#//for like. a second. right before rollo stopped them

[elite-amarys]

🐾thoughts on me?

-🍁

WE-

HIHI! 🤩 You my mom's new friend! You should hang out with ME soon 🤪 I'm lotsa fun, way more than stinky Linux or even mama 🥳😜

-Rollo

[captainjacklyn]

Love, Love, Love Part 1-ish

A/N : a small fic made from this incorrect quote which I promised a part 2 and here it is just- longer.

Context : Rollo gets transferred to NRC for a few months, The Headmaster decides that he would be staying at Ramshackle Dorm much to Malleus' dismay (along with grim and the first years who are aware of the truth). Yuu doesn't find it nice either but with time they allow the third year to open up to them, eventually growing mutual respect for one another, perhaps some friendship..and a bit more.

Warning(s) : fluff, hints of rollo liking Yuu, this is a continuation of some sort to my joke so pls understand that it isn't from the beginning, Rollo might be OOC he's just scared of Yuu, they/them pronouns for Prefect !

A bit of background..

"I'm back from dealing with the principal's casual destruction ! How are you boys holding up ?" The prefect announced their arrival back at Ramshackle the moment they got in. A smile, half glad it was over while the other half expressed their passive aggressive bitterness from when taking care of other people's jobs. Grim was laying on the couch looking at one of his notebooks to try and study for an upcoming assessment. Rollo flamm, a new temporary resident of the manor was reading a book of his own next to the fiery raccoon, his attention turned to Yuu when he heard their voice.

"Ah. Welcome back Prefect, are you alright ?" He asked, placing his volume on the side and getting up from his seat to take their bag. Yuu thanked him and stretched their arms before walking over to Grim and patting his head. The feline let out a hum as his henchman did so and once the bedroom door closed, the two occupants glared at each other.

"Weasel."

"Simp"

.

.

.

.

Since it was the weekend, most students had the option to rest their minds or do the opposite of relax because of a test. "Hey guys what are you doing ?" This current scene happened a few days after the first, Yuu was once again returning to Ramshackle. Though this time, they stopped at the small gates when they noticed their first year friend group staring at Rollo from a distance.

When the Prefect called out to them, Ace quickly turned around and shushed them. "We're observing the enemy." Deuce explained in a hushed tone, They only chuckled at their antics and Epel attempted to defend their choice of pass-time. "We don't what he could be planning this time ! I mean he's gardening right now, you know what that means.." The way his tone of voice changed towards the end of his sentenced made Deuce frown in remembrance of that incident.

Yuu shook their head with a knowing smile as they approached them and ruffled Epel's hair. "Don't worry, I'm making sure he doesn't make the same mistake. He's getting better, I promise." They didn't buy it but Ace nodded along with a shrug, possibly considering the option since he wasn't there when it all happened.

To reassure them, Yuu continued as they all looked back at Rollo who was watering the plants at the entrance. (he stated that it would look nice because of how dried the yard was, Yuu only agreed as long as he did the work) "I'm sure he'll change into becoming a nice normal man...very normal." then Rollo started to spin around as he watered the flora. The collective all narrowed their eyes, "That's not very normal." Yuu commented.

In a minute he changed his stance completely and went back to his original position. "That's normal." The prefect spoke while pointing at him to prove their judgement, Adeuce and Epel nodded their heads at the same time. However they all scrunched up their faces and tilted their head to the side a second after Rollo sprayed fertilizer in his eyes.

Yuu ignored it and gave Deuce a pat on the shoulder. "Anyways- It's gonna be exciting to have someone new around. Nobody is born bad, I promise you that. I'll get to know him and we can all share our lands...even though I feel like contradicting my own words." they muttered under their breath as they walked away from the group and pass the gates, to go speak to their tenant who was..performing strange water rituals. "Flamm !"

Their voice was firm enough to have the eyebag silver-haired individual look their way the instance they spoke. Mostly because they made it very clear that they were the boss around this area, by using threats that is..brutal ones to say the least.

"Oh hello Prefect, I was just taking care of the plants-" "Yes I know you were performing your bizarre holy water ceremony." They cut him off halfway and right when he was about to say something, the not-so-genuine smile on their face made him change his mind. "Uh Yes..that was it." he accepted their statement, learned a while ago that saying no to someone who could force him to sleep in mud wasn't the best option.

Then Yuu suddendly perked up. "Oh right I came back from Sam's shop to bring you these, just like you requested." Reaching into their satchel, the magicless student handed him a few bags of flower seeds. He offered a small smile as he took them, "Thank you." Rollo responded, they answered with another smile and although they were serious, it was much more for setting something straight rather than intimidating him. "I trust you, Rollo..And I really hope that your brief stay with us helps you with whatever you're..going through I guess." Yuu carried on, Rollo looked at them for a while as he took in their words, he then gave them another small smile.

"Thank you..I appreciate it." They chuckled as he spoke softly. "Just looking out for my non-non magic user !" they joked.

A little further off was the trio of freshman watching the scene unfold in disbelief.

"He has to go."

"Agreed."

hope you liked reading this, part 2/3

[blues824]

Riddle, Rollo, Malleus and Jamil reacting to their normally unladylike and tomboyish female s/o show up to the masquerade ball in a gorgeous ball gown?

Bro I went to a formal in May and your reclusive author actually went to a whole other state for this. I looked like a princess and I rocked it. I looked flawless, as did my irl besties.

Riddle Rosehearts 

He was waiting around nervously for you, wondering if you had started dancing with another guy already. However, he had not seen your mask as he walked around the ballroom, so he guessed that you had not arrived yet. Then, the entire room went absolutely silent as a few spotlights made their way to the stairs.

There, he saw your mask. It was you… in a dress?? This was definitely not expected, as he knew you to be a person who absolutely despised dresses and skirts. However, here you were with your nails done as well as proper etiquette. You even picked up your dress carefully so that you wouldn’t trip, and you did it so gracefully that Riddle doubted it was you.

A path was cleared leading to him, and another spotlight went on him. He suddenly felt everyone’s gaze, but that didn’t matter because you looked absolutely beautiful. You slowly made your way to him, an awkward smile on your face as your heels clicked against the tiles of the floor. Your eyes were focused on him, and suddenly his mask felt uncomfortable and started clinging to the sweat on his face.

Within seconds, you were in his arms. You hugged him, thanking him for waiting so long and the poor Housewarden was just so flustered that he barely stuttered out an it’s fine before reciprocating the affection. As he was close, he caught a whiff of your perfume, and the familiar scent made him feel more at ease.

You then pulled back and asked if he would like to dance, and he said yes. He glanced at a few people nearby who looked envious of him, but he didn’t really care. You were his, as he was yours. You put your left hand on his shoulder and he wrapped his right arm around your waist, then your free hands intertwined with each other. Then, the music started.

Riddle had good form, as his mother deemed it fitting to learn how to waltz. He was further shocked at how well you were doing, but you told him that Vil had taught you how to dance after the Fairy Gala Event that happened a while ago. A small smile made its appearance on his face as he remembered that entire fiasco, however, he was not ecstatic to hear that he wasn't your first dance.

Jamil Viper

He was conversing with Azul by the punch bowl, talking about something random when the entire room went silent. The cecaelia stopped talking as well, and just let out a gasp. Jamil was about to ask what happened when he turned around and saw you at the top of the stairs. He knew it was you as well, because it was your mask.

But he not only saw your mask, but also your absolutely beautiful ball gown. It was very uncharacteristic of you, and he kind of expected you to show up in a suit similar to all of NRC’s. His girlfriend who usually had the I don’t care about society’s rules for women was now wearing not just a mask and a dress, but also heels as well. You looked gorgeous either way, though.

You were walking directly towards him when you spotted him in the crowd, and he made his way to the front. Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, he extended his hand out to you, silently asking if you would like to dance with him. You put your hand in his, and he gently pulled you flush against his chest.

“Do you remember the lessons I taught you?” he asked, whispering so that no one else would be able to hear. You nodded your head and placed your hand on his shoulder, and he put his arm around your waist. Some of the other men in the room could be heard whispering about how Jamil was lucky, and he had to agree with them. To have you in his arms, just about to dance, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

A few seconds later, the music started, and he led. Everyone cleared the dance floor, watching you two twirl around. You both whispered to each other, the intimacy of the situation dawning on you. He told you that he looked so beautiful, and you grew a bit flustered. He could tell that you were out of your element, much like a fish out of water, so he told you to ignore everyone else and just focus on the beating of his heart.

He brought your hand that was holding his to his chest as he said that. You felt his heartbeat, and he twirled you around before pulling you back. He was also out of his element, as he’s not used to having the spotlight after years of competing with Kalim. However, he loved sharing the spotlight with you. 

Malleus Draconia

This was not the first time he had been to a ball like this, or even to this specific event. He had attended many balls, some of them masquerade, within Briar Valley for political reasons. After all, being the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley, his attendance was necessary. However, this time was different. This time, he had a partner.

After spending a few moments conversing with students from the many different schools that attended, the room went silent. Malleus turned to see you at the top of the steps, and he couldn’t believe what he saw. You were wearing your mask, with a dress and heels. It took him by surprise, as he doesn’t ever recall you wearing a dress back at NRC. 

You met his gaze, and everyone suddenly disappeared from around you. You saw that he was making his way to the stairs, and you were doing your best not to tumble down the steps. He met you at the bottom, and he took your hand in his to place a gentle kiss on it and ask you to dance with him. You nodded your head, and you were swiftly pulled to his chest. You readjusted your hold on his hand as you placed your other hand upon his shoulder. He placed his free arm around your waist, and he started with the first step when the music started.

It was actually going smoothly, save for your heart absolutely pounding against your chest. Malleus even commented about how he could sense your heartbeat rising, a smug smile on his face, before you told him to be quiet. He chuckled, before focusing back on the steps of the dance. He asked where you learned how to waltz, and his mood soured upon learning that Vil Schoenheit was your first dance partner and not him. However, everyone was watching you dance with him, and they now knew that you were his date. That would have to suffice.

All of his attention was on you. Your mask sparkled in the lights casted by the chandeliers, your eyes peeking through and being enhanced by the mask’s color. Your dress as well was absolutely gorgeous. You looked like a queen… his queen. He must have said that out loud because you looked at him in shock, and he assured you that what he said was true. 

When the dance was over, he surprised you by dipping you down and kissing you, making everyone in the ballroom gasp. Your eyes went wide before melting into the display of affection, before he brought you back up and made sure that you were balanced. He then offered you his arm, which you wrapped your own around, as he made sure you got something to eat.

Rollo Flamm

After all that he has done, he never expected you to say yes when he asked if you would go to the Masquerade Ball with him. You even snagged his handkerchief, promising that you would be there to give it to him. He had a small smile on his face, heart in his eyes as you walked off to get ready for the ball.

Now, he was speaking to his Vice President and his Student Aide by the tables as he awaited your arrival. Then, the former retainer tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the stairs. He looked, and there you were: you had your mask, as well as a gown and high heels. Rollo might not have known you for a while, but from what he has seen, you were what one would call a tomboy. He didn’t care, just as long as you were respectful to those deserving of it. 

That aside, he quickly made his way to the steps when he saw you walking down. He extended his hand for you to accept once you got to the bottom, and it was warm against his ironically cold one. With your free hand, you reached into the dress’s pocket and pulled out the handkerchief, and he gently took it with a smile. He pocketed it again, and he reached for your other hand and placed it on his shoulder.

You got the memo and allowed him to wrap his arm around your waist before the music started. When it did, he stepped first, and he nearly slipped because he was so focused on you. You giggled, and he was about to reach for his handkerchief to cover his reddening face when you stopped him and said that it was alright. Plus, he had his mask on.

The two of you continued to twirl and dance, and you were whispering to him so that no one else could hear you. With overwhelming sadness in his eyes, he told you about how magic had managed to kill his brother, and the hand that was on his shoulder went to gently cup his face. You told him about your life thus far as a magicless human, and how you had given everyone a second chance. That meant that he, too, deserves one.

When the music ended, he bowed as you curtsied, and he kissed the back of your hand and thanked you deeply for the second chance. You smiled as you both rose, when suddenly Azul came up and asked if he could have the pleasure of collecting your second dance. Rollo watched as you went with your friends, and he pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket. He held it to his face to hide his sadness, but he noticed something. It smelled like your perfume.

[b0rninh3ll]

Summary: Rollo caught a student doing something they shouldn't, they beg and beg for him not to report them and would do anything for it.

Words:1k

Warnings!: Gn reader, a bit of OOC I think, Rollo is SO SUB, shitty attempt at flirting and it's so awkward for a while, sucking dick, almost shamelessly moaning Rollo, reader actually doesn't know what to do much but Rollo enjoys it anyways, but they are having a blast too, weird description of a dicks taste, cum on facceee.

“Please don’t tell anyone!”

”You deserve punishment for your actions.”

”Come on, that was the first time and I swear it’s the last!”

Rollo didn’t answer and kept walking towards the student council room, ignoring the person behind him with his head up high. Even when they stepped in front of him he simply pushed them with his long fingers, taking out his handkerchief and cleaning his hand without stopping his walk.

When he opened the door he didn’t bother closing it, knowing the troubling student would follow him. He took a seat and the student closed the door, not wishing for others to hear their conversation and stood right in front of his table. He didn’t even look up and started to write the report of the situation.

”please Flamm I’ll do anything” Rollo didn’t budge and that upsets them more. “I have never done anything like that before, please just let it slide!” At their whiny tone Rollo stopped for a second but continued. It didn’t go unnoticed by them though, the way his eyes looked to the side for a second.. He wants something but refuses to say anything.

Desperate not to ruin their perfect image among the teachers they took a drastic turn of plan. They stayed silent, looking down in thought which worried Rollo on what they were planning. When Rollo opened his mouth suddenly his view of the paper was blocked by.. Thighs? He looked up with wide eyes to see the other student sitting on his desk.

They didn’t know what to do exactly and highly depended on the high possibility of Rollo being not experienced in such things, they have heard before other students teasing him about it and it seems to upset him a lot, which means it could work if they were delusional enough. They were sweating and shaking but tried hiding it with a smirk on their face as they leaned closer to Rollo.

”I can do something for you.. in exchange for letting it slide this time?” That was the shitest attempt at asking, yet it seems like it worked on Rollo. His face was red and he was speechless, his hands were shaking and his mouth kept closing and opening like a fish.

They slowly started to regret their actions, as they were about to apologise suddenly Rollo moved back a little. He couldn’t look them in the eyes and covered his face with his handkerchief hoping they would understand without him talking. And they did, the tent in Rollo’s pants was so obvious… He was already so hard from their shitty attempt to flirt.

Rollo wasn’t going to let, Possibly his only chance of experiencing this kind of thing. He was so tired of the same topic of him being inexperienced being brought up and also wanting to know what is so special about.. That?

it can’t be that good right?

Rollo covers his face, too embarrassed to look at them as his dick was full out and hard, twitching and leaking. They just kept looking at it, intimidated by his size. How the hell are they putting that monster in their mouth?!

but it doesn’t hurt to try right? They open their mouth, putting the tip in slowly. Making Rollo shiver at the feeling, letting out a low whisper. He immediately put his handkerchief on his mouth ashamed but oh how much they liked that, making the leak themselves.

they are going to make him do more and more.

…..

Rollo bites hard on his handkerchief, trying his best to keep himself quiet. He was quiet enough not for outsiders to hear but loud for them to hear. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, one holding on his handkerchief and other on the arm chair holding for dear life, making his knuckles white. He’s shaking violently, finding breathing hard and becoming more and more lightheaded but oh goodness he does not want it to stop… 

The student on their knees are trying their best, in both sucking his stupidity high dick and not to laugh at him. Who knew the high and mighty, the feared Rollo Flamm would be so submissive to a random student? They could clearly feel how much he’s enjoying it and damn it they are also sharing his feelings.

the way it hits the back of their throat without it all being in is making them lose their mind. They don’t understand why but Rollo’s dick tastes addicting, his pre cum adds another feeling and taste making it harder to pull their mouth out. Since both are inexperienced they decided to practice on him a little.

but before this they pull out and breath heavily, they are still not used to breathing from their nose so they need a little break so they rest their head on his thigh with his dick on top of their head. Thinking about what to do with his cum, as he is obviously close. But it didn’t take long for a thought to pop, making them smile.

“W.. What are.. are yo-“ Rollo slapped his hand on his mouth, muffling his loud moan. Before he could finish, they started kissing his tip and slowly stroking the base. Moaning on it on purpose to make him feel better, the moment he was squirming away a little they stopped and sticked to only stroking.

They open their mouth and stick their tongue out. Making sure to aim it at their face, not actually wanting to swallow it but just get some on their face. At the sight Rollo immediately cam all over their face, making them flinch away slightly. The cum was on their hair and lashes, but they got a little taste.. not bad.

Rollo couldn’t move, he kept shaking on his chair. As they get up to make sure he’s okay.. he passed out.. leaving them all alone in a situation they don’t know what to do..

Hopefully he would let this also slide..

This is based on a dream I had of him.. It's been a wekk or more and I still think about the taste of his stupidly large and somehow delicious dick out of my mind..

My next one shall be pregnant Rollo for I have promised some people to write it but sucking Rollo won the pull..

Anyways commissions are open :3

[smokesandsonatas]

Could i request Che'nya and Neige for the chubby MC ask as well if it's not a problem?

I'd love to see Che'nya randomly pulling up at Ramshackle just so he can squish and knead MC to his hearts content! And maybe he even purrs while he does it!!(≧▽≦) (Sorry im kinda brainrotting on him rn)

Make the reader gn if it's not a problem please!!

-This took so long, thanks for patiently waiting.-

Chubby Reader MC X Twisted Wonderland Chenya, Neige, and Rollo (bonus).

The second, or maybe third time you saw Chenya, he was already squealing in glee. You've already met him a couple of times to get familiar with him, and as such, his tactics don't surprise you anymore—well,  at least some of his shenanigans. This maniacal grinning cat is laughing, letting out cute sounds of "nyaa~" as he teases you with playful poking of your cheeks and arms. Once you visit the dorm of Heartslabyul, you wait for Trey to give you his fresh batch of homemade cupcakes after running an errand for him. You almost screamed bloody murder when Chenya's head suddenly appeared behind your shoulders, his invisible hand playfully kneading your tummy while purring. What? Chenya is a cat, and you know how fascinating you are for feline creatures like him. He was purring, while squishing his face against your cheeks. "So squishyyyyy nyyaaa~". You can only let out a surprised sound; as fast as Chenya appeared, he disappeared when Trey came to you, holding the cupcakes you've been waiting for.

If there's one thing Neige is used to seeing, it's people with model-esque bodies. Tall people with slim to almost thin figures; His beauty subjects him to being surrounded by beautiful people per se. And for Neige, he came to associate them with the pressure of keeping up his image. There's one thing you never knew, and perhaps he has no intention of letting you know. But he saved every picture of you posted by Rook and Vil in Magicam. Neige stumbled upon your picture in one of Vil's posts, and he was fascinated with you. You see, your figure is something he can compare to a well-fed bird. One that healthily chirps. Then he met you in VDC, and Neige couldn't stop himself from wanting to talk to you upfront, if not for Vil or Rook standing by your side. One of these days, though, Neige is planning to send you a letter, inviting you to view his latest movie with him. All expenses are paid by him, of course.

Rollo has every bit of polite peculiarity. The first time you saw him, he was welcoming. Yet he mumbles quite a lot under his handkerchief, which makes you feel like he's speaking negatively about you. And with what he did during the Masquerade Ball, well, that's up to interpretation. To your utter surprise before you left, Rollo sought to talk to you alone, yet you noticed he was sweating a little, which got you concerned, of course. So you asked Rollo to sit next to you, and to your utter surprise, he asked very politely if he could pinch your cheeks! You said yes, of course, and that's all Rollo did—he pinched your squishy cheeks. And then he was suddenly walking away from you with a handkerchief in his mouth, that's when you noticed. Rollo's face looks red, and he refuses to meet your eyes, just like that he was walking away from you, gone from your sight. Huh, must be the heat, right?

Right.

[moonyasnow]

Veronica at Glorious Masquerade

I started having thoughts about Veronica at GloMas then I wrote this while crying

Obviously spoilers ahead for the Glorious Masquerade/Rollo event

I just realized something

Veronica's terrified of fire right

She would have an actual panic attack.

The minute she sees the flowers flare to life in that brilliant, but horrible, orange glow of theirs, her throat closes up on itself.

Her muscles tense on their own, so tight she almost thinks it's gotten colder because her lip is shaking.

When students around her start falling, it only sends her into even further panic.

She's always been someone who acts, and acts quickly. Whenever something happens her body is moving before she herself even knows it— it's how she got the scar on her back.

During the fire that destroyed their home and killed their parents, she rushed forward to save Victor from a burning piece of the roof which was about to come down on him, the flame scorching her own back in the process. Or so he's told her. She doesn't remember.

She knows she doesn't remember anything of that night except the smell of burning ash and smoke, and it doesn't smell anything like that but she swears she feels like she's back there— in that place she only remembers in nightmares, that burning remnant of her family crumbling right before her eyes, too quick for her to save any part of it.

The fire. It's going to consume her. Consume her like it did her bed, all her childhood toys, her mother's favorite yellow curtains, the red tulips in her father's garden—

It’s going to latch onto her the first chance it gets and consume.

It'll get her breath first.

So then her lungs became paralyzed.

I imagine that, out of everyone there, only Rook and maybe Sebek actually know about her pyrophobia.

I'm imagining it could be a scenario where you see more of Veronica and Sebek's kinda weird friendship and how protective they actually are of each other— like when he sees the flowers his second thought, after 'is Lord Malleus ok', is 'oh no, it looks like fire— Veronica!'

And I think this could also lead to Riddle, Idia and Grim coming to understand why she was always so hostile and on edge around them— she was scared of them.

And the panic attack itself…

She just kinda goes incredibly tense and asks Riddle to collar the flowers— already a sign that she's not doing too great because they're usually WAY more rational than that. Like, of course he can't collar the flowers

But she's panicking too much.

She asks anyone to just do something to get them to stop glowing like that.

And when she yells that is when basically everyone has realized she's not doing ok.

When someone asks how she is she just starts hyperventilating, and she just looks so scared— no one there aside from Rook, Sebek and Silver have ever seen her display this much of an emotion that isn't anger before.

I imagine it's a really big shock to all of them.

When Epel says he'll stay behind, she grips his shoulders so hard it hurts him. She looks at him with an expression he never in a million years thought he'd see on her: one of pure desperation.

"Victor, no!"

And she calls him that without thinking.

Epel is like a little brother to her. On his own merits, but also because he reminds her of Victor. Or…the past Victor. The way he was as a child.

Victor is back, and she's more grateful for it than words could ever convey…but he's changed. And she's sure it's her fault for letting go of his hand that day he was taken.

So in a way, saving Epel would be like making up for not being able to save Victor when they were children.

She wants so badly to stay behind and keep Epel safe— he's like a second little brother to her— but she can't.

She's magicless; the flowers can't do anything to her. She's been training her whole life for a situation exactly like this: where magic doesn't matter— where, if worst comes to worst, she is the only one who can stop Rollo from ringing the Bell of Solace.

So she refuses to not go help.

She's used to helping herself— there was no one else around to, after all— so much so that waiting for someone else to help does bot even register as an option to her. To do it herself is so engrained in her that to leave it in someone else's hands is not only unthinkable to her, but would also leave her feeling absolutely helpless. And there's nothing else she wants less.

She just can't sit idly by and wait for someone else to solve her problems. She's never been that kind of person.

She has to always be in the middle while they're going up the bell tower.

Secretly she feels ashamed of that— that she's not strong enough to face her fear without any help.

She's never felt so pathetic in her entire life.

Even though they stop him in the end, she feels like she failed. If it'd only been her, she wouldn't have been able to stop him— wouldn't have been able to 'save' Rook and Epel. Even though the stakes weren't life or death, that's what it felt like to her.

Her not being able to overcome her fear of fire, something she thinks she needs to be strong enough to do, would have made her unable to stop Rollo on her own.

This really shakes her up inside.

When everyone is safe again, the first chance she gets she almost yells at Rook and Epel to come with her, not explaining why.

"Just do it!"

She ends up literally dragging both of them away.

And when there's no one else around…she hugs them. She pulls them both into her arms and holds them tightly. And a tear rolls down her cheeks.

The three of them just stand there, silently hugging.

[scoundrels-in-love]

I just need someone to hold me (even though you don't even know me)

Rollo's death is the car crash of a wakeup calls. It eclipses even the devastation of Jeneora Rock that had left him numb and decaying. Now, he is far too aware. Too aware of how deep he had been caught in this game of almost normalcy. (Of something sweet and light, almost, like light dancing through a sun catcher he remembers hung in one of the artificial gardens.) Of pretending to not be a creature that brings chaos and death wherever he goes. To whoever he looks at for more than a moment. Also on AO3.

| Vashmeryl with implied Mashwood | Missing Scene | Post Episode 05: Blessed Child | Grief | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Get yourself a girl who will nudge you to the emotional release cry that you're denying yourself and hug you through it & clean your face up afterward | Vash has more denial than there are worms in No Man's Land |

Rollo's death is the car crash of a wakeup call. 

It eclipses even the devastation of Jeneora Rock that had left him numb and decaying.

Now, he is far too aware. 

Too aware of Meryl's worried glances, the way she had shuffled her feet as she had thought about approaching him. 

Too aware of Roberto's gaze and pointed way he had pulled Meryl away a little.

Too aware of Wolfwood's cold rage. The grains of truth in his words now swirl in Vash's mind like a sandstorm.

Too aware of how deep he had been caught in this game of almost normalcy. (Of something sweet and light, almost, like light dancing through a sun catcher he remembers hung in one of the artificial gardens.) Of pretending to not be a creature that brings chaos and death wherever he goes. To whoever he looks at for more than a moment.

(Has he already doomed them?)

Every inhale and exhale in the car scratches at his skin. No one is speaking, even the radio is turned off, and he's selfishly thankful for that because he knows it would be too loud. Everything already is.

He tries to think about anything that isn't here. The only images he can discern in the sandstorm are the grave they'd made for Rollo, his wide smile as a baby, his eyes in the second between his mask falling away and he - off the edge. They spin in his mind, blend together until it is a dizzying blur of loss.

"We should stop for the night." 

He winces when Meryl breaks the silence in half. Roberto agrees and the car drives for another infinity or half an hour before it stops and the humans hurriedly get out. Wolfwood especially as if he can't bear to be near him for even another second. Vash can't blame him. Frankly, the feeling is quite mutual.

He doesn't move, though, as if rooted to this car seat, and time drips around him with Vash hardly noticing, at least until the doors on the opposite side click open and he sees Meryl entering his peripheral vision.

Vash turns his head to look at her, because it's the polite thing to do. He's so good at going through the motions by now. So good he even fooled himself.

"Vash? Are you going to come eat?"

He looks at her hand, stretched toward him and thinks - he isn't even sure what. It's not a thought, really, just a feeling. That he will shatter if she touches him, crumble to dust. The silence stretches and then she flinches, retracts and it's a relief interwoven with bitterness.

"I'll bring you something," she says and leaves the car.

He watches her retreat to the campfire and a different, new ache blooms in his chest. He should have counted the nights spent around it, turned them into tiny glass beads to put on strings of the sun catcher that can turn even the vicious heat into shifting, colorful beauty.

But it's cracked now - it clinks in a dissonant way as it falls to the ground. He never had a right to it, to the laughter and warmth around a fire as the night closed its soft fist around them. To the way Meryl would gently bump her shoulder into him and laugh like a little bell that makes his chest hum. To her and Wolfwood's banter. To Wolfwood's nicknames and companionable silence when one of them could not sleep and the other was on a watch. To Roberto's tentative trust in his story. To singing purposely off key with all of them in the car, making silly faces for the photo Meryl is taking, to stealing Wolfwood's lollipops and acting all smug about it as though he didn't fully know Nicholas let him, to… 

Having friends.

Meryl brings him a plate with food, places it on the seat so often occupied by Wolfwood. "Please eat," she tells him softly and he wants to promise her, if only for her relieved little smile, but he knows it's just empty words. His promises always are, just like Wolfwood said.

She lingers for a moment and then leaves again and it's for the best, that's what humans are supposed to do. If they're lucky enough to survive being around him. Rollo wasn't, Rem wasn't.

He sees Wolfwood come to the fire, sit down heavily and lean against the punisher. One cigarette, two, three - Vash loses count, even though he had never meant to count in the first place. He'll burn through the entire packet at this rate, he thinks distantly.

Burn through it like Rollo's life, in one brilliant flash of blue. 

There is still anger in Vash, at the ease he had done it with, that he had done it all. Anger he doesn't know where to put because he himself is the usual target.

Mercy, Wolfwood had called it. Death is not a mercy, it is the end of choice and chance and Rollo had been in there, behind all that pain, and he could have-

He looks away from the fire and people gathered around it, turns his empty gaze toward the desert. What ifs are the only plentiful crop to be harvested in No Man’s Land. And he is so very tired of it.

Briefly, the intensity with which he misses Ship Three overpowers everything else. Home, with familiar cool tones and greens among which to lay down and pretend a century and half hasn’t passed, pretend that there will be familiar laughter winding its way toward him in a minute, pretend both of his hands feel the soft coolness of grass the same way.

The left front door opens and though he doesn’t turn to look, he can tell it’s Meryl from the sound her jacket makes and her soft breath as she slips in the seat. 

“Vash?” He doesn’t respond, he has nothing to say to her, to anyone. “Is it okay if I sleep in here?”

This makes Vash look at her - Meryl is peering around the car seat, eyes wide and cautious. Not of him, but for him. As if she's afraid to spook him. How sweetly, mortally foolish. It embeds itself somewhere in his chest, another budding flower of ache.

The question hangs in the air and Vash thinks he should get out, give her the space, pretend that her asking permission to sleep in essentially her car was about that, not the once again extended hand across emptiness.

He should, but he doesn't. Again. It's hard to say no to her, he's realized somewhere over the past couple months. (Even when she isn't asking at all, as she tosses a rope around him.) Harder still, because he has wanted to indulge in the illusion of comradeship, of her delighted smiles. 

He still wants, even as his body buzzes with grief and awareness he isn't allowed soft, lovely things. Wants that simple comfort of her presence one last time.

(If Roberto doesn’t make their paths split after this, as someone with a mind as sharp as his ought to, Vash knows he will have to do it soon.)

Vash nods, barely and stiffly, and it feels like a surrender. To her and the tender humanity he wears.

He has had to surrender greater things today.

She sighs in relief and curls up on the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees and propping her chin on them a little awkwardly so that she can continue to watch him. He looks out the window into the darkness, but her gaze still lingers and tingles on his skin.

If she knew what she was looking at, would she even dare to stay this close? Would her kind heart find any worry left for him? It shouldn't.

He'd thought of them all as friends earlier, but what friendship can be built on lies and deceit? And some of them have done little but lie about who they are.

His thoughts turn to Wolfwood again. Vash isn’t a fool for all he plays one, he can piece together the gun that no other man can carry and the coincidence that led to Meryl running over the only obstacle as far as the eye could see, the vials and the wounds that close like they’d been little more than a horrible, horrible dream. Vials that are much like the ones that had kept pushing Rollo further and further.

But what Vash also knows is there is kindness and goodness in Wolfwood - he’s seen it, felt it. And yet, Wolfwood swings between it and casual cruelty like a deadly pendulum. Does it slice his own heart open and leave it a husk to bleed out? Does it hurt?

It has to hurt.

In some way, Vash feels angry that Nicholas thinks that’s all he can afford himself.  

In some way, Vash feels angry that he has an infinitely heavy hand in Wolfwood believing just that. 

More than anything, he feels hollow now, like a hole burned through paper that barely clings together at the edges, smoldering still. One breeze away from turning to ash and being entirely free from the form that can only remember being of use. 

Meryl shifts in her seat, clears her throat softly several times. Maybe to draw his attention. Vash hopes she’ll assume he is asleep - he’s closed his eyes at some point. 

It doesn’t fool her. “I’m sorry.” There is a pause.

“You knew that person, right? I don’t- I just,” she stumbles over her words, then inhales deeply as if using the time to sift through her thoughts. 

“I’m really sorry, Vash.” She sounds like she’s genuinely hurting for him. 

It hits him, borderline physically. He doubles over with a choked sound. It’s condolences that he has no right to, condolences that narrow all the pain into one pinprick of energy that explodes in an awareness that for all his attempts, this loss is his and personal, and that he is the last person to truly and well grieve Rollo the person. 

The tears that had blurred Wolfwood’s silhouette as they had argued return and, in the cradle of her care, they begin to spill. He buries his face in his hands, tries to muffle the soft gasps for air with his flesh. He isn't allowed to cry, when all of this suffering is of his making, but he can't stop it anymore. Today, there is truly nothing he can do.

“Vash? Vash!” Her voice breaks with distress and there he goes, causing hurt again.

Meryl squeezes through the gap between seats, practically falls onto him in the process when her foot catches on something. Her hands clutch onto Vash’s coat and when she rights herself in the seat next to him, they don’t let go. Instead, she pulls and pulls until his body tips over like a sack and into her arms. 

There is an awareness the way he’s folded is incredibly awkward, but it is secondary to all other new sensations wrapping him up. The softness of Meryl’s jacket and the faint scent of grime and sweat that clings to it after today, the warmth of her skin where his face is pressed in the crook of her neck and the fast flutter of her heartbeat, her arms shifting around him to find a way to somehow hold more of him, succeeding. She rubs his back soothingly as she begins to rock just so. 

He had been right - the moment she touches him, Vash falls apart like a sand castle swallowed by a sandstorm. It hurts and it is like the most violently beautiful firework, a flourish of feelings that highlights just how often he has bitten back tears on his own. And it is as if his heart is pouring them all out now, as his quiet sobs turn into whimpers that collapse into each other. 

His arms wrap around her entirely, trying to anchor himself to her, as if the force of the storms in him, as if he himself, couldn’t break her in half easily. 

But Meryl feels firm as she holds him and though some of the sand is sure to trickle through her fingers, never to be regained, just like the life extinguished today, part of him knows already she will not let him be lost entirely as he breaks and crumbles.

So he cries, trying to make himself smaller still when the pain in his waist becomes too much and immediately, Meryl scoots back to let him collapse onto her more comfortably. Her hand slips into his hair, fingers running through gently, and all the simple touch brings about a new wave of tears. 

It is not like the hugs Rem gave in comfort, enveloping him in a sense of safety that he can no longer recall. Luida soothing herself as much as him in the aftermath of the bloodbath that had taken his arm. 

It's almost too much and it is all Meryl, sweet and unyielding in a way that briefly lets him imagine there are no pretenses between them and she would hold him just the same. He clings to it, to her, focuses on the physicality of her in his arms and holding him to not get lost in the storm of sensations entirely, and grieves what has been and what cannot pass. That graveyard stretches as far as the eye can see and he could spend days mourning in there, but not even Vash can cry forever. 

Still, he has no sense of time or even anything beyond the aching jungle in his chest and the circle of her arms when he finally lifts his head a little, having regained just enough composure. 

"There you are," she whispers, her hands coming to gently wipe at the wetness on his face. He immediately misses being held and has to fight back an urge to follow her touch when she pulls one of her hands away.

She digs in her pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, a little wrinkled but clean. "May I?" 

His expression must have been puzzled, clearly enough.

"Your glasses and just-" she gestures at his face a little awkwardly. 

Oh. It’s her recognition that he’s ceased crying that finally makes the realization dawn that he really ought to move away now, that there’s no longer a reason to remain clinging to Meryl. He shifts to pull away, one hand pushing at the backseat for some leverage. If his other arm still hangs loosely around her waist, that is nobody’s business. Maybe not even his own, just for tonight.

Immediately, Meryl wraps her left arm around his shoulders again and holds him down - at least puts in the effort to. He could get out with ease and even without alarming her, but the warmth of her touch weighs on him in an entirely different way. Vash lets it anchor him down.

"May I?" she repeats and again, he can't say no to her soft insistence. He nods, not trusting his voice.

Meryl removes his glasses carefully, her fingertips brushing over his ears and temples lightly and again he has to think how warm she feels. Not in the same way his own body runs at high temperatures, but there is always a spark of warmth left in the wake of her touch, her smile. 

The thought scatters when her eyes widen suddenly and there is a surge of panic in his throat that what minimal light is there has caught his eyes without the protective wear, reflecting in a way humans’ can’t and she will ask or push or scream-

Meryl does none of those things and meticulously wipes his glasses, smudged from tears and being pressed against her, instead. (Maybe he is just paranoid, to think he’d be exposed from a single moment like that.) When she is done, she puts them on the seat beside her where he won't accidentally crush them if he shifts and turns her attention to him, gently wiping his face. The fabric is a little rough, but she’s trying so hard to be tender with it. 

He thinks that if he ever braved mending the suncatcher, there should be a string of glass beads the color of low moonlight and shadow playing over her face, her smile in this moment, the midnight blue of her eyes at this hour. He memorizes it all the best he can, his eyes tracing over her features again and again, to keep it like a stolen photograph from an album he should not have had access to in the first place.

“Here,” Meryl presents the handkerchief to him when he lets out a gurgling exhale, his nose still stuffed. Crying, he finds, is such a humanly uncomfortable experience, and yet, it always catches up to him. Perhaps a little (a lot) like death.

This time, she lets Vash go when he moves to sit up to blow his nose several times, loudly. He wonders if she got a handkerchief after the last time they had shared the backseat and she had been the one crying instead. (Was it then that she had rubbed out the lines in the sand between them with her boot? Or was it him that had stumbled over them?)

Meryl tells him to keep it for later, when he thanks her and awkwardly tries to decide how to give it back to her and he tucks it away in one of his pockets. When he has his glasses back on in another moment, Vash feels…

Not fine, no. But like the pressure of the tangle in his chest has lessened, enough to let him breathe and not feel like every noise digs into his senses like a battering of sand grains anymore. He has numbed enough for the sandstorm to swirl its way to the horizon where it stays, ominous.

They both shuffle to opposite sides of the car and huddle down to at least attempt to sleep without anything else really being said. Meryl's breath evens out after an hour or two and eventually it lulls him to sleep, too.

Vash's dreams pull him to the surface often and he hardly feels any more rested by the time Wolfwood yanks the door open and announces breakfast is ready and sleeping princesses should get ready for the day. Meryl almost falls out of the car since Wolfwood opens the door she's been leaning against. Both he and Nicholas reach out to catch her and Vash feels like saying something scathing to him because he'd been the one to choose that door, but the way Wolfwood holds his gaze for a split second before pulling his hand away like it's been burned takes away any words Vash has.

Meryl lets Nicholas have a piece of her mind anyway, justifiably.

Breakfast is spent quietly and quickly, Vash only picks at his food despite Meryl's worried looks. He doesn't feel much like he deserves to eat and laugh right now. Wolfwood tears into his portion with almost pointed gusto. And then they're back on the road.

At some point, Roberto announces they are splitting paths like the smart man he is and Meryl's upset, protesting noises are kind of adorable, if utterly dooming, should she get her way.

“You are fine with that, right?” Roberto asks and he shrugs in response. He has to be. He is. 

When they come to the port, Vash hopes they'll part as soon as they get out of the car, but Meryl insists on walking him and Wolfwood to the docking point. He isn't surprised that Nicholas is coming with him, not anymore.

At some point, Vash had wondered if the other man was here for him or if he would stick with the reporters and protect them instead when the parting came. In those early weeks, after Nicholas and Meryl had started talking again and something had shifted between them, like a wind current pushing clouds together. It had been a comforting thought - that they'd be kept safe (and when it came to Meryl, maybe even happy) and Wolfwood wasn't a manifestation of his brother's will. 

But Vash knows Wolfwood is so much more than that, had known even then. The road the undertaker has been set out on and the man stealing Meryl's hat and yanking Vash's hood over his head are not the same. He wishes Nicholas saw that, too. 

As they stop near the embarking spot, Roberto starts to talk with some dock worker about the sansteamer and Vash winces inwardly at some inaccurate details, because he'd been there when it was first assembled and set to sail across the dunes and- But this isn't about the machinery at all, it's to let them say goodbye.

Vash isn’t good at those, the way he leaves is usually in the soft pre-dawn hours or while merriment in a saloon has reached the high point, and everyone's better off for it. The only people he really says farewells to are Luida and Brad and it is a promise to see each other again, no matter how much more scarred and battered he will be upon return. (Will he be keeping it this time, too?) 

He shuffles a little awkwardly in front of Meryl, rubs at the back of his head. She seems to be seized with similar uncertainty and he tries not to blame his crying fit last night for it. It doesn't go very well.

“About the article…” Meryl trails off, wrings her hands. She isn’t happy about how things have turned out. Maybe she wants to apologize. He can’t let her.

“I am sure it will be great,” Vash tells her and he means it. It will be far better than he deserves, even. 

He thinks that if there is an after, he would have loved to visit her some day, to see the excellent, sharp and just reporter she grows to be, in person. Share some laughter about their roadtrip over a cup of coffee at her favorite coffee shop she mentions at least once every three days. Something simple like that. But he won’t age while Meryl will and seeking her out is drawing a target on her stark white jacket’s back, so it is not something that can happen. If there is an after, he will find Meryl’s name in scraps of paper and maybe glimpse of her on TV when she becomes a news anchor like she aspires to. And it will ache a little, similar to the way his left arm does sometimes. A phantom ache of not something lost, but something almost had. But mostly he will be happy that she survived him.

“I will make them see the truth. I will clear your name,” she promises and he smiles, makes sure it doesn’t look sad. The truth is far worse than anything Meryl knows. 

“I trust you.” And he’s damned for it, or he has damned her. 

Meryl unclenches her hands suddenly and reaches, grabs hold of his (both). Her touch is a little clammy, a little desperate, like she’s trying to press her sincerity into him. “I promise to get to the bottom of this. I really do.” 

“Thank you.” There is too much to be expressed with just those two words, an essay’s worth of gratitude for the little things like haggling over a couple donuts so he can have his favorite treat, and so much more for the fundamental way Meryl is. The way she has seen him as someone good, enough to fight on his behalf in the one battlefield he is entirely useless on. Even if it is futile, even if he doesn’t deserve her defense at all, he appreciates it like one would an aspect of an art piece. It is just one of those things that make her Meryl Stryfe.

There is a cough behind Meryl and it catches him just enough off-guard to be alarming that he hasn’t noticed Roberto shifting his attention to them. Meryl jumps a little, but doesn’t let go before giving his hands a squeeze. They feel empty somehow, without her touch, and he doesn't know where to put them anymore, so he stuffs them in his pockets, right hand touching the handkerchief she gave him. Ah, he never got to wash it and return it. An odd, small debt that lodges in him like a splinter.

Wolfwood’s smirking around his cigarette, but it has more bite than teasing, unlike the ones Vash has grown used to. 

So much for avoiding long good-byes.

Vash takes a step back, then another and gives the reporters a cheery little smile and wave. Roberto returns it lazily, but Meryl is standing there with her fists clenched at her sides and a furrow between her brows.

“Have a safe trip back!” he calls and tries not to think about all the things that could go wrong. It doesn’t concern him anymore, the shared path ends here. To draw the line more clearly in his own mind, Vash turns and doesn’t look back. He can hear Wolfwood following him, though he stops for a moment and the noise takes away what Meryl tells the undertaker, and he is still on a warpath, it seems. 

“I thought you guys were friends.”

“No way,” Vash responds with enough cold dismissal to make it convincing to his own ears.

Wolfwood says something about him being cold and he grits his teeth in response. He can’t undo what has been done to Rollo, not even whatever hells Wolfwood has been put through, but he can try to understand, even through his anger. Yesterday, he would have given anything to bring Rollo out of the darkness his pain had enveloped him in. Wolfwood is still here, still alive and so much closer to the surface. So close that his kindness condensates like dew on leaves on everything he touches for more than a minute. 

Yes, he decides as they step onto the deck. Wolfwood deserves to be given a chance just as much. (Rollo’s hands had been drenched in blood, too. Vash knows that.) The road to JuLai winds far and long ahead of the two of them. And sometimes the most important path is measured in words, not steps. 

So, Vash starts talking.

[ribesrubrum]

Steel. For your gayass

Gayass and proud of it, thank you very much!

(source)

Ahhh, this one's difficult--I don't raise steel types normally, but I've read up on quite a few thanks to Amarys! But if I were to make a good steel type team, I'd want to work with my beloved's team and not against it...

I think I've got it!

Perrserker, to start! This one is simply too adorable not too include, and it looks like this kitty can take a good hit and dish it right back out! I could see one being something to fight alongside Rollo--if Rollo sets up Trick Room like a little dear, the two of them can turn the tide of the battle in their favor for sure!

Mawile would be my next pick! This little cutie packs a very strong bite, and not only has Fairy typing to help against any Dragons that might pose some trouble to either team, but some nice defenses of it's own! And it's just so stinkin' cute! The offensive pressure it provides could work in tandem with Vista, in case my beloved wishes to make a nice welcome mat of hazards for someone.

Bronzong would be my next pick, and I love this for one simple reason--they're so variable! It can really force an opponent into a bad situation, don't you think? If it's better at Levitating than resisting heat, then Adware can go as wild as she pleases! But if it resists heat, then it can really make someone eat dirt for underestimating it! Plus, it has a lot of good moves to help the team--Safeguard, Rain Dance to let Sierra have some fun, Hypnosis to put a key target to sleep...really, the possibilities are endless!

Klefki would be my next pick. It's cuteness is second to none, and have you seen how much of a menace this little thing is?! I've had to fight one before! It's one of the few times I've eaten dirt because this thing just won't stop setting up! So naturally, I would want to raise one to utilize those abilities and help my beloved wreak havoc!

Kingambit would be my second to last pick. You see these guys occasionally if you go into the Timeless Woods in Kitakami--these guys are absolute menaces on the battlefield, and I've had the pleasure of battling against some of the wild ones! They're impressive, but if I utilized one? I'd be certain to bring out the best in it! It's offense is second to none, and if I were to leave it toward the back of the team...well~ Let's just say the opponent should be preparing for a very long dirt nap. The offensive pressure would allow my beloved free reign of the battlefield.

This last pick is tough...Metagross is simply one of the most amazing steel types, but I would never want to upstage dear Linux! And as much as Ren has endeared me to Orthworm and their stupid cute faces with no thoughts behind their head, I feel like it's role is easily taken by the other team members. But...since my beloved does have Adware, I think it'd be only fitting to pick Alolan Sandslash to compliment it, no? And adding some ice into the mix, I think would truly round out the team.

[parallel-selfs]

Glorious Masquerade (chapter 5)

Translation by Gasumasuku Gamer, Ekala and Otome Ayui. EN playthrough by RoseEmber.

Instead of chatting, just pick him up and throw him down the stairs the second you saw him. That's what I would do.

Cry me a river, Rollo.

Why can't you fist fight him? Why use magic when you can punch him?

Cause you're the dumbass who left their diary in the school's fireplace instead of placing it in your bedroom.

Why do you do this to me, why must we read his brother's last moments? 😭

Rollo is allowed to despise mages, he has every right to, but trying to erase magic because it can be dangerous isn't the answer. He's doing this out of place guilt and grief that went untreated. I said this before in a post on my main, he could become a teacher for younger children who unlocked their magic early in life. He can teach them how to control it better and prevent incidents like his brother's from happening again.

It angers me that adults failed another child. Every childhood trauma in this game is caused by adults failing the child.

Idia is the only person who understands Rollo the most. Too bad he's an asshole.

Honestly, I wish I could talk to Rollo instead of having these assholes do it.

Azul, chill.

They're in a dangerous situation, there's no time to be suspicious. If his unique magic can help them, so be it.

Why were you guys just standing and talking? You should have immediately rang the bell instead of waiting for Rollo to get back up.

Malleus, don't say that.

This girl is on fire!!

"No, you're ringing the bell."

He's a dragon, you think that would really affect him.

"Grr, a little busy over here, Grim."

"Grim! Stop being a troublemaker!"

The huge relief at hearing the bell, relaxing her body as the flowers die. Probably falls to her knees.

... I feel bad at seeing him cry. Honey...

That's something you see a lot: "I'm doing for this so-and-so!" That person didn't ask for this, they had no involvement in this. You're doing for yourself and only for yourself. (Unless you're Book 6)

Idia spitting facts, and I agree with Azul, that last part wasn't necessary.

Because fuck you that's why.

The interaction is very cute.

Malleus glaring at him and making him nervous 😆

Malleus, why are you so cute?

Sliding down the side of the tower would look so cool 😣

Isn't Rollo tied up, would the two question it?

Yeah... Just like the righteous judge...

Stay silence and have the fear of someone finding out or confess and be hated by everyone. Malleus, you evil man, same hat.

Going to a different place and have fun? Of course everyone want the ball! Especially after what happened!

I imagine Malleus ran over to Alice once he saw her and gave her the biggest hug that she told him he's crushing her. Then walked both her and Trein back to their rooms.

I believe everything ended at 12-1am, Alice probably sleeping until 10-11pm and then walking the city with those who are awake.

Ace will tease you out of envy.

You can't feel the pain if you're performing.

Rook is the fourth person to cry in this event.

You're lying through your teeth.

Yeet!!

😆 Grim became a car! Why did he come in like that?

"You climbed on his back and hurt him more. No throwing up for you." (Could be phrased better, but makes it funny.)

Azul, don't be an asshole.

"Don't be lecturing me, Azul. I asked Rook if you didn't give me my power back, he will hunt you down until you did."

Azul, stop lying to yourself. It's not healthy.

Rook hiding behind Epel.

Pats Grim's head. "You look great, everyone."

"Thank you, Malleus." (Idia is just grinning at Yuu 😆)

Frowning at Rollo with crossed arms.

Jumpscared by the spotlight. Grim, you prideful cat.

The power she sees from her friend as the crowd splits for him.

(You think I have the ghost camera on me? You're getting my phone camera as a report.)

"This was a pleasant surprise."

"Wanted to be part of the performance?"

"Says the two feet direbeast who gets lost in crowds easily."

"Pot calling kettle black."

(Dancing with your enemy.)

(Awkward.)

(Then Malleus immediately runs over and sweeps Alice off of her feet to start dancing.)

Malleus asks her about his performance. "The performance was beautiful! I really enjoyed it!"

The two share a dance together, being dorky friends and giggling to each other.

Scarred by magic

[fire-darkfire]

@ramshacklehousewarden continued from

Oh this evening could be worse, absolutely. Rollo wasn’t stupid enough to think he didn’t deserve it; but he expected a far different outcome. The humiliation of losing his position and having to explain what he did and why exactly, not only to the students of Noble Bell College but of the other school involved. A punishment of some sort and the end of his career.

But that didn’t seem to fit the plan the students of Night Raven College (well, 3 of them mostly) had in mind for him; so here he was, host to the masquerade who closed this farce of a symposium, and finally ready to disappear behind a pillar after giving speeches after speeches. But nothing would go as planned whent that school was involved, it seemed.

Avoiding people and dancers, politely declining invitations saying he would be back in a second (he would not.), he almost reached his goal when he bumped into another dancer and had to stop to apologise.

.... Ah. Be the Just Judge or the Seven themselves, someone up there had fun seeing him suffer.

“Excuse me. I was not paying attention.”

Comme to think of it, Yuu wasn’t up there in the bell tower. Maybe the others described what happened and everyone in Night Raven College knew about his pathetic display. Maybe not? Why would this be comforting in any way... Rollo didn’t mean to ask about it or about anything else. With a vague gesture, he pointed towards the scene were laughters could be heard when the music changed. “Your popular friends are over there. Enjoy being the guests of honor. Now if I---- “

He was cut by a masked guest, student of Royal Sword Academy judging by the elegant attire, asking for a dance. Ah right, he promised one to a few guests with the intention of vanishing before the beginning of the ball. When he saw a few other guests showing up, not sure if they were for him or Yuu, he grabbed his hand and made a few steps to join others dancers.

“Sorry about that, nut I already have a partner. I cannot ignore one the guest of honor of tonight after all.”

And here he was, surounded by students dancing with no mean of retreat, holding both of Yuu’s hands and basically using him as an excuse. Perfect. This evening really was grande.

“Seems like I am in your debt.”

[harfanfare]

Unique Kisses: Savanaclaw!

I'm so sorry for the second notification, but the work didn't show up in the tags... orz

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Leona K. (lazy kisses)

You're not getting out of bed without a proper greeting.

It isn’t even morning, or evening, or any time that could explain why you were resting in Leona's room, away from the building where your next class soon will be held. It is midday, a while after lunch, and you knew you’ll have to walk at a brisk pace to make it in time for Mr Crewel's class.

“We have to get up...~” you say, gently touching Leona's shoulder. He doesn’t react, but you are sure that he is somehow awake (not by the touch, but by your soft complaints) and can hear you perfectly with his outstanding predatory hearing and you at his ear. But he apparently decides to ignore you because he doesn’t react when you start drawing circles on his hand with your finger.

You sigh, rolling over onto your back. You really don’t want to spend another break being lectured about your tardiness (caused by Leona) and hearing complaints alone (Leona is always late for his sermon. He is running off and doesn’t even ask if you’d like to join him).

You’ve already put your feet up on the floor and, for lack of a better idea to fill the moment, tried unsuccessfully to straighten a few unfortunate folds of your uniform.

Somehow, Leona's tail wraps around your waist as you try to get out of bed, and you notice the attentive but slightly lethargic gaze. By that, Leona completely underestimates any reason why you give up extra minutes of lying down.

“Come back here," he says, and you roll your eyes. And yet, you take a place next to him again.

His tail has completely loosened its grip, but now Leona's hands are on you. The fingers trail across your back until they are right next to your head, which Leona supported with his hand and gently forced it to lean towards himself. His distinctive scent mixed with the aroma of grass and flowers becomes more intense. For a moment the last emerald eyes are on you before he closes them just before the distance between you disappears completely.

Disappears—?

His lips fit into yours and his teeth press gently against your lips. Leona seems to be moving steadily closer to you, although it looks and feels more and more impossible with each passing moment.

Or maybe you just aren’t thinking soberly anymore.

Although you can’t taste anything—or did your taste buds finally go crazy?—you begin to get drunk on the very essence of this kiss. However, if it had a taste, you are sure it would have been intense, equally filled with fierceness to eclipse your senses.

...It's just a shame that Leona looks so triumphant while you are losing your mind and heart.

This is also the moment when Leona sighs sleepily, sinks on the cushions and says something about continuing a nap. You look at him reproachfully, beginning to regret that he isn’t going to continue stopping you from going to class. And he smiles involuntarily.

Ruggie (blown kiss)

Ruggie has always been a busy person.

You often pass him in the corridor when he is out running errands for Leona and trying to get his hands on Leona's next whim. Usually, his hands are busy, but the weight of the books doesn't seem to affect him as he walks down another corridor.

When you have time, you are helping him carry more stuff to the dormitory, to Leona, whom you complain about along the way. You really doubt that even if he heard you, he'd care about the opinion of little people like you, but Ruggie warns you anyway when you enter a potential area under his attention.

Between classes, however, most of the breaks are short and the corridors - long, too long when getting from one class to another, located at the end of the building or even outside. You don't have much time for, well, anything to do with a casual, warm encounter with Ruggie between classes.

“Don't you need help with that?” you ask him when, between magic history and alchemy, you bumped into each other in the hallway. He seems to be in a hurry, wriggling dramatically, as if the few volumes he is carrying are more exhausting than Mr Vargas' lessons. But he shakes his head at your offer.

“Nah,” he flips his books under one arm to wave his hand at your words. A dramatic effect. “You have, I think, lessons in the opposite direction, and I for my hard work have a free afternoon,” he smiles with a look that read, *'You know, there are benefits after all!’. “*We can go get something to eat later. Because finally—attention, attention, I repeat!—I have the afternoon off.

The bell fills the corridors and you have to go.

Ruggie smiles goodbye and turns on his heel. He glances in your direction once more and when he saw that you are still staring at him, the corners of his mouth curve upwards even more. He kisses his fingers with his lips and then titles them towards you. He blows on his palm with a quiet "Shu~!", playfully blinking one eye.

You pretend that his indirect kiss had hit you straight in the heart; you put your hand to your chest.

You receive a giggle that was drowned out by other people's conversations and steps.

“Well, I'm off! Wait for a message from me!” He shouts his farewell—with another smile—and disappears around the next corner.

You are already looking forward to it.

Jack (kiss-bite)

The wolf is hungry.

You can easily tell because, despite Jack's best efforts, you can feel the urgent gaze on you, watching your every move. He tries to keep his gaze on the ground, but he prefers to look people in the eye when they are talking to him, and now you’re the one who’s speaking and...

Well, he had a dilemma, but he concluded that ultimately he much more likes to look at you.

A similar idea runs through his kisses—he is always watching. Slow, mindless gestures of love are unlikely ever to be his thing, when he likes to put his ambitions and beliefs, into everything he does. And Jack is sure that a lot of attention had to be put into the act of caring.

That's why he can’t take his eyes off you when every gasp and huff draws his attention.

That happens often because Jack always surprises you with his kisses. You should have gotten used to them by now—maybe, after so long—but you sincerely hope it won’t happen. And if it does, you know it will be later than sooner, because Jack’s kisses are special.

They aren’t perfect, because Jack never had the opportunity (or even the idea or need) to polish this skill. So, even as he is already embracing you—gently but firmly as if he held Life itself in his hands—you wonder what he is about to surprise you with. And then he draws closer until he fully covers your vision.

You can’t remember the last time you guessed what your kiss would look like.

His lips are warm, but you aren’t paying attention to those that much as to his fangs and tongue on your mouth, and although the pleasant sensation tingles in your mouth, you can’t hold back a quiet gasp as Jack closes his mouth slightly and his teeth gently dig into your skin.

“A-auh...”

He notices the twitch and, with some reproach, quickly moved away from you—as far as the reach of his arms, which still embrace you, allow.

“Oh, I- I hurt you, didn't I?” He turns his head slightly and for the first time takes his eyes off you to look into the empty space to his left. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no,” you reply quickly, placing a hand on his forearm. “It didn’t hurt. I'm just surprised… But, did you know it's always a nice surprise?”

“But still...”

...

“Should... we practice?”You suggest quietly. In your mind, this offer looked more dignified and encouraging than the words you present to Jack, who was beginning to look more embarrassed than you. You quickly add: "If you want to learn to kiss 'normally', we can learn to do that..."

”W... What...?” He looks at you, shocked. “It's a... a very strange offer.”

“But I'll admit to you, it's your iconic kisses that I adore," you continue, standing on your tiptoes to get even closer to his face, his lips, "So? What is your decision?”

[e-m-christina]

Serpent Of Sparta

Ivar The Boneless x Reader

PART ONE

Requested by @childishhoe

Summary: Ivar Lothbrok meets his match when he is introduced to Y/n Artròmitos, the daughter of a bloodthirsty Spartan king. She is sent to fight in Ivars army, after making an arrangement with Rollo, the Duke of Normandy. 

With matching rage and ambition, Y/n feeds into Ivars flame, igniting feelings that neither of them thought they were capable of. But fire can easily be burnt out.

Series Overall Rating: 17+

Word Count: 2k

Comment to be added to taglist. Requests are open. 

MASTERLIST

* * *

TWO MONTHS AGO                                                      

 Your incarnadine wrap dress fluttered in the wind, fastened only by the golden broach of nobility at your exposed shoulder. Rays of early morning sun glinted off the wine glass that was being twirled between your fingers, as you watched the city from the castle of Mistras. A new batch of children were being piled into carriages, waiting to be sent off as slaves, to the city of Athens. 

“You cannot keep running from this marriage. I know you already rule Athens, but after the death of your husband, you must marry again!” You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes at your father’s remark.

“I have no time for love. I had to sacrifice love for respect. You know this much.” You took a seat opposite your father, who was running a hand over his grey beard. “On the contrary, the Athenians are weak. If I wanted to marry again, I would choose someone in a position of strength.” You said, rolling a grape between your pointer and thumb, making your father sigh.

“I know what you sacrificed, Y/n. What you had to do was terrible, but it was for the best. Both for you and your d-”

“Anyway,” You said, cutting your father off, “I am already Queen of Athens and the leader of the Spartan army. What use would a husband be?”

“Commander Y/n.” The doors of the hall burst open, revealing a puffed and red faced soldier. “The Duke Of Normandy has sent you this.” He passed you a piece of tinted brown parchment, bound by the wax stamp of Normandy. 

“Leave me.” You waved your hand, and the warrior promptly left the room. 

* * *

“Rollo is bringing a great ally, from a place named ‘Sparta.” Hvitserk said, standing beside his brother, Ivar, and King Harald. A fleet of blue Francia flags sailed towards them like great dragons on the dusky pewter ocean.

“I have heard little of this ally that Rollo is bringing.” Harald said, folding his arms across his chest. “But, what I have heard is that he is a great and fearsome warlord, and that his soldiers are blood-thirsty demons.”  

“She. The ally is a she.” Hvitserk corrected Harald, watching Ivars expression turn into one of curiosity. 

“What is her name then, dear brother?” Ivar asked, staring at the approaching ships with a new found excitement. 

“Y/n. But she is often referred to as the ‘Serpent of Sparta.’” Hvitserk said, feeling uneasy about the glint in Ivars blue eyes. “And if I were you, I would stay out of her way. Her people basically worship her. They believe that she is a descendant of one of their Gods of battle. Ares I believe God was called.”

Ivar smirked. Not only was she apparently a great warrior, but she was also apparently descended from the gods?

“Well, I do look forward to meeting this ‘Y/n’. I would hope that she lives up to her reputation, otherwise I will be disappointed.” Ivar took one last glance at the oncoming fleet, before making his way back down the salt washed wooden deck, ignoring the ‘of course you do,’ from Harald. 

* * *

Your nose wrinkled. The pungent smell of decaying fish grew stronger as you came to dock. After stopping in Francia to gather Rollo’s men, you and three hundred of your best Spartan warriors made for Norway. And after two weeks at sea, you were in a horrid mood. After an attempted assassination directed at you, you were pushed over the edge. Not only did you have to command your own men, Rollo had dropped out the day you were meant to leave, making you in charge of all his Francish soldiers. The problem other than the sheer amount of men to keep track of? There was  a massive language barrier. You spoke Russian because you often went to Kiev, on trade deals, and you also spoke the language of the northmen. Not french.

Your days often consisted of making ludacris hand gestures to command the french, only to be laughed at by your own warriors. Though you only shared the same ship as your best warriors, the only person you could confide in was Freydis, a Norwegian slave that you had bought from Kattegat five years prior. She had taught you the language of Norway and you taught her Greek. Freydis had grown to be your best, and only friend. You had made her a free woman, yet she chose to stay by your side, through everything. She told you everything about herself and she knew almost everything about you.

“Get ready to dock!” You yelled, throwing thick reams of hemp rope attached to an anchor into the dark water, before climbing over the edge of the ship, Freydis and your best fighters trailing behind you. You were greeted by a large wooden dock surrounded by what looked like disheveled old fishermen.

“I thought these people would be made from tougher stuff.” You said in your language, making your warriors laugh, as you fixed the golden clasp of your crimson cloak. With one flick of your hand, your Spartan warriors started to march down the dock in a wild wave of red and gold. You were at the head, with Freydis and Araios, your second in command, by your side. 

“Commander, I heard that this ‘Ivar the Boneless’ is a cripple. Talk about not being tough.” Araios chuckled. You did not not.

“So what? One of our gods, Hephaestus was crippled, yet he was a great warrior. I would not so lightly throw that statement around with malice.” You gave Araios a stern look, before continuing down the dock. 

* * *

“I have been anticipating your arrival, Lady Y/n.” You came to a stop in front of the throne that King Harald Finehair was situated on. “We all have.” He finished, before waving his hand at Hvitserk, a Northman you had met in France, and a dark haired Viking that you had not yet met.

“You will address me as Queen or Commander Y/n.” You corrected King Harald. “Take your pick.”  The dark haired Viking chuckled, before reaching out his hand. 

“Do you know who I am?” He said, shaking your hand. Since he was obviously not King Harald, or Hvitserk, it was a simple enough equation to solve. 

“You are Ivar The Boneless. Ragnar Lothbrok's youngest.” You said, making Ivar duck his head with a grin.

“And you have met my brother, I hear.” Ivar pointed to Hvitserk, who refused to make eye contact with you.

“Yes. I remember him. I had to put him in his place after he unsuccessfully tried to ‘woo’ me into bed.” You shot a look at Hvitserk, who was scratching the back of his head and glaring at his brother.

“Well, Queen Y/n, I am sure that we can thank the Gods that you and your men have arrived unharmed. Though, I must ask, where is Rollo?” King Harald said, moving from his throne to sit at a table with Ivar and Hvitserk, indicating for you to do the same.

“Yes, I give thanks to Poseidon for a good passage.” You said, taking a seat opposite the northmen. “As for Duke Rollo, he had urgent business along the Silk Road to attend to.”

“I am sure that you will fare well in his stead. But for now, make yourself comfortable. Tonight there will be a great feast to mark your arrival.”  

* * *

Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, dried salmon and whale in a green sauce, cheese you brought from Francia that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The feast was certainly large and exciting. But it was not the type of food you and your warriors were used to. Usually, you had lean chicken breast and a small bunch of grapes, greens, bread and the occasional fish. All  because a doctor in Athens had carried out research to conclude that those foods helped with building of muscle. The servants that the Northmen called ‘thralls’,  were all young women dressed in greys rags, moved wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.

“Why are your Spartan soldiers eating outside?” Ivar asked you, finding it odd that only the warriors from Francia and Norway were in the feasting hall.

“We eat outside for the most part. You said, taking a sip of Mead. The drink of the northmen was certainly different to your usual wine, but it was a welcome difference. “They also sleep outside in trenches. My people believe that it makes them stronger. Little girls and boys born in Sparta, are placed in a number of trials. They have to fight and fend for themselves. If they can’t, they either are left on a hillside to die, or they are sent to the City of Athens as slaves.” 

“We do something similar. We leave the weak out to die. But we do not test our children like that. Is that not too harsh?” Ivar said, leaning forward, making you chuckle. 

“Ivar, if you want to be the best, you have to have the best warriors. And because I am sitting here right now, proves that you do not have the best warriors.” You said. Ivar narrowed his eyes as he tipped his cup of mead back and placed it on the table.

“We do have good warriors. We were just out numbered, because Bjorn had hired the help of the woodland fighters from Sweden.” Ivar crossed his arms, clearly annoyed that you would suggest his army was not sufficient. You had to laugh. Were these men being serious? 

“Forgive me, I forget that the warriors of your people are not on the same level as mine.” You smirked into your horn of mead, watching as offence flickered over Ivars face. 

“And why would you say that?” Hvitserk said, trying to defuse Ivars switch. 

“The Battle of Thermopylae. Three hundred of my Spartan warriors fought against a vast army of the Persians. There were thousands of them, yet, we still won. Yes, we did have the advantage of land, being that we were on the high ground, but non the less. And you tell me that with a huge heathen army, you could not win because the other side had a couple hundred more warriors?” You said, making Ivar scoff. 

“Well, then it was fated. The Gods were on your side, otherwise you would have lost.” Ivar said, making you frown.

“When my Spartan warriors fight, Ares grants us good will.” You narrowed your eyes and leaned forward. “But are you telling me that the Gods don’t favour you?” 

“Don’t be stupid, of course the Gods favour us, afterall, they have allowed us to pull together an even bigger army.” Ivar said as he re-filled his horn with gritted teeth. 

“In any case, it is up to fate now. Hmm?” Harald said, standing up. “Well, I must go now and see where Astrid has gotten to.” King Harald took on the last swig of Mead, before weaving his way through the crowd and through a door at the back of the room. 

“Well, it is getting late. I better go find Freydis.” You said and stood up. “Have a good night.” You ignored Ivars grunt and nodded your head at Hvitserks ‘farewell,’ before following the same path as Harald. 

“What do you think of her, brother?” Hvitserk asked cautiously, very aware of Ivars clenched jaw and his blue eyes baring into your back as you left. Ivars silence made Hvitserk bite his lip. He did not think he could bear his brother complaining about you for the next few weeks. 

“She is arrogant and rather patronizing.” Ivar said, a smirk slowly curling his lip. “I like her.”

* * *

“You fight like a child.” You spat out a mouthful of salty crimson, swinging your bruised fist. Crack! The large white-haired viking toppled into the mud - for the third time. He had challenged you to a fight after he overheard you talking the night prior. But unfortunately for him, he just proved your point. You being half his size and a woman, he thought he could win the fight with ease. But you had only sustained a punch to the jaw, whereas he was sporting a broken and nose and multiple lost teeth.

“Þú eru witchr!” The man growled, stumbling up from the mud.

“No I am not a witch.” You side-stepped out of his way, as he lunged towards you, only to miss completely and stagger back down into the mud with a thump. “I am just better than you.”

“When I asked you to come help fight, I did not mean fight my men.” You heard a voice call. Turning around, you saw Ivar, who was leaning against a blacksmiths doorway. He stretched out his hand and beckoned you toward him.

“What do you want?” You asked, annoyed that you were interrupted. 

“I was thinking about what you said last night.” Ivar said, tapping his crutch thoughtfully. 

“So was he.” You pointed your thumb at White-Hair, who was still on the ground a few yards away. Ivar rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

“Not like that. I want you to train my warriors.” Ivar said, watching your expresion flicker.

“And why would I do that?”

“Do you want to win this battle?” He asked.

“I could win this battle easier without your men.” You retorted, crossing your arms. Did you not have enough to worry about?

“Then why don’t you?”

--

Part 2 coming soon.

Requests open. Comment if you want added to the taglist.

VIKINGS TAGLIST:

@youbloodymadgenius @krissydclayton93 @peachyboneless @1950schick @therealcalicali @the-blue-dalek @xceafh @pieces-by-me @ietss @spring-edlothia @stillsoloststillsolonely @poisonedjoinery @prunelsg @pomegranates-and-blood @revolution-starter @profoundtyrantharmony @ibenkastberg @xvxcarolinexvx @springsoulofengland @lady-valkyrie-blog @ritual-unions-gotme @chaotic-kinky-hippie @cocovikings23 @moonie-flower101 @readsalot73 @saruuslovesmcfly @adhdnightmare @fandomfic-galore @heavenly1927 @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa  @dacreshoney @jadelynlace @chibisgotovalhalla @bravado07 @starjane312 @teishalicious @the-girl-in-the-box @ecarroll1978 @childishhoe @punkrocknpearls @jessimay89 @justaproudslytherpuff @dog-cats-fandoms @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @bethcarling-blog-blog @yourdevilmaycare @littlebirdgot

[inmyfxith]

Iron mask

Summary: After having disappeared during the second attempt to siege Paris, you are finally reunited with part of your family.

Words: 1 688

The high windows of your bedroom let the sun entered and brightening all your room while you were sitting around a small table full of meat. You looked at your plate with a disgusted expression without even knowing why before being interrupted in your thought by someone knocking at your door.

You jumped before rushing to the iron mask on your bed, covering your face with it and your hair with a veil. You smiled softly when you saw your uncle Rollo walking towards you with a joyful expression on his face. Even if you perfectly knew how to speak like Franks, both of you always talked to each other in your native way of speak.

"Why are you smiling that way? Is your wife expecting another child?" you asked still looking at him while he settled himself at your table.

"Even if I would love to have another child, the news I'm bringing you is much better!" he said before pouring a glass of wine.

"My men had seen Viking ships near our coasts, they recognized your brother on one of them." You froze a moment before removing your mask to breathe better, trying to calm yourself as your heart was beating faster. Still sat, Rollo made a face looking at the scars which were running along your face as if he was trying to figure how much you would have suffered.

After a moment, your uncle stood up and knelt in front of you with a worried expression.

"I thought you would be happy to hear it." you raised your eyes to look at him.

"I'm glad to know that Bjorn is still alive but I'm also afraid of his reaction when he will see me again. Both he and my mother think I'm dead." Rollo put his hand on your arm before sitting next to you to be able to hold you against him.

"You're a strong member of his family, I'm sure he will be more than happy to know that you're still alive". You nodded softly before resting your head on his shoulder. Both of you stayed like this for a while before Rollo needed to return to his obligations.

As you were walking throughout the castle of the Duke of Normandy, you heard his voice.

"Bjorn, I have someone you know well inside of this castle and I want you to see my guest."

You were right behind the doors when they opened in front of you. Still wearing your mask and your veil, nobody could tell who you were not even your brother. In the small crowd of Northmen, you recognized many of your friends, Floki, Helga, King Harald, and Halfdan, so many people who were thinking of never seeing you again. Rollo made a move to invite you to come next to him. You walked in the middle of the alley made by the group of Vikings before stopping yourself next to your uncle.

He whispered in your ear that you could remove your mask when you will feel enough confident too. The impatience was beginning to show on Bjorn's features as he crossed his arms over his chest. Despite this, Floki spoke first.

"Who is she Rollo?" He asked approaching you, intrigued by your mask. Floki tried to touch it but you stepped back before his fingers could reach the wrought-iron covering your face.

"Give her time to remove her mask by herself, you won't regret it"

You took a deep breath, not sure what you were about to do. With a slow movement, you took off your veil, revealing your long hair for all to see. Holding your mask in one hand, you turned to Rollo.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" you were whispering not to be heard by Bjorn and the other Vikings. They were getting impatient, but since they needed Rollo to continue their quest, they could not leave.

"It's about your decision".

Your breath became faster when you let the piece of iron falling on the ground. You didn't dare to look up, to meet the eyes of those who thought you were gone for years. Although your face had changed dramatically, your features remained relatively similar to what they once were. There was silence in the room for a long time before Helga, Floki's wife, approached you.

"We all thought you were dead." She said before taking you in her arms.

"I was. I walked between the golden doors of Odin's hall and the Helheim. This is a long story." As Helga slowly pulled away from you, your eyes met Bjorn's. You could see a form of anger in his eyes, he simply did not believe you.

Before accepting his proposal, Rollo let you spend time with your brother. Explaining to him every detail of the story, from your fall to your submission to the emperor Charles. Bjorn finally believed you.

You missed the fresh air of the sea. After his adventure in the Mediterranean, Bjorn had come back for you. Sailing to Kattegat, you took the opportunity to learn more about your little brother Hvitserk who seemed to have vague memories of you. Listening to him talk, you felt guilty for having missed so much. For not being there for them.

"I thought I would be afraid of going back on a ship but instead of that, I feel so much better than when I was in Rollo's castle." You explained to Helga who was braiding your hair as she usually did when you were young.

"The gods kept you alive for a reason, you're the daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok. As he and Bjorn, you need to travel." You nodded, Helga was right, you were one of those people who could not stay in one place for very long. Just like your mother, you were a shieldmaiden. The stories of the gods, of Viking battles and victories, had lulled your childhood.

The way back to Kattegat was pretty long but you didn't complain. All of you arrived As night began to fall, you saw Kattegat emerging from the horizon. You were home after more than ten years. Everything had changed and at the same time, Kattegat still seemed to be the town you grew up in.

Taking your hand in hers, Helga led you toward the Great Hall. She stopped behind Bjorn as he was about to open the doors. You didn't hear what your brother said, your eyes were too busy looking for familiar faces. Behind Bjorn, no one could see you.

"Mother, we met someone on our journey. Someone you know well." he stepped aside, leaving the crowd, and especially your mother, to find out who his mysterious guest was. Your mother's face became pale as if she had just seen a ghost appear before her.

"How can this even be possible?" she whispered against the fabric of your dress as she held you in her arms.

After a while, the warriors in the crowd welcomed you like an old friend returning from a long journey. Several people asked you for details about what had happened to you.

"On my father's boat in Paris, during our last battle, I was fighting alongside my fierce mother and my brave brother against the Franks. The battle was hard and due to a lack of attention, a Frank warrior transpierced my body with his sword." As you told your story, you stroked the scar on your abdomen with your fingertips. "I did not die. I fell on my knee and the last thing I can remember from that day is the image of a frank hitting me on the head with the pommel of his sword. This man offered the beautiful scars you can see on my face. I began my fight against death on the water, I was ready to die and did not have fear of it either. It was not the day for me to join my friends and all the warriors in Odin's hall. I dreamed of the woods that border the city. I was walking through them, researching something and, I finally saw them. The golden doors of Valhalla. The laughter and shouts of the warriors drew me to them, but as I moved forward, they closed in on me. Odin himself came near to me, he told me that he had been the only one able to change his destiny and that he did not allow me to do the same. He showed me two ways, one full of pains and suffering to come back on Midgard, and another which was leading right to the Helheim." You looked down before grinning.

"And you perfectly know what way I chose." Hvitserk, who was drinking your words as well as the other warriors and non-warriors in the room, asked you how you ended in Rollo's castle.

"I woke up on the grass near a river named the Seine. Some farmers found me. They helped me to recovered enough to be able to speak and walk before guiding me to the only Viking they knew. I will not lie to you, Rollo didn't want to see me return to Kattegat and I was too weak to refuse and to take a boat on my own."

"So you became a Christian." a young man you recognized as being your other brother Ivar interrupted you.

"I did not. I just learned to speak and to imitate them to stay alive. I'm not a Christian as long as I still believe in Odin, Thor, and Freyr. For more than ten years I have been forced to hide behind a mask not to chocked the people. Now, I can be myself. I survived to death, Odin in person told me that it was not my day to went away. I swear on everything I had that I will use my time and my strength to protect Kattegat and all of you."

You smiled when you heard the people screaming of joy, then you turned to your mother who was sitting on her throne, a proud expression on her face.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja

Summary: “I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is a princess and Ivar travels to England with his brothers & thinks the princess is beautiful but he gets teased by Sigurd and his brothers but she can understand their language and decides to flirt with him in front of everyone?”

So I made her Kwenthrith’s daughter because why the fuck not, and Blaeja (Aelle’s daughter) is on this cause again, why the fuck not. Also the Reader might be a tad insane, but at this rate all my Reader characters are idk what to tell u

Word Count: 4.7k (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mentions of rape and child abuse, mentions and allusions to violence and death, my horrible writing

A/N: Idk how I feel about this, I hope I don’t dissapoint the anon that requested it lol. Hope you enjoy, thank you for reading, and ily! <3

Also, I kinda went a lil overboard :/

The handmaid is fixing the coronet over your head when you hear the doors to your rooms open, so she turns to demand propriety from whoever entered unannounced, but seeing Aelle’s daughter with a devilish smile on her lips stops her on her tracks.

“Your Grace.” The woman bows gracefully, and steps back, letting Blaeja take her place.

“Are you ready?” The girl whispers to you, adept hand working at the tresses of your hair to make sure it is carefully hidden under your veil that showcases the delicate circlet on your head.

“You are the one that will be sent off to be married, my friend,” You remind her, chuckling, “To one of those…”

“Lord Sigurd is not that bad,” She interrupts, what for a second sounds like girlish infatuation on her tone. You are opening your mouth to quip on how she refers to one of those brutes as a ‘Lord’ but she clears her throat, and continues, “He played some music for me, the other day.”

“You have nothing to fear then,” You mock with a roll of your eyes, “Maybe he also played music for your father before they executed him, made all of it a much more lovely affair.”

Blaeja tugs at your hair in warning, and you steal a glance at the handmaid that looks carefully at the floor. As if she needed eyes to hear you, as if you didn’t know how she’ll gossip about this with the others.

“Careful, or I’ll ask that you come with me,” She laughs, “I’ll have you sold for two gold coins.”

“You are talking to the heiress to a broken and war-torn kingdom, Lady Blaeja, you better remember that!” You tell her in jest, and she laughs, with that laugh you two share, that laugh born out of despair and loss and uncertainty.

“How could I? Judith never lets me forget what a might Mercia continues to be.” She replies with no little disdain in her tone. After a breath of hesitation, she orders with curt words for the servants to leave you two alone, and once the doors close, the Princess of Northumbria kneels in front of you where you sit, grabbing your hands tightly on her own.

“You are scaring me.”

“There’s no reason to fear,” She tells you even as tears fill her eyes. With a tremulous smile, she whispers, “I heard my sister talking with her husband, about you.”

“Me?”

“Alfred would benefit greatly from having a Mercian Princess as wife,” She states, and though she smiles you feel only cold settling over your heart, dread. “With your mother dead…”

“Dead when King Ecbert, blessed be his memory, took control over Mercia, Blaeja! They already own my kingdom.” You remind her lowly, leaning down so your faces are closer to each other, but this doesn’t dim her smile.

Your heart aches at the reminder of your mother, for her, in all her sins and her scars, was the only family you ever had. The only protection you had, in that palace filled with monsters.

If you think about it, if you sit surrounded by all your sins and your mistakes and your faults and think about it, you know it was the sight of her shaking hands as she looked at them expecting to see blood and told you of the death of her brother that made you stop having faith in your God.

It wasn’t the death of a would-be king at the hands of his sister what made you realize the bishops and priests and deacons and saints were all full of lies, no. It was the emptiness in her gaze as she spoke of walking out of that room a Queen and realizing it wasn’t enough to make up for the pain he -the last remaining alive in the long line of monsters that made up your family- caused her.

It was the hoarse voice of the proud and ruthless Queen of Mercia telling you of the barbarity that took place right under her father’s willfully ignorant gaze, it was the shaking hands that clasped your own and begged for forgiveness that she didn’t need to ask for, it was the severed heads brought in by the Vikings that weren’t enough to heal her, it was the realization God, if he was ever there, looked away most of her life.

You shake those thoughts off, and focus on the Princess before you that smiles in a mix of joy for your fate and bitterness for hers.

With shaky breaths, you insist, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They would have Mercian blood on their lineage, it would strengthen their claim.” She states, and the disgust it fills you with makes you feel shame. You should be ecstatic at the chance of becoming Queen, at the prospect giving Wessex strong sons to prepare for ruling and beautiful daughters to…to exchange like broodmares, like Blaeja, given to a Viking of all men, breakable daughters to fail to protect, like Kwenthrith, raped by her own brother and uncle.

You remember your mother’s pain. You remember her whispers about the court being filled with snakes, you remember her stories about the women with swords and loud voices.

And you remember King Ecbert’s lessons. You remember his tales about the land where his Ragnar Lothbrok came from, you remember his bitterness at the strange land that captured the heart of a man of God such as Athelstan.

You meet her brown eyes, and force a smile on your lips, because may the earth part underneath your feet and drag you down, you will not wed Alfred.

____

They introduce you to the sons of Ragnar, and you will admit, Blaeja looks positively smitten by the easy smile the blond man gives her in greeting. Lovely.

Judith makes a point of having you be sitting next to Alfred who, blessed be his soul, attempts to strike conversation with you only to be stopped by his own shyness.

You still offer him a few courteous smiles, and thank his kindness when he offers it so. When the Vikings talk amongst each other, mostly about the strange food and customs, you notice the King looks at you to gauge your expression, as if he knows you also know their tongue.

You worry about how much King Ecbert shared with him for a moment, but say nothing.

“So, the one that walked in with your bride,” One of the sons of Ragnar starts, and though you decide to pay attention you keep your gaze on your food and the entertainment going on around you, offering one of the performers a small smile. “Who is she?”

“Princess of Mercia, I think. The crazy queen father fought for with Uncle Rollo and the others, that’s her daughter.” A man with hair that you thought first was short but realized later falls down his back in a thick braid, his blond beard unkept, but his eyes those of an experienced man as they look over the room.

“Let’s hope beauty is not all she shares with that crazy bitch, huh? I would love to fuck a Saxon princess again.” Mocks a man you weren’t introduced to, so not a son of Ragnar, with ink on his face and long dark hair.

You realize too late you have lifted your gaze and set your eyes on him, what is sure to be affront and embarrassment showing on your face.

You lower your eyes again to the table before you, clenching your hands into fists on your lap, but you feel like someone is looking at you, and from the other end of the table, when you peek carefully, you catch the eyes of the one they introduced but whose name you can’t remember, the one with short dark hair, the one whose legs seem to be broken.

He looks at you with a silver of surprise, but there’s something else there. Regardless, you know he knows, and it makes fear settle on your stomach like acid. You wonder if this is what Burgred felt when he was poisoned.

“You’ve been staring at her all night, Ivar,” Blaeja’s betrothed starts, voice sickly mocking. “Are you hoping she’ll look back? Take your cripple ass to her bed?”

“Sigurd…” One of the elder brothers grumbles, clearly tired of it all.

“I’m just saying, he’d have more luck forcing a thrall to touch him than hoping a free woman will.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, brother? Fucking your slave so she can’t even say no.”

“Who out of the two of us will bed a princess, hmm? It surely isn’t the cripple that can’t even please a slave right, is it?”

You and Alfred exchange a look, no longer pretending either of you don’t understand, as the youngest, Ivar, snarls some threat at his brother, voice and temper rising alike.

Refusing to be spoken of like some sort of cunt with a crown, you speak up, though your gaze remains on your plate.

“Princess Blaeja asks you to play that awful lute to keep your paws off her, so I fear that arrogance is unfounded, my Prince.”

Alfred chokes on his drink as he tries covering a startled laugh with a cough, and you feel wide eyes from the end of the table where the Vikings seat settle on you.

“What did you say?” One of the men asks slowly, and with the madness your mother left you with, you lift your gaze and meet the eyes of the man you recognize as Bjorn Ironside.

“My mother wasn’t crazy,” Is all you reply with gritted teeth, before turning to the blonde that Blaeja is to marry. You don’t know what it is that makes you open your mouth again, but you do, “And I was indeed looking at your brother. I feel for you deeply, my Prince, if you can’t recognize want in a woman’s gaze.”

Alfred clears his throat, what you could swear is a smile -the youthful smile of a boy witnessing chaos- shyly settling on his lips, and stands up to propose a toast and dissipate the atmosphere.

“With this being one of the last nights our dear Blaeja, daughter of the late King Aelle, blessed be his soul, spends with us, I-…”

You don’t listen anymore, taking a sip from your wine and catching over the rim of your goblet the eyes of the youngest son of Ragnar -Ivar, you remind yourself- on you, studying you with a mix of mistrust and curiosity.

You keep your gaze on his, and as you lower your cup from your lips, you offer a smile. His own lips tremble in what was sure to be an instinctual reply with a smile of his own, before he schools his features.

Regardless, he takes his eyes off yours and in his whole posture embarrassment is written. Managing to fluster a Viking of all men fills you with a thrill, a heat, like no other.

The men toast and you gesture your goodbyes as the dinner is dispersed. Before you can make it out the door, Blaeja stops you with a hand on your arm.

“What did y-…do you speak their tongue?”

“I do. King Ecbert taught me a lot before he died,” You state, before frowning in confusion and thoughtfulness, “Before he died at the hands of these men…Blaeja, my friend, don’t you ever stop and think about how strange it all has become?”

Blaeja only narrows her eyes with a growing exasperated smile on her lips.

“I care about what you said to my future husband.”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” You pat her cheek in friendly jest, making her roll her eyes. After a moment of consideration, you tell her, “Though he may not play his lute as often anymore, I fear.”

____

You wait impatiently by the window to your room, wondering over and over if this is the wrong choice, if you are making the worst mistake possible, if you are walking into the wolf’s den.

Before you can think yourself out of this, Blaeja, with her head covered by a dark cloak, makes her way into your room.

“I didn’t think your betrothed would agree.” Is all you state, dryly, as she motions for you to get your own cloak.

“Oh, I can assure you Prince Sigurd despises you, but luckily, he seems to adore me. Go, and don’t make me regret this.”

With a light laugh you kiss her cheek and dart out of the room, ready to follow the familiar path to where you asked Prince Sigurd to arrange a meeting between his brother and you.

“So it is you.” He says, dragging himself up a couch in front of yours. You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling, and try to remember all the logic, all the strategy, you’ve put behind this stupid plan of yours.

“I told them to let you know.” You reply curtly, but the Prince shrugs.

“Sigurd could be mocking me. Make the cripple think he is meeting with the Princess?” He shrugs, but it is not nonchalant in the slightest. In all of his fame and vitriol, you notice, now only remains a man uncertain, unmoored, braced for rejection or mocking like you’ve scarcely seen before. The knowledge that you, or the combination of you and his older brother, seem to be a vulnerable point for him is a knowledge you don’t truly know what to do with. You say nothing in response, and with a movement of his head, after settling in his seat, he insists, “Why did you want to meet with me?”

“You norsemen have a reputation,” You start carefully, plucking at a lose string on the sleeve of your dress. “And the crown needs the allegiance Blaeja’s marriage with your brother gives them, so no mat-…”

“I don’t like your roundabout ways,” He states brusquely, and it stops you on your tracks, your eyes wide and lips parted as you stare at the Prince. He gestures with one hand, a frown starting to mar his face, “Just say what you want, Princess.”

“I want you to take me with you back to wherever it is you come from. I want them to believe I’ve been stolen.”

The Prince looks at you like you have grown a second head, and to be quite frank, once the words have left your lips you realize you might as well have. This is foolish, and dangerous, and...crazy.

That’s what they called your mother, not only these norsemen but all of them. Because she admitted what many didn’t dare to: that if she had been born with a cock they all would have bowed and given her the crown she deserved, that the earth would have been easier to walk on.

You refuse to think madness is a bad trait.

You don’t have to ponder whether the Viking will see it as such, for you notice you have piqued his interest, you notice the curiosity at the madness in your request.

“Are you sure you aren’t the mad Mercian princess?”

You offer a humorless laugh at his taunt, and retort, “I don’t want to be here anymore. And…I can prove useful to you.”

“If you say a wife…”

You don’t let him finish, leaning closer and whispering,

“They want me to marry Alfred.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“His grandfather took Mercia from me, I will not be used as a broodmare so they can hold on tighter to my kingdom.”

The Viking starts to smile, wild and yet calculating, the ruthless and intelligent man his fame says he is.

“But you don’t want revenge.”

“They can fight for the scraps of what once was a mighty kingdom for the rest of time for all I care,” You offer honestly, “I do not want to be caught up in between. I will have to give him children if I marry him, and I refuse to let a child of mine suffer like my mother did, like Blaeja did.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and his tone grows cruel, mocking, like the cat that plays with the poor mouse before eating it, when he insists, “I could make you a slave, sell you. If you annoy me, I could torture you. If you betray me, I would kill you.”

“I told you I was of use to you, though,” You insist past the fear that makes your hands tremble, “I will not be of use in pieces. You and Alfred played chess before, haven’t you?”

He loosens his posture, his expression is no longer so guarded and venomous as he asks, “And what is this use?”

“I’m a pawn they want to make Queen,” You state, and the Viking starts to smile. You knew he was smart; you knew he was aware of how he could take advantage of ‘taking’ you as a prisoner for his own gain. You have a feeling he wanted to know if you were aware of how your position could be played. Like chess, you ponder. “Surely you could ask for a lot in exchange for my safe return home.”

He considers your words in silence for a few moments, eyes travelling between yours as if trying to read your response to the words he has not yet uttered.

“And if I don’t want to return you to your home?”

You shrug, “Then they’ll have a rallying call for their war against your people, and I will be free from these…these nobles and their fucking priests.”

The Viking breathes a laugh, surprised and a little enthralled it seems, but you find yourself smiling back.

You keep careful eyes on the moon that travels the skies, watchful over the time that you will have to return to your rooms before anyone notices your absence. But in the meantime, you enjoy with easy smiles and a light heart the company of the Viking, surprisingly enough.

____

And the few extra days Blaeja can buy you do almost nothing for the plans of your escape -a part of you is certain the Viking has a plan he won’t share with you- but it does let you get to know the man you are asking to kidnap you. A giant brute like the others, that’s for certain, but he is smart, and cunning, and his dry humor never fails to make you laugh.

You find yourself intrigued, captivated, much more so than you could have thought when you made the choice to speak out against his brother during that first dinner. It is no secret to you he is no longer a pawn in the game you decided to play, but you cannot help but think you still are merely a pawn to him.

One of the nights you meet under the guard of the moon, he starts, “I cannot take you from this city, not without an army.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise, “And you have thought of a way around that.”

“Haven’t you?” You reply with a small smile, knowing he has.

“If you could go closer to York…”

“Or you closer to Tamworth.”

“We’d have no way to leave by sea. I can’t exactly walk through the wilderness with you, Princess, as you can see.”

You roll your eyes with a smile on your lips, but eventually acquiesce with a nod.

You sigh, “Then I don’t know, Ivar.”

You notice it is the first time you have said his name instead of his title, and you raise startled and apologetic eyes to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though you notice his gaze lingering on you for a few moments longer than it should.

It gives your still young and innocent heart a shock of hope that you feel all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“One way or another, I will steal you, Princess,” He insistes, and you only lift an eyebrow in response. He crosses his arms, “I promise.”

____

“They leave tonight.” Blaeja starts from her place sitting at your side on the garden bench. You turn to her.

“You leave tonight,” You remind her, “Aren’t you forgetting your lovely husband to be?”

But she shakes her head, “Prince Sigurd and I will marry if he returns,” Her voice wavers, and you realize with a mix of dread and joy she has learned to care for the Viking. She straightens her back and continues, “When he returns from the battle they depart today to prepare for.”

“Against Alfred?”

“Against the woman that murdered their mother. He says they are to take back their Kingdom from her.”

“Your Prince trusts you with all of these things.”

“His brother tells you things too.” She states without hesitation, and you look at her but stay silent, not denying Ivar has told you of Queen Aslaug and her murder already. Many things actually, just as you have told him many things too.

“So it will be a while before you see him again, if ever.” You muse, not only talking about her. It would be foolish to feel pain, loss, fear; you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop the prick of tears on your eyes, or the pit of pain on your chest.

“I will depart to Bamburgh in three days to await word of the outcome of the battle.”

You lay your head on her shoulder, releasing a shaky breath, “I’ll miss you.”

_____

Judith hounds you like a dog and it is starting to get on your nerves. You feel you are being judged and considered carefully for the role of Alfred’s wife, a role you do not want to be in and, if you were to ask him, you don’t think he’d want you in either.

The talks start of having a royal wedding soon after Blaeja weds the Viking Prince, who seems to have survived the battle for Kattegat. You tried asking around, bribing a servant or two, to figure out the fate of Prince Ivar, but you are too close to bearing the crown for them to feel comfortable trading secrets with you, it seems.

You catch sight of Alfred’s eyes on you during a dinner one night, and he offers what you swear is a soothing smile even if his warm eyes shine with regret.

Judith grabs onto her son’s arm and a tired-looking Aethelwulf stands up from his throne, calling for the attention of the clergy and nobles alike.

They announce you as Alfred’s betrothed after a few words you don’t bother with listening to.

As a gift for his bride to be, Alfred arranges for a few soldiers to escort you to Bamburgh, apparently at the request of Princess Blaeja that you accompany her on her wedding day. And barely with time to pack, almost three months after you last saw her, you are in a carriage on your way to the North.

____

She looks radiant, that’s the first thing you notice when you see her awaiting for you by the gates to the royal home. Bright smile and even brighter eyes, rosy cheeks and excitement and joy written all over her posture.

It gladdens you, to know she will be wed to a man she can care for, a man that can care for her. That maybe, just maybe, like in those tales your mother used to mock, there’s love to be felt before the Lord is to bind them together.

And once the ships arrive you will not lie and pretend you don’t feel disappointment, maybe grief, at the absence of the vitriolic yet captivating prince you met what seems so long ago.

You heard them talking about a son of Ragnar becoming King of Kattegat, and you have no doubts as to who bears the crown now. In another world, you may have left, he may have earned a kingdom in what used to be Mercia or Northumbria in exchange for the safe return to Wessex you’d never make.

But you will not let it stop you from finding a way out of this arrangement, of this…this marriage.

The possibility of asking Blaeja to claim you as a permanent resident of her land is there, of course, but you don’t think she has enough leverage against the crown itself to be able to keep you more than a few months. You could simply run away, but you are not stupid, you know you’d die or be found before you can spend a moon in the wilderness.

Still, you are a smart woman, you tell yourself, you will find a way out.

While the dinner -feast, they call it- in celebration for the wedding takes place, a man you recognize as one of the eldest sons of Ragnar approaches you while you sit alone.

You cannot help the pang of fear that runs through you at the sight of one of those giants looming over you, but you still offer what you hope is a courteous smile.

“You have to come with me.” He tells you, and you frown.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Follow me.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, turning his back to you and slithering effortlessly between the dancing and feasting guests. After a moment of consideration, with a small smile on your face as if it were a thrillingly dangerous game of hide and seek, you chase after the Viking.

He leads you all the way down to the docks, and since the moon is high up in the skies, the streets are almost deserted and you are left forced to guide yourself in the darkness or thanks to the rare and dim light of a faraway lantern.

You still push on, your heart beating on your ears and fear and thrill bubbling under your skin.

“This is where I leave you, Princess,” The son of Ragnar says, stopping abruptly and turning to you. You frown, but he doesn’t step closer so you have nothing to fear. “We will see each other again.”

The man with the blondish and long hair gestures a mock of a formal goodbye, and walks confidently back to the royal home where the party -feast- is still taking place.

You are left dumbfounded and alone in the darkness, and instinct makes you want to chase after him and demand answers.

“Following a strange Viking into the darkness,” A familiar voice starts from behind you, stopping you on your tracks, “No wonder people say you are as crazy as your mother, Princess.”

You turn around with a frown and raised chin, ready to retort, “My mother was not c-…”

But you realize halfway as the words leave your lips whose voice it is, to whom the familiar pale blue eyes belong to.

Ivar stands now, and his hair seems longer and braided in some strange style, even his armor looks different. It seems like years have passed even though it has scarcely been half a year yet.

“You’re alive.” You whisper, and the Viking frowns, affronted.

“Of course I am,” He replies arrogantly, and you cannot keep the smile from your lips. He extends a hand, “And I’ve come to…steal you, was it?”

You don’t answer, even if a part of you is thrilled at him remember that first conversation. You only look at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a king now.”

“Hmm, and I was offered a queen, was I not?”

It startles you back to reality, back to your senses, and you notice the three ships with dim lanterns and silent warriors docked at the sides of the dragon-headed ship Ivar -King Ivar now, you suppose- stands in.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You say, but still your hand grasps at the skirts of your dress to lift it up, and you walk closer.

“Have you decided to stay with them?” And the sudden steel underneath his words, a promise of what you could be at the other end of if he is to believe you’ve fooled him, or gone back on your word, makes a thrill of fear go down your back.

“No, but…”

“Usually stealing a bride doesn’t involve this much talking, Princess.” He interrupts, and extends a hand, and you look at it with wide eyes.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“I-…” You look into his eyes, pale blue eyes that you saw more than once when you closed your own in these past months, and a breathy laugh leaves your lips, “This is madness.”

Ivar says nothing, but his hand is still stretched between you. You take it, and jump into the ship.

___

So, that was it :/ I have a feeling it’s pretty boring but I’ll hope that’s cause I wrote it lol

Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think, and if you wanna rquest anything go right ahead, I promise to try my best lol

Thank you, I hoped you enjoyed <3

[lovlydovlyjaycie]

Ævi - The Protector

Hey, so this is going to be a mini series on something I have tried to do before. But I thought of a different way to make it shorter and to make it make more sense. I hope you like it, this idea has been in my head for honestly.. a couple of years now lol. I just decided I really want to put it down somewhere. And where is better than here? Am I right?! lol

Summary: This is set in 2010. There are no such things as superheroes. Right? Maybe Iron Man, but that is it. It has to be. Y/n was just trying to celebrate her birthday, but that quickly changed when she got a gift from a mysterious man.

Warnings: Fluff, violenc

Characters: Y/n, Bjorn Ironside, Odin, Heimdall, Thor, Loki, Freya, Hela, Ragnar Lothbrok, Floki, Lagertha, Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Rollo, Mentioned: Iron Man, OC Emma, OC Lars, OC Sanna, OC Nils, OC David

Series masterlist

Main masterlist

Part 4 - last part, with a little sneak peak ;)

Bjorn had brought me to the longhouse where everybody already seemed to get ready for battle. Ragnar, Lagertha and Floki were suited up. I looked around and saw there was a gaping hole in the roof of the longhouse that people were trying to fix. “What happened here.” I asked, that seemed to gain everyone’s attention inside. “Uhm.. well, you. When that rainbow came down that was what we were left with.” Bjorn explained. “You are back! I knew the Gods were on our side.” Floki said as he walked over to me and hugged me tightly. I just awkwardly hugged him back. “Yeah, I guess I’m not dead.” I laughed awkwardly as well. “The Frost Giants are coming back soon. It is good you came back when you did.” Ragnar told me. “You look like you can fight.” He noted, looking at my clothes. I just nodded, still a bit unsure of myself and what I could do. I mean I trained, but actually having to fight.. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that. But I will non the less.

Then Sigurd came running in. “They’re here!” He said, referring most likely to the Frost Giants. “Let’s go!” Ragnar ordered and walked out to where the fight was.

We all followed him. And more people joined in. The people that couldn’t fight locked their doors in the hopes of surviving. “Where did you go?” asked Lagertha who started walking next to me. “I guess I was on Asgard.. I trained with Valkyries.” She seemed to light up by that comment. But besides that we were all quiet, getting ready for whatever we were soon going to face.

We were set up outside of Kattegat by a big field. Under any other circumstance it was beautiful here. The field was perfectly surrounded by trees and on both sides there were tall mountains and cliffs. But on the other side of the field was a large army of Frost Giants. The army parted and out walked what I guessed was the leader another Frost Giant and a woman with deer like horns on her head. 

“Are you ready?!” Ragnar said to no one in particular. 

“ Skeggǫld! Skálmǫld! Skildir ro Klofnir! Skeggǫld! Skálmǫld! Skildir ro Klofnir!” Floki was chanting and repeating, axe time, sword time, shields are splintered! These people were ready to fight for their lives. Everybody was chanting, waiting in anticipation until Ragnar would give the signal to attack. Behind us everybody was chanting and hitting their swords and axes on their shields. The Frost Giant army was also waiting on the signal to attack. You could hear awful screeches coming from there. Then the head of their army gave the signal to charge and the Frost Giants came running towards us. They were still far. “FRAM!” Forward, Ragnar yelled.

We all charged at the army of Frost Giants. We all ran as quickly as we could and I soon has a head start from everybody else. There were no excuses I had to fight. The Giants came closer and closer. I held my sword a little tighter and when the first few Giants were in reach I gave them my first blow as hard as I could and tried to use my energy I had in me with it. Tens of the Giants flew back hitting others in their army. I was a bit shocked for a brief second it actually worked, but I quickly recollected myself and charged at the other Giants coming for me. I kept on doing the same blow and making them fly back and hit others on their way to the ground. I now saw that the rest had caught up with me and started to fight. They were all good especially Ragnar, Lagertha, Floki, Bjorn and Ivar. Everything that came in their way they put down. Bjorn came next to me. “I knew you had it in you!” He yelled over all the commotion. “Learned from the best.” I retorted. “You definitely did not learn that from me.” He said jokingly. I smiled as at him before I took down another Giant.

Suddenly it felt like it started to get a lot colder. Freezing even. Looking up at the sky it was very clouded and it started to snow. “What is happening?!” I yelled. “I don’t know.” Bjorn answered back. But it clicked, it was the Frost Giants. They wanted another Ice age. “It is them!” I pointed briefly towards the leader and Hela with my sword. “Go! We got it handled!” Bjorn yelled. I saw Lagertha behind Bjorn and she gave me a nod.

But how was I supposed to get through this? There were so many of them. I walked back slightly before I charged at them again hoping to get through. I had an idea, but it was crazy. As I started running faster and faster right before I would come in contact with the Giants I jumped. And I flew over before I came to the ground again. I decided to do it again hitting the Giants out of the way before I jumped again. Soon I was out of the battlefield. I looked behind me and saw that some Giants noticed I got out. They charged at me, but I gave them another hard blow, I repeated it until they were all out of the way so I could move on to the leader and Hela.

I turned around and Hela was standing right in front of me. “Where is it?! Where did you hide it?!” Hela demanded. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I told her before she gave me a blow to my stomach that sent me flying back a couple of yards. “The stone! I could feel it on you! Where did you hide it?!” She demanded again standing over me. “I still don’t know what you are talking about lady. I don’t have any stone.” I retorted. “Fine have it your way than.” She was annoyed and pulled a knife out and held it in both hands. She came closer and I quickly kicked her feet and she fell stumbled back. I quickly gathered myself and stood up holding my sword in my hands pointing it towards her. “Oh, so you trained little girl. Still pathetic.” She gave me a sinister smile and charged at me. When she came close enough I gave all the strength I got and tried to hit her, but she easily caught me sword with her knifes. “Is that all you got?” She said mockingly. I decided to do what she did and kicked her in the stomach and she flew back. This wasn’t over, so I ran at her before jumping when as I was going down I pointed my sword at her to the ground. But she quickly stood up and hit me in the side with her foot again and I flew back.

Again I stood up ready to go at her I ran and jumped this time she dodged it and ran out of my reach. She went towards the mountains and I quickly followed her. She was very quick. I was keeping up and it felt like I came farther and farther with every jump I took, but it was all still new to me. She must have had year in experience of fighting, how was I going to win from that. In the mountains she used whatever power she had to throw rocks at me. At first I hit them out of the way with my sword, but soon it became too much and I had to shield myself. I was able to make a shield with my energy and protect myself. I still felt every rock that was being thrown against the shield I made.

“I see you still have it.” Hela stopped throwing the rocks, but I still kept my shield up. “How are you able to hide it now. She came closer and I followed every move she made, ready for whatever was going to happen next. “How are you now able to hide the stone?” She wondered out loud. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She rolled her eyes at that, but kept stepping closer. She was inspecting me, it felt like she was sniffing me out. “Ahhh, you had some witch spell put on you by mommy dearest.” She gave me that sinister smile again. “So you’ve been to Asgard and got some witchy training and now you think you can take all of us on?” This made me think she is not expecting for another army to come, which was good. “You don’t think I can take you?” I retorted challenging her. “Oh little girl, the only advantage you have is the stone, but you don’t even know what it all can do on it’s own. If you give it to me I can show you.” She stepped closer and put her hand out expecting me to just give her the stone. “I’m not giving you anything.” I told her. “You really don’t understand little girl. Life is literally in your hands. You can take it away just as much as giving it back. Let me show you.” Hela came even closer. Too close. So I blew the energy at her that was holding up my shield at her and she flew back, down the mountain.

I looked from my spot what was happening on the battlefield. Ragnar’s army was getting in trouble. I could see and almost feel that we had lost many people already. I wanted to help them, so I made a start down the mountain jumping towards the battlefield when I got hit by Hela. We both flew back towards the mountain and hit it hard. Rocks where flying everywhere. I quickly looked around and saw I lost my sword. I had nothing to defend myself with anymore. Hela noticed and again gave me her smile. She pulled her arm back and got her knife again I quickly out my hands in front of me to not her hit me, but she cut in my right arm doing so. I would need something after this on my arms to shield myself with..

I gathered all the energy I had and threw it at her making her stumble back again. I decided to not stay around and just jump down the mountain in the hopes of finding my sword. In a way I felt much stronger now, like I was letting the power in. I realized this as I jumped from a very high mountain and landed on the ground without falling. “This is something I could get used to.” I said under my breath. In the distance I could see my sword laying on the ground. I quickly ran towards it when I noticed something came behind me. It was Hela again. Why won’t she just.. die. I quickly turned around and blasted energy at her which made her fly back. She quickly stood again and threw knifes at me that appeared out of thin air. I dodged almost every single one of them until one cut me badly in my upper leg. “Ahh!” I groaned. Hela came closer and pushed me over. She put her foot on my chest and pushed me down. I couldn’t move. “Ready to tell me where the stone is?” She asked. I tried to struggle out of her grip, but to no avail. She made a bigger sword appear and cut my right arm. It burned a lot.

I tried again to get out her grip and in my struggle I noticed my sword only a few feet away. It felt like it was mocking me. So close yet so far. In a weak attempt I reached for it, but it was nowhere near close to reaching it. For some reason I still kept trying and then I noticed the sword moved. Like it knew I was reaching for it. “Where is the stone?!” I heard Hela say, but I ignored her and tried to reach for my sword again. And then it moved! It flew right or my hand. In a quick swing I hit Hela in her side.

Then looking on the other side of the battlefield the rainbow appeared and a whole army of Asgard was charging at the Frost Giants. Odin was going straight for the leader and started fighting him. He was gaining the upper hand until the leader was holding a blue square. The space stone. That’s how they got here. The Frost Giant used it to blast something out of it. Odin dodged it easily, but others fighting were frozen until the scattered. That’s why it turned cold. He was somehow using the stone. He needed to be stopped.

But I was still busy with Hela, I was hitting her with my sword over and over, finally gaining the upper hand. I hit her by her shoulders legs sides. Enough to do damage, but not enough to make her stop. I had an idea. It might not be good, but it would be something. I quickly ran towards the line of fire and Hela followed closely. Hopefully not noticing my idea. Right in front of me there was another blast that I barley missed. I lost my footing and Hela hit me with one of her knifes again hitting me by my cheek. “Give me the stone little girl.” She demanded. “Come and get it.” I retorted making her follow me again. As she started to come at me again she was perfectly lined up with the blasts from the space stone and she froze. Not the same as the others who shattered after. She was unable to move, but you could clearly she she still knew exactly what was going on. On my left I saw that the Asguardians had helped defeat the Frost Giants and Bjorn, Lagertha, Floki, Rollo, Ragnar and his sons were safe. On my right I saw Odin had gained the upper hand again and made the Frost Giant drop the space stone. With one swift jab the Frost Giant was no longer alive. We had won. We were safe.

Odin walked over towards me with the space stone in hand. “Daughter, you will no longer roam free in any of the nine realms. Your life will be bound to mine and for as long as I shall live you will be locked away.” Odin told a non moving Hela. I could see in her eyes she would want to scream at him, but she couldn’t. Though luck. “You did good y/n.” He told me as he put his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you.” I was proud of myself. I knew and felt I could do so much more, but this was a very good start at discovering my powers. Odin dropped his hand from my shoulder and handed me the space stone. ���As the safe keeper of Life it might be a good idea if you hide this somewhere safe. I also heard of the other stones and where they might be. I think it would be best that you get them and hide them somewhere out of reach from everyone.” He went on the explain. I would be the safe keeper of all the stones, but where would I start hiding them? “But there are five other stones out there. Knowing it’s power, it probably wouldn’t be good to hide all of them here.. on earth.” I wondered out loud. “You have a whole galaxy to hide them.” He answered. With that he walked back to his army. “You are always welcome on Asgard. Just call for Heimdall and he will bring you to us.” He said as he was walking away.

“You were amazing!” Bjorn said as he was running up to me. “You were flying and then the all father came and helped us defeat them. This will go down in history as the greatest battle.” He told me excitedly. But this will go down as a myth. A story to tell children before they go to sleep. Nobody will believe what happened here. I would know. But I just nodded at Bjorn. “You are safe.” I told him, more reassuring myself. Nobody that I knew lost their life this battle, but if it is true what Odin said and I would love for maybe a thousand years, I knew that some day I would lose everybody I know. This thought I quickly pushed aside and decided to live in the moment. Bjorn embraced me, probably sensing I had some lingering thoughts of all of this. “You are safe.” He repeated. Before we locked lips for a brief moment. “What are you going to do with that box?” He asked looking down at the space stone. “I am going to hide it along with some other things. It is my job.” I explained.

-

And so I did just that. First I hid the space stone and for a while I stayed on earth. I had lived a full life, or as full as it could be, you know without the aging. Bjorn had been by my side the entire time and this life, this Viking life was coming to an end. I had explained Bjorn that soon there wouldn’t be any Vikings anymore. This broke his heart and I decided to do something about it. I asked Frey’s for help with a spell and put a barrier around the island of Kattegat. This way nobody from the outside could come in and disturb it. But if people wanted to leave Kattegat to live a more modern life, they were free to do so. They could only never return. Having this is something that made Bjorn very happy, something that would stay the same for as long as possible. But his last day came quickly.

I told him he was one of the lucky ones. He got to live a full life and have his last moments surrounded by family. “I love you Bjorn.” I told him crying. “I love you too. Now soon I will feast in Valhalla with my father and mother, drink with my brothers and when it is time for you, you will join me. Al though comparing yourself to me that might be a while. You have not aged a day since I met you. My beautiful y/n. I will love you in this life and the next to come. Live your life like your days are numbered my love.” And those where his last words. “Bjorn?” No response. I closed his eyes and kissed the top of his head. “I will always love you. Now go meet your family, they have been waiting for a long time.” I told him. Tears were falling down my cheeks.

For a while I still decided to stay on earth, but I had some work to do. Find the other infinity stones and keep them safe.

...

1941

“Oh come on Loki it’ll be fun! And besides you owe me. You were the one that convinced me to go to America in a time like this. We will just dance and then we’re out. Just an hour.” I told Loki excited to go dancing. “I told you I’m not dancing.” He responded. “Fine I’ll find somebody else to dance with than.” I looked around and saw a man with dark hair and broad shoulders standing by a bar. Perfect! I walked towards him and tapped his shoulder. His eyes were a beautiful steel blue color and it looked like he had a permanent smirk stuck on his face. “Hi! Would you like to have a dance with me?” I asked.

..

.

Let me know what you think :)

And there obviously is a little sneak peak of what the next story will be. I had so much fun writing this, it had been in my head for such a long time!

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 2 ~Words~

Picture Source

Previously in Stories She Wrote ...

Claire ignored the jest. "So you really think I should publish my story?"

Her friend nodded excitedly. "Absolutely! You should have let me read it sooner. From what I've seen so far, you have good, solid material, and I'm convinced, when I read the rest, it will not disappoint." She stood up and smiled. "Come on, in as much as I'm all fired up after reading your story, I'm famished." She got up and left the room.

Instead of moving from her position, Claire stared at her work for a few seconds and just breathed. Although Willie and Annalise were sincere with their praises, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. This next step in her life could either turn out to be huge, or it could get her mocked out of a dream career she loved. 

Pushing aside her doubts and thinking of Jamie, she quickly compressed a copy of her story's file and sent it to him via email to read, hoping he would like her written work too

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT

  Jamie walked into his cottage and was greeted by his dog Rollo and cat, Adso. He tossed his keys on the dining table as he absentmindedly rubbed his pets alternately behind the ears and scrolled through his phone. He smiled. There was an email notification from Claire and a text letting him know she would be calling after dinner. After turning on his laptop, he shrugged off his jacket, placed it on the back of his chair, and then went to the kitchen to feed his companions, thinking his own dinner would have to wait, too eager to read Claire's email. 

Feeling the chill, he put firewood onto the grate and set it alight, before making a mug of black tea and heading back to the dining table. Once there, instead of immediately opening his email, he stared at his desktop photo. It was of Claire, wearing nothing but his shirt and sitting cross-legged by the fireplace with a bowl of breakfast. Without conscious volition, he touched the picture on the screen and then brought his fingers against his lips. Miss you, Sassenach. Although work and obligations had filled his days, time seemed to go so painstakingly slow, his mind constantly wandering to her. It pained him not to have her by his side, but he knew it was a little sacrifice for what lay ahead of them.

Sighing, he opened the email. Please read and tell me what you think, love C, it said. 

After clicking on the attachment, he extracted the content and found a file with Word documents. He enlarged the first page, skimmed through the paragraphs and realised it was Claire's work. After taking a sip of his tea, he proceeded to read from the beginning.

A few paragraphs later, he was hooked. Not because Claire wrote it, but because of the beautiful marrying of emotions with words. He was instantly captivated. How could she have downplayed her talent when she had this innate gift? She once mentioned, there were talks among her peers, that editors were just frustrated authors. Weel, not this editor! he thought. But more than the mental images her storyline evoked, it was the words that moved him. It was as if he was reading a personal confession disguised in the characters she'd created and it spoked straight to his soul. He continued to read, and when he came upon a particular plot, his eyes slightly misted. 

From across the room, her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. A live wire crackled and sparked, launching showers of tiny fireworks to light every dark recess of her weary soul. 

It was always going to be like this every time she saw him, she sighed. After all these years, nothing had changed. 

In their youth, she'd believed, they were bound together, not by something tangible, but by a profound, powerful connection that is ancient and older than the planets. It was as if she'd envisioned them a million times aeons ago and the stars finally heeded and arranged for their paths to cross. 

It had started with a touch, a soft kiss, a subtle stirring of their souls, and as if by magic, their story began to write itself from thereon. His strength had been her protection, her heart, his shelter, and in each others' arms, they were home. For at one time, love between them had been powerful than the fate and deeper than a naked eye. But that was then, she reminded herself ...before he found out she was from another place and time. Out of this tragedy, which altered the course of her life, was the infinite curse she must bear alone. But she couldn't blame him. It was her fault.

As a tiny sob escaped her throat, a man bumped into her, jarringly breaking her reverie. Annoyed with herself for feeling weak, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. And as she slowly made her way over to him, she hoped and prayed her face would not betray her emotions. There comes that significant point in life when one had to choose to either turn the page, write another book or simply close it. She chose the latter.

Jamie's heart drummed, and he puffed out a lungful of air. Settling back on his seat, he rubbed a hand over his face. He had this sudden burning urge to bundle Claire's story and gift it to the world. Why has she waited this long to pursue her dream? This is bloody insane! In each of the characters, he saw her - beautifully flawed and full of heart. She wielded words in her story as if she was tearing apart her own issues and exposing her loss and regrets, the courage and honesty so palpable, it jumped right off the screen. Och, Sassenach!

He needed more time to go through the story at a leisurely pace, so he skipped a few chapters out of mere curiosity and what he read next, made his heart rate doubled.

As soon as they were alone, she grabbed at his belt, her shaking fingers tugging the zipper. She'd waited for far too long and needed him now. Dropping down to her knees, she lowered his jeans to take him fully in her mouth, feeling him throb and jerk at her touch ...oh how she'd crave for the taste of him. She was hungry, oh so hungry, to feel his most private pulse beating against her palm. Despite the urgency she was feeling, she didn't rush as she wanted to savour every moment and taste of him.

He swallowed and realised his jeans were becoming too constricted. Ah Christ! There were only so many blows to the system a man could take and what he just read sent all the blood in his brain rushing southward so fast it nearly knocked him out of commission. Who would have thought a sex scene in a romance story could affect him so much?

He read a few more excerpts from the story, and when he eventually looked at the bottom right corner of his screen, he realised it was nearly ten. He'd been so engrossed with reading, he hadn't noticed the time. Claire was supposed to call. But maybe she's fallen asleep.

Reaching for his phone, he got up, shifted the bulging discomfort in his jeans and headed for the fridge. As his screen lit up, he tapped Claire's name and waited.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice thick and muffled, causing a sudden pulsing rush of longing in his stomach. A fog of cataclysmic lust descended, increasing the weight between his legs.

"Sassenach?" He grabbed a tin of beer, popped it open with one hand and made his way to the living room. "It's me." 

"I know." She yawned. "What time is it? Are you just coming home?"

"Ummm, no. I got yer email earlier." Smiling, he sat on the armchair and toed off a shoe. "I got caught up reading yer story, I forgot the time."

"A long day then. Sorry, I was supposed to call, but ...." He heard some rustling sound and then quiet.

He got his second shoe off and rested his feet on the coffee table. Right now, he wished he could teleport himself to Claire's side and slip in bed next to her. He'd wanted to come to London, but he'd been advised by Willie it was still too soon, and coming along could trigger his PTSD. Although the nightmares had stopped and he'd been following the meditation exercises Claire had told him to do, there were still times when panic attack got hold of him. They weren't as bad as before, but still, it was there lurking, ready to pounce at any time. He hadn't dared told his sister, Jenny, in case she nagged him to attend the therapy conducted by her friend Geneva. He knew what his sister was up to, and he wasn't about to fall for her matchmaking schemes.

He was just contemplating the merits of dropping everything and flying to London when he realised Claire had gone too quiet.

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did ye just fall asleep on me?"

"Oh, umm, a little," she responded, utterly lacking in apology.

"Shall I let ye sleep? I can call again tomorrow."

"No!"

Relieved, he smiled. "So working too hard, I presume?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "Worked for seven hours straight. Then had too much food and wine, and too little fresh air. It made me drowsy afterwards. It's Willie's and Annalise's faults. They overfed me over dinner." 

"Mmm, in as much as I appreciate why ye're doing it, I dinnae want ye to become ill because of it." He heard another yawn and imagined her long, lean body stretching, her hair all wild against the pillow and her breast bare. When he realised where his mind was wandering to, he immediately put a stop to it. Christ, get a grip! With a steel will, he extinguished his filthy thoughts. "Ye should take care more of yersel', Sassenach."

"I'm fine ...honestly."

He was unconvinced but didn't push. "By the way, I read yer story. It's bloody good. No ...correction. It's great!"

"You like it!"

"I love it. Was that a story ye wrote a while ago? Or did ye write it recently?"

"A while ago," she hummed, her words muffled as if she had a pillow over the phone. 

He loved the way she sounded when sleep laced her voice. 

"Hmmm, a question ...how'd ye learn to write a sex scene like that, when ..." He needed a couple of seconds to find the right words. "...when ye were a virgin before we met."

"I might have been a virgin, but I never said I was a nun." 

He laughed out loud. It couldn't be helped. Though Claire could be shy at times, she always spoke her mind. "I'm sorry I didnae mean to laugh, Sassenach," he apologised when he finally sobered up. "It's just that ye wrote the sex part so vivid and graphic, it made me wonder how ye could have known the mechanics of lovemaking when ye were still a virgin at the time ye wrote that story."

"Well, I suppose I should confess ...before I met you, there might have been on a few occasions, that I had ..." 

"Watched porn?" 

"Yes ...but for research purposes," she said rapidly, her voice not sounding muffled anymore. She must have rolled on her back. "But what I meant to say was, I've had ...um ..." She trailed off.

He frowned. "Had what?"

"Physical contact, of course!" she replied with mild exasperation. 

Something heavy rolled over in his stomach. "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "When I use to date, dates sometimes end up in making out, kissing and petting, and I sort of got the gist of what normally happens afterwards." He heard her swallow. "I -I mean nothing happened of course ...at least, not in the biblical sense anyway. W-what I'm trying to say is, before we met ... I've never made it to the Old Testament with anyone. B-but you ... you're pretty special because you and I ...well, we're almost at the Revelations."

What the hell? She was rambling, and he realised she was becoming flustered. Her attempt to calm him down using the books of the Bible for analogy put a dent on his jealousy. He puffed out a breath. "I get it. I get it. Just do me a favour, Sassenach, will ye, huh? In the future, dinnae mention physical contact with other men ever again to me even if it's no' the biblical variety. It's bad enough we're separated, and here I am missing ye loads ..."

"Sorry, but you did ask how I knew about the mechanics of ..." she stopped and then sighed. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"

"Of course." He slugged back a mouthful of beer and placed it on the coffee table, before leaning back once more on his armchair. "We were talking about yer writing. I've read a few chapters, and I'm really enjoying it. Cannae wait to read the rest."

"I'm glad. Willie and Annalise liked it too," she replied, a smile in her voice.

"I'm not surprised. Ye should have published it a long time ago. Ye have a gift, Sassenach, one that I'm verra proud of." 

"Thank you. Writing does take a bit of time, and I needed a job while I was at it. I'm still glad I waited, though."

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and paused, contemplating if ... "Are ye in the bedroom? Or did ye fall asleep on the couch?" 

"In my bedroom. I couldn't stand watching a movie with Willie and Annalise when all they do is snog in front of me. So I left them to it, thinking I'll rest my eyes for a few minutes before calling you. And that's when I fell asleep." Ah, the poor thing, she must have been so tired. At least she sounded a little more alert compared to earlier. "Seeing them cuddled up like that made me miss you loads," she added, huskily, "...and think of our time together."

Ah, hell! Her voice wasn't the only thing that was alert. His cock suddenly needed a wee adjustment. Again! He unzipped his jeans, purely for ease and comfort and to give himself room for a breathing space.

"You should sleep in tomorrow and get some fresh air too," he suggested, inhaling deeply through his nose as he felt the effects of the beer, reminding him he didn't have any food in his stomach.

"Definitely, I will have a sleep in." She drank something audibly and let out a sigh. "As for that fresh air, it will depend if it's raining or not. Annalise mentioned we're in for a horrendous weather tomorrow." He heard another delicate gulp.

"What are ye wearing, Sassenach?" His words came out before he could think and put a stop to it. It sounded much more sexual than he'd intended, gruff and hoarse, his dirty mind wandering to that explicit scene he read earlier.

There was a few seconds of silence. "Why?"

"Because I want to know ...if ye're warm enough."

"I'm warm enough." 

"So what are ye wearing?"

There was another moment of silence before she replied. "Oooh, I know what this is, James Fraser" she throatily laughed into his ears. "And, we are so not doing this." 

"Doing what?" he groaned, this time pulling out his cock. He couldn't deny himself any longer, when this woman on the other end of the line, rained havoc to his good sense. Running a calloused hand down the length of himself, he gave his throbbing erection a nice hard squeeze. "I'm only asking solely out of concern for yer health. It's cold, and I worry ye might catch ...umm ...pneumonia." He almost laughed out loud at his lame logic.

"Pneumonia? You don't have to worry, Jamie. It's warm in the apartment, and it doesn't take much to heat a small place,," she said with a hint of amusement. "And I'm not naked ...not totally anyway."

"Oh," he gritted, fisting his cock from the base to the head, as a blow of harsh breath escaped his mouth. He felt like a depraved, desperate man, but it couldn't be helped when his cock was so achingly stiff, and he wanted relief. No amount of wanking in the shower earlier had eased his need for her. In fact, it only intensified it.

As he continued to stroke himself, the house's interior closed in around him, the sounds of fire popping doing nothing to reduce the extreme feeling of airlessness. At this moment, as far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the whole wide world awake, right here and right now, and he would die if he didn't get any release soon.

"I'm wearing undies," she finally said.

Allelujah! His fist tightened around his hardness, moisture seeping from its head. "Ah, Sassenach," he murmured. He imagined her, stretched out on her bed, the duvet kicked off, and how she had looked in those tiny cotton knickers. "And a pyjama top?" he muttered. 

"No," she sighed in sweet response, a slight shyness creeping in her next words. "I forgot to turn off the radiator before I went to bed. It's so warm I must have yanked off my top while sleeping." 

"Sweet Jesus!" He stilled his hand and cupped his balls, seeing her creamy breasts in his mind's eye. 

"Jamie ...what are ye doing? I mean, I think I know what you are doing. But I've never done this before," she whispered. "Maybe I should go and let you ...um ...finish your business?"

"No! Please." He closed his eyes and slumped deeper into the armchair, his feet spreading apart and his head falling back. "I need ye." 

"I ...I don't know how ..." 

"Sassenach." Saying his pet name for her was a mild distraction from the throbbing ache in his hand, as he swiped a thumb over the head of his erection and spread the moisture seeping out. "My cock is so rock hard, I think I might black the fuck out from wanting ye. Dinnae torture me by leaving me hanging."

Her breath hitched, and it was the most beautiful sound in his ears. "So you really are touching yourself?" she asked on a huffed breath.

"Jesus, Sassenach! Ye have nae idea, do ye? I wank every day and night to yer image in my head ...stroking so hard I can hardly breathe, thinking of our last night together ..." he swallowed with difficulty, his hand busy fisting himself. "It's so lonely without ye, and every waking moment is filled with thoughts of ye naked in my bed and every night ye haunt my dreams. What I would give to touch ye right now and plunge my cock between yer thighs." 

She gasped, and he wished he could feel her hot breath on his neck. "Jamie ...I don't even know what to say ... I ...this is out of my comfort zone.." 

"Touch yersel', and tell what ye're thinking," he commanded as he closed his eyes, the heels of his feet pushing against the floor and his muscles thighs tightening hard. "Have ye ever touched yersel'? Tell me." 

"Before you came along, there's been no one, and you know that," she said haughtily. "Giving myself an orgasm is the only reason why I remained a virgin for so long. I call it self-service." 

He let out a burst of pained laughter despite himself. "Ah, Christ, I'd love to kiss that smart-arsed mouth while taking ye hard ..." 

"I like it when you ..." she cut in, and he held his breath, agonisingly waiting for her to complete the sentence. "...kiss me between the legs." He heard her voice fade a little and swishing movements. "I think of you doing that when ...um, my hand is between my thighs."

"Is yer hand between yer thighs now?"

"Y-yes ..."

"Slide yer fingers in, Sassenach. And tell me ...are ye wet?"

"Yes ..." she softly moaned.

"How wet?"

"Very."

Ah, fuck!

He always thought dirty talks were arousing, but each shy admission by Claire was too bloody erotic for words, it made the already taut and strained tether of his self-control about to snap. He uttered her name with a litany of invocations to the saints, his hips shifting against the soft of his seat and his breathing becoming heavier. "Ye ken what I'll do to ye when I get to finally see ye? I'm no' letting ye out of bed," he groaned. "I'm gonnae worship that beautiful body of yers with my mouth until my lips are branded to your skin, and yer scent embedded in mine and yer taste in my mouth. Ye still have yer fingers inside ye?"

"Yes ..."

"Now imagine it's my tongue lapping ye up."

She sobbed, a whimpering sound full of longing and his heart twisted in a knot, creating a cluster that descended down to his belly and found its way to his cock, making his balls draw higher. His exhale came out like an animalistic grunt as Claire's breathing became more shallow. She gasped out his name, a soft plea that he badly wanted so much to pacify.

"Oh, sweet Lord, I want you so much, Jamie. I miss your hands on me," she whispered, her voice enveloping him, he could almost feel her breath on his heated skin. "Please don't stop talking ..."

"Ye think I could stop, Sassenach? I'd sell my soul just to hear ye come." Something told him the cries coming from Claire's mouth would ring in his head for days to come. Broken, sweet, desperate moans, interrupted by her breath hitching. Like she was drowning, just like him. "Ye miss me touching ye, is that right? Weel, let me tell ye something," he said hoarsely. "I spend every night looking at the bloody ceiling of my bedroom, envisioning yer sweet tits bouncing like wee temptations while ye ride me on my creaky bed. It hasn't creaked the way it used to, ever since ye left. And on some nights, I would lay on my tummy and grind myself against the mattress just to hear it creak and pretend it's not the bed I'm fucking," His hand went into overdrive stroking himself, fast and relentless. "But we both know we want the real thing, don't we now?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered in a husky loop.

"Jesus, so sweet, my beautiful Sassenach ..." A drumming began in his head, inflicted by the raspy sound of her voice, the way her breath became laboured when he talked dirty to her. 

The pressure within him rose, and his breath came out in short, head-spinning gulps of air, his senses more heightened for knowing who the cause was for his predicament. Claire. Ah, Christ, he'd never anticipated for the possessiveness that tightened around his heart with a permanence that didn't alarm him. In fact, he'd always known, right from the beginning, she was the one for him. She was the only one who moved him to take a risk in love, to abuse his body for relief ...

"Jamie ...oh God ..."

Hissing out a wounded groan, Jamie fisted the base of his cock and pumped furiously. "I'm here, Sassenach," he whispered. "I hear ye. Always here for ye."

"I'm coming ..." she moaned. "Oh, my God ..."

His heart expanded as he listened to her, her breath shallow, his name a whisper, and he could picture her, turning and twisting against the sheets with her hand between her thighs. He was so close, it hurt. When he couldn't hold off any longer, he let go, his own orgasm coming in full force, spouting out of from his cock, seizing his body in an almost paralysing bliss. It went on forever, his seed spurting into his hand and thighs, his shouts reverberating off the walls and ceiling as the pleasure surged through him and rearranging everything in its route.

Finally spent, he slumped back on his seat, his breathing coming out in choppy waves as his chest rose and fell. After a long stretch of silence between them, he put down his phone and whipped off his shirt to clean himself up. By the time he grabbed it back and placed it against his ear, Claire's breath was calmer.

"Jamie?" There was a trace of doubt or maybe guilt in her voice.

Knowing Claire's strict Catholic upbringing in the boarding school, he didn't want her thinking what they did was wrong as it would only cheapen what they just shared. He needed to reassure her. "Sssh, Sassenach, I ken what ye're gonnae say. What happened between us was ... incredible. And ye ken, why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because we love each other. Ye understand?"

There was a long pause before she replied and he imagined her biting her lower lip in contemplation. "Yes," she replied eventually, her voice barely a whisper. And after waiting a few seconds more, he heard her soft snore and even breathing.

Smiling, he murmured good night and turned off the phone. He was just about to close his eyes to savour the moment when the doorbell rang, and a spooked Adso suddenly leapt onto his lap. Bloody hell! He plopped the cat down, righted his jeans and quickly got up, and as he peered through the window, he saw Mrs Fitz, the owner of the Airbnb from across the road, holding a dish in her hands.

What the ...? He opened the door. "Mrs Fitz!" The scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted from the dish she was carrying, making his stomach grumble. "It's kinda late. Is everything alright?" he asked, eyeing the aluminium covered plate. 

"Aye, son," she said, frowning, her eyes bypassing him as if she was in search of something or someone. "I saw the light, and I thought ye might like a bit of pudding ...for after tea perhaps or for breakfast. Yer lass ...Miss Beauchamp, I mean Claire is not here so I thought I'd check up on ye."

Jamie thought the older woman was acting a bit odd, the way she was trying to strain her neck to look beyond him. "Oh, Claire ...I was just on the phone with her."

Both her eyebrows arched. Then the frown on her face dissipated, replaced with a relieved smile and a reddening on her plump cheeks. "Oh, of course. I thought I heard some strange sounds. Ye must have been talking to her." She pushed the dish towards him. "Very well then, now that everything seems to be in order, I must go." Without waiting for him to reply, she whirled around and hurriedly left.

As Jamie stared at her disappearing figure, it slowly dawned on him, Mrs Fitz must have heard the sound he'd made while in the throes of self-love passion. Groaning inwardly, he realised Claire's writing studio shed wasn't the only place that needed soundproofing. If Claire was going to stay with him, he needed to soundproof the whole cottage. Bloody nosy neighbours!

  Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the positive feedback from the previous chapter - what a warm welcome from my readers. So chuffed reading the comments and seeing the kudos. Kudos right back at you, you wonderful lot!

I'll keep this short and sweet because I have heaps of things to do, but before I go, I'm sending you all my best wishes during this very odd times. Keep the good vibes rolling, ditched the negativity and most of all, take care of your health. Until next time ... X