roman victory kills more than those on the battlefield. Like locusts, the legions consume everything. They slaughter livestock and leave those natives unfit for enslavement to starve. One of them, Decurion Servius, marches through the snow, his furry boots crunching…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Haze blankets a sea that burns silver under the high sun. Shadows appear along the vanishing point, first five and then ten, until there are too many ships to count. Continental refugees decry the fleeing prince Mandubracius and his deal with the Roman wolves. Those fresh from the fight claim continental warlord Dumnorix fought hard before his fall, then whispered of an impending sabotage and a hidden armada. “The wolves paddle across the stormy narrow,” says Aedan. Dumnorix is clearly as dead as…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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Father’s owl mask watches from the muddy shore, its top trim black from battle fire. His snowy war prize approaches for a drink and takes her fill before retreating to the grassy bank, where waterlogged cornflowers await her hunger. Falling rain stings his shoulders, a necessary hurt that washes away his warpaint. He drops his bare ass into the pebbled rivulet and spreads his spindly legs. Within the V bobs his pliable manhood as rushing waters flush clean his foreskin. Aedan rises to his feet, sopping…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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This violent summer proves the hottest in memory as a pretty Roman covers the dead farmer and her children with animal skins. Aedan the Ancalite grins upon seeing Bitch Face, whose rage over a slaughtered lover burns hotter than a hundred suns. He squats on the highest branch, a naked foot rising so his toe can scratch the itch behind his ear. His cadre awaits on the forest floor, watching the invaders hack another barleycorn field. The leader of this harvest, known on the wind as Gaius Trebonius, grows…
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87.1 K • Ongoing
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