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latristereina · 3 years

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When Catherine of Aragon (1485–1536) moved to England in 1501 to marry her first husband, the Tudor prince Arthur (1486–1502), she brought shoes. Lots of shoes. Her shoemakers, Diego de Madrid and Diego de Valencia, had started to make her shoes when she was two years old and continued to do so until she left for England at the age of sixteen. That year, 1501, they were very busy men. The detailed accounts of Gonzalo de Baeza, Queen Isabel’s treasurer (continuous from Catherine’s birth in 1485 to Isabel’s death in 1504) note that the royal shoemakers crafted fifty-one pairs of soft leather buskins (borçeguies), short boots that came up over her ankles, and sixty-eight pairs of black leather slip- pers (servillas; also spelled xervillas). It is likely that her baggage also included cork-soled platform mules known as chapines, probably covered in velvet and intricate embroidery such as those made for her in 1497: “twelve pairs of chapines from Valencia for the infantas [María and Catherine], six of them one hand high and the other six three fingers high, at 175 [maravedís] each, some of them more, totaling 1,990 [maravedís]”. These chapines were a regal variant of shoes that were a staple of Mediterranean societies, sturdy and very handy to keep skirts from dragging through the muck of medieval streets.

The first glimpses of chapines can be found in sixteenth-century drawings, watercolors, and costume books. Given that fashion is the product of observation, does the fact that feet and shoes are not depicted mean that shoes were not considered fashion? It would be decades after Catherine before women’s shoes stepped forward as part of the fashionable attire of a stylish woman.

With her chapines, Catherine brought something fresh and novel to the Tudor court. She brought Spanishness, and with it a wider cultural horizon that encompassed more than just dozens of pairs of shoes. Her arrival signified England’s arrival on an international stage. More broadly speaking, Catherine’s shoes reveal the “capacity of clothing to organize ideas about cultural change.” They can be used to document the transmittal of a culture of style from her home in Spain at Medina del Campo, through her shoemakers in Valencia and Madrid, and the Muslim culture of Granada that was the source of many of the design elements, and ultimately to her new home at the Tudor court in London. The events celebrating her marriage—the allegorical masques and plays, the highly structured processions through London that marked one’s status, family, and affinity relationships—were the culmination of her transformation from infanta Catalina to Ladie Kateryne of Spayne. English kings sometimes married French-born women, but there had not been a Spanish-born queen of England since Eleanor of Castile (1241–90) married Edward I (1239–1307). By 1501, Spain commanded not just the Iberian peninsula but also the Habsburg domains in Central Europe and the Americas. Catherine’s shoes, hats, hooped skirts, and her hair—in fact, her entire wardrobe—was a visual presentation of her foreignness. It marked the move of the Tudor dynasty from a small insular English realm to one far more broadly European in outlook and ambition.

The visual elements of her style signified foreignness, an exotic southern sensibility that startled, even shocked, the English. Her attire attracted comment almost immediately. The English who attended the festivities celebrating Catherine’s arrival in England noted her “attire after the manor of Spain”:

And aftir theim rode the Princes upon a great mule richely trapped aftir the manour of Spayne, the Duke of Yorke on her right hand and the Legate of Rome on her left hande. She was in riche apparell on her body aftir the manour of her contre, and upon her hed a litill hatte fashounyd like a cardinalles hatte of a praty brede with a lase of golde at this hatt to steye hit, her heere hanging down abowt her shulders, which is faire aburne, and in maner of a coyfe betwene her hede and her hatt of a carnacion colour, and that was fastenyd from the myddis of her hed upwards so as men might weell se all her heere from the myddill parte of her hed downward.

There is no mention of shoes, but the anonymous author commented on just about everything else: the other Spanish ladies in the procession (four from England and four from Spain) also had their hair down, wore a red hat like a cardinal’s hat “as the Princes hade.” But they wore black gowns, with black “kerchiers” on their heads “like unto the fachion of a religious woman aftir the maner of Spayne.”

Sadly, there are no detailed descriptions of the many shoes in her wardrobe and few records of gifts given by Catherine until she married Henry in 1509. But Ruth Matilda Anderson, María M. Carrión, María del Cristo González Marrero, and Elizabeth Semmelhack provide vital clues to just what those shoes might have looked like in the early modern period.

First Catherine would don brightly colored, perhaps embroidered, hose made from Holland linen. In the privacy of her chamber, Catherine had two options: a sandal, perhaps the flat-soled cork the Muslims in Spain called an aqraq, or lightweight slippers (servillas) made of fine leather with a very thin sole and closed backs that could be worn inside a chapín. In more public places she would have worn borçeguies [soft leather buskins]. These calf-high or knee- high boots of cloth or leather fit close to the leg, were wide at the heel and narrow at the toes, and were made in a myriad of colors and sometimes adorned with bands of color. The finest quality buskins were made of cordovan leather (named for the Spanish city Córdoba, the etymological source of the English words “cordovan” and “cordwainer,” the term for a shoemaker), but sheepskin was often used too. Made with turnsole construction (put together inside out and turned right-side-out when finished), they could be soled with goatskin, lined with cloth or fur, and could have a modest platform sole.

The chapín was by far the most distinctive and complex shoe. These thick-soled platform shoes were the status footwear of discriminating women of all ages. The basic style is a shoe that was worn over a slipper out of doors. Most Spanish chapines were closer to an overshoe with an inset strap, made for navigating dirty streets and visible, not hidden under skirts. Chapines were ubiquitous and thus unremarkable; so commonplace that they were essentially unmarked by rank or status. The manufacture calls for five layers of cork fragments pegged together with sharp-pointed pieces of cane, wider at the sides, narrow toward the ends, with a rise at the heel. The bits of cork were then covered with leather, frequently goatskin, with an outer sole that was flat and oval. The vamp sections would be interlined, lined with canvas or goatskin, finished along the upper edge with overhand stitching, with pierced holes for lacing up the shoe. Finally, the chapín was decorated with stamped or stitched patterns, gilt trim, and incised tooling in a Hispano-Muslim style with animal or floral designs.

The wide variety of cork-soled footwear spanned gender and rank, but chapines worn by elite women were distinctive. They were excessively high, gilded, jewel-studded, and often embellished with a metal ring around the base of the shoe, as much for durability as for panache. Each pair of these costly chapines could consume as much as half of yard of richly colored velvet or silk to cover the leather, as well as a dizzying array of embellishment options: hand-painted designs, several ounces of silver-gilt ornaments, gold thread, brocade, filigree, and semi-precious stones. It is not the height of the sole but the opulence of many chapines—embellished with embroidery and studded with gems—that moves the fashion off the street and into the royal court. Catherine’s sister Juana was said to have had more than seventy pairs, thirty-seven of which came from shoemakers in Valencia, a city famed for the manufacture of gilt leather. The Spanish passion for chapines crossed the border to Portugal only when another sister, Isabel, before leaving Spain in 1490 to marry King Afonso of Portugal, tucked into her baggage two pairs of chapines embroidered with gold thread that cost more than three-quarters of the price of a team of mules.

- Theresa Earenfight, The Shoes of an Infanta: Bringing the Sensuous, Not Sensible, “Spanish Style” of Catherine of Aragon to Tudor England

#perioddramaedit #historyedit #women in history #katherine of aragon #katharine of aragon #catherine of aragon #the spanish princess #charlotte hope #fashion #history of fashion #shoes

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lordoffiction · 4 years

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Two Souls, One Fate: chapter one.

☞: After spending two days trying to post this, here it is! Hooray!

I really hope you all enjoy this whilst I finish writing the fifth chapter for T.L, because god knows I spent too much time on this. I haven’t wrote in a few months, so please excuse any mistakes I made in this and if it’s shitty! It’ll get better, promise.

Please give me feedback and let me know if you would like to get tagged in this series!

Anyways, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 5,069

WARNINGS: swearing, mild violence, mentions of suicide.

gif isn’t mine, all credits to the owner.

—————————

Your fingers combed through your hair, bundling it up into an untidy ponytail, pulling the long strands to make sure it was secure and tight enough. You had had long hair for around ten years, it's your pride and joy.

Growing up in an all-male family had made you that way, you grew up a tomboy with your five older brothers and always saw yourself as one of them.

But then that magical moment came when you were ripped from your carefree childhood and brutally slammed into the harsh society and expectations of women, you had begun to hate the idea of acting like a boy. People told you to act more like a “lady”. So you had put away the mud pies, the sword fights, and the wrestling. You began doing make-up, having long hair, and wearing pretty clothes.

But throughout everything, no matter what anyone said, society and snotty people couldn’t take this one thing from you.

Archery.

Your father had taught you from a young age, a sport that made you better even on your worst days. Something that not even the most powerful being in existence could take from you. The thrill of letting go of that arrow, watching it glide through the air before striking its target. It was something you would never get bored of.

You dressed in your normal sportswear, sliding on protective gloves made specially to stop your hands from getting sores as you held the arrow.

Where you lived was a small village, everybody knew everybody. News and gossip spread like wildfire here, so you only imagine that half the village had already heard about your date later tonight.

Reaching over to your bow and your arrow hanging pot, slinging it over your shoulder, you left your small apartment and headed towards the forest. You had a set up shooting range for archery at the corner of it, your dad would make targets for you and set you challenges every day when you were younger. Like swinging targets or shooting whilst you're running.

“G’ morning, dear. Going out to the woods again?”

Your eyes turned to see your elderly neighbour smiling at you, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her walking stick barely keeping her up properly and her woven hat kept the sunlight out of her eyes.

“Mrs. Genkins,” You smiled at her small frame. Such a fragile woman. “Don’t I spend all my time in those damn woods?”

“Just you be careful, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself before your date tonight.” Mrs. Genkins waved her walking stick at you slightly in a teasing manner, barely putting it back in time before she loses her balance.

The comment made your eyes roll internally. Of course, people already knew about your date tonight.

“I see news hasn’t lost its way around this place.” Your hand automatically reaching out to her in case she falls, which she brushed away with her wrinkled hands. Though she may be pushing ninety, she sure is one tough little lady when it comes to receiving any help.

“You know people around here, other people's lives are their entertainment. Just make sure this one can handle you, you can’t be single forever, you know?” Mrs. Genkins squinted her eyes at you teasing you from the last man you had dated that went sour once he had realized how unfeminine you are.

“Is he really worth my time is he can’t handle a tough girl like me?” You teased back, giving her a small wink as she cackled at your comment.

“Well, I better be going if I want to miss the morning rush at the morning market. You be safe, dear. And be careful.”

You nodded at her, smiling as you waved her down the road and out of sight. You let your head fall back slightly, closing your eyes with an exasperating sigh. You really need to move somewhere where there isn’t anyone you know or where no-one knows you.

You set off towards the woods, it wasn’t a far walk, only about five minutes from your apartment complex.

You dug your earphones out from your pocket, plugging them into your phone, and playing your latest playlist you had made for when you go do your archery. You began stretching your arms on the way, hooking one arm around the other, and pulling on it to receive a satisfying 'pop'.

Just as you entered the woods, you began to hear faint drumming noises. You brushed it off, perhaps it was something for the song you were listening to, though you never remembered this when you last listened to it yesterday.

Your brows knotted together in confusion as the drumming began to get louder and louder as you went deeper into the forest. The noise became so loud that you ripped your earphones out of your ears, your eyes widening. It wasn’t coming from the music.

It was coming from around you.

As soon as you realised, a small chanting sound echoed with the drumming, syncing with the beat of it.

A cult? You thought.

Your E/C hues quickly began searching around you to see who was doing it but found no one else in the woods with you.

Your fight or flight reflex suddenly kicked in, making you break out into a full-blown sprint into the woods, you tried to fumble with your bow, reaching for one of your arrows in it’s hanging pot behind your back, panting as your fingertips brushed the tip of it.

“C’mon!” You yelled at yourself in frustration.

Suddenly, you began to fall sideways, your ankle giving way beneath you in a twisted mess. The world began to spiral around you as you rolled into the ditch near the pathway you were once walking on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You felt yourself being thrashed around for a few seconds downhill before finally landing on the flat ground again. You gasped for air, the collision causing you to land onto your back, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You laid there for a minute, breathing in deeply. Did you really just fucking fall?

Rolling onto your side and going onto your hands and knees once you regained your breath, you looked up at the large hill you just fell from, realising the only way you can get back to the track is if you climb back up again.

“Shit.” You grumbled under your breath, using the nearest tree to pull yourself up to your feet again. Your arrows were scattered around you from the fall, leaning down to pick them up one by one and placing them back in your hanging pot.

As you reached for the last one, but your eyes were caught on a small box under the root of a large tree, surely the largest tree you had seen in these woods before and in your entire life.

It must have been thousands of years old, you could wrap yourself around it at least six or seven times.

“Oh, my...” You gawked the tree up and down, taking it all in before looking back to the box that was intertwined with its roots.

“What’s this?” You wondered aloud, going onto your knees and tracing your fingers on the corners of the box that you could touch. It was covered in dirt and moss but your curiosity ate you alive, reaching for one of your arrows, you began to jab at the root to loosen it with the end of your arrow.

After a few moments of trying, you finally loosened the root enough to yank the box out from it with a hard tug, causing you to fall backward.

You brushed it with your fingers but the dirt and grime were so thickly coated on it for god knows how long.

“Curious cat, aren’t you?” You spoke to yourself, standing up again and forgetting completely about your training. “This could be a murder weapon or something and you want to take it home with you.” You tusked, tucking the box into your hanging pot.

The journey back home was filled with many emotions, the main one being self-pity for yourself on how you fell down the hill. The second was about the drums that caused you to fall.

—————————

You ringed your hair out as you stepped out of the shower, letting it fall down your back, the water droplets dripping down your skin, and pooling around your feet.

You dried yourself off as you danced to the music playing from your speaker in your small apartment, grabbing the clothes you planned to wear to your date tonight.

What a weird day, huh. You thought back to the drumming and chanting.

You had chosen a pair of black jeans and a cute black top you had recently bought as a treat, the neckline dripping to show your cleavage. The outfit suited your figure beautifully, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tugged on your black, leather heeled Chelsea boots.

You’d only done concealer and mascara for your make-up. Nothing too fancy for a little date.

“Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all.” You smiled at yourself. You had curled your long hair, tucking one side behind your ear.

You looked behind you, seeing the small box you discovered sitting on your kitchen counter. You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing you still had some time to kill before your date got here.

After a few minutes of running around your apartment and gathering things like a toothbrush, washing up liquid, a small paintbrush, and paper towels; you set up your little workspace on the counter to clean the box.

You dipped the toothbrush in the soapy water, gently scrubbing the dirt from the box, using the paintbrush to brush any specks of dirt off it.

Some time had passed, and you could finally see the beauty beneath the dirt.

“What are these?” You mumbled to yourself, looking at the strange engraved marks on the box. The box looked silver, but you couldn’t be sure.

Carefully prying the box open with your fingertips, you revealed inside a stranger kind of necklace.

Your head tilted to the side and your brows furrowed together as the small spiral pendant looked almost familiar. Like you had owned one before but forgot about it. A very distant memory.

It was silver, in the shape of an upside-down hammer. The leather cord that was with it had deteriorated, falling apart as soon as you picked up the pendant.

You cleaned off the pendant in the soapy water, patting it dry with a paper towel. Quickly going back to your room and grabbing one of your necklaces, you took the chain from it. Going back to the kitchen where you carefully hooped the pendant onto the silver chain.

Should I...

You pondered for a moment, staring at the pendant in your hand. You raised the chain around your neck, clasping it together at the hooks as it hung on your chest. You stilled for a moment, almost expecting something to happen when you put it on.

“Idiot,” You laughed at yourself, going over to where a mirror was to see how it looked on. But as soon as you took a step forwards, it felt like you began falling. You could hear the chants again from the woods, the drums pounding around you, almost deafeningly loud. Your eyes widened in terror as you couldn’t move your body as you fell back, the floor of your apartment swallowing you in a rabbit hole.

Lights surrounded you in all different colors, seeing silhouettes in the corner of your eye. Were they the ones chanting?

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.

Your breathing became labored, struggling to get air as you tried desperately to move your limbs.

The drumming and chanting only growing louder the deeper you fell into this rabbit hole.

Silence.

Suddenly the chanting and drums stopped, looking up to see the disfigured sky. You attempted to move your limbs again, gasping when you found you could move.

You kicked your way up to the sky, gasping for air once you broke through.

The sound of lapping waves and squalling seagulls invaded your ears, a sudden chill going over your body.

You looked around you with wide eyes, astonished by your surroundings. You were in the fucking ocean.

“What the fuck?!” You shrieked out, panic set over you as you tried to stay afloat, legs kicking under the water furiously.

“You’re dreaming. You must have gotten a concussion,” you repeated to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re concussed.”

“You there!”

You snapped your head to see a wooden boat sailing towards you, numerous men aboard it as they all peered down at you. One man, in particular, stood at the arch of the boat, big and with a long braided bear. He was bald, tattoos around his head in strange patterns.

“Did you get lost, woman?” He belly laughed, the other men joining in. You were too much in shock to try and even say anything back. “Frode, throw the poor woman a rope.”

One of the men, skinner than the one barking orders, threw a thick rope towards you, splashing into the water in front of you, the water spraying on your face.

You grabbed the rope, unsure whether or not being on a boat with strangers or being in the ocean alone was better. The men heaved you up to the boat, letting your body hit the deck of it like a wet fish.

You panted slightly, trying to calm your thundering heart before it jumped out your throat.

You weren’t facing the men, your eyes locked onto your hands that dug into the wooden deck, trying to desperately grasp onto some kind of reality.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped out.

“Someone get her something to cover herself with!” The bald, bearded man ordered. Someone came over and wrapped some kind of cloak on you, you quickly tied it on your neck, trying to get warm.

“What kind of clothing is she wearing?” Another man spoke.

“A whore, perhaps?” Another replied.

“Whore!?” You repeated, turning to look at the men for the first time. “Who do you think you're calling a whore?”

The expressions on the men’s faces changed as soon as you looked up at them. The sudden change in mood made you want to cower away. Are these cosplayers? Re-enactors? Why did they dress that way?

“Freyja.” The bald one spoke, barely a whisper.

“Freyja?” You repeated. Who?

You’d never heard such a name before, were they calling you that? The men exchanged a look, communicating with their eyes before turning back to you.

“What’s your name?” The bald one asks, his tone in voice changing.

“Y/N,” you reply, beginning to stand up. “Where is this? Where are we right now?”

“Kattegat.” Someone spoke, earning a quick shove by the person next to him.

Your brows frowned together. Kattegat? Maybe you should have paid more attention in geography class when you were in school.

“Tie her up. We must show the Princes, this is an imposter of Freyja.” The bald one spoke again before walking away, his face unreadable.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, looking around as the men closed in on you, starting to grab you. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

You elbowed the man who grabbed your from behind, hearing a grunt from him as he doubled over, making you flick your long hair out of your face.

“If anyone touches me, I’ll rip your fucking limbs off.” You warned, getting into a fighting stance with your balled fists in the air. You were outnumbered, by many. Before you could even say another word, one of the men quickly backhanded you across the face, knocking you down to the floor where they all cornered you.

—————————

The bald man, whose name you had learned was Magnus, threw you onto the ground with force, causing you to land on your shoulder. A groan left your lips as pain tingled down your arm.

“Don’t fucking throw me, you bald bastard!” You shouted at him, your hands restrained behind your back and your ankles tied together also, restraining you of trying to run off. Your hair had fallen across your face, limiting your view of your surroundings.

The whole hall of people turned to look at you, hearing small whispers about your clothing. The music had stopped playing and the cheers.

Who the fuck were these people?

You could barely make out four men sitting at a large table in front of you, maybe a few feet away, two with fair hair and two with dark.

“What’s the meaning of this, Magnus?” You heard one of them say, his accent making your ears perk up. “Did any of you ask for a thrall for the night?” He directed his question to the men beside him.

“My apologies, Prince Ubbe, but...” The bald man suddenly seemed nervous, unsure of what exactly to say. It made you scoff. A big guy like him was scared of these guys? “We found her in the sea--”

“Spit it out, before I rip your tongue out.” Another man at the table spoke, the threat taking you off guard. His accent was the same.

“We believe she’s an imposter and a volva.”

“An imposter and a volva?” another one of the men at the table snickered. “Sound’s interesting, Ubbe.”

“Who are you calling an imposter?” You sneered at the men. “I don’t even know you.”

“Watch your mouth, whore!” You heard, gasping as one of the men who tied you kicked you in your side.

“Enough.” You heard the first man say, hearing the chair he was sitting in move across the floor. “I asked you what the meaning of this was? You’re spoiling our celebration.”

The bald man grabbed the back of your head, gripping onto your hair as he roughly pulled you onto your knees, making you wince. Your hair moved from your face in the process and you could finally see around you. At the table sat the four men, the Princes, you had gathered.

All handsome— wait. Not the right time.

Their faces were twisted in an expression you had never seen before on someone as soon as they looked at you. The whole of the hall went deathly quiet as eyes were on you.

One of the men at the table stood up abruptly, his hands on the table. He had four twisted braids in his dark hair, his eyes a piercing blue as they stared at you. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen.

Those eyes. You’d seen them before.

“Freyja.” He said to you. Again with the name.

Your head was tugged back, knocking you out of your trance and filling your chest with rage. Ripping your eye contact from him, you turned your attention to the man behind you.

“Get your hands off me before I break them.” You growled out.

Whispers broke out around you, you scowled at them all. What were they all wearing? Are these Vikings?

Your E/C eyes find their way to the blue ones again, he seemed to tense when you looked at him, his breath catching in his throat. It was like he was a statue.

The one with long brown hair with two braids going into one and green eyes stood up.

“Everybody leave.” Was all he said for everyone to leave the room. “You men can also leave. Get out.”

The men behind you began to leave, Magnus let your hair suddenly go from his grip, letting you land onto your face.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, a tingling pain going up your nose. The only people left in the large hall were you and the four strange men, you strangely began to feel small.

The blonde man who was at the head of the table began to make his way towards you, his footsteps stopping once in front of you. Was this the one they called Ubbe?

“You,” He kneeled on one knee as he grabbed your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “What is your name?”

You hold your tongue, refusing to tell him. But this only made his grip on your jaw tighten.

“If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you answer when spoken to.” He said lowly, his eyes just as blue as the man behind him. Were they brothers?

You stare into his eyes, trying to stare him down like a dog but his eyes never faltered. His stare was incredibly intimidating.

You gave an exasperating huff of breath, rolling your eyes to yourself.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

He kept staring at you, his eyes studying your face. His eyes looked sad as if pained as he looked at you. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke again. “Why were you in the sea?”

“I don’t know, one moment I was in my home and the next I was in the water.” You knew this had to do with the necklace and the drumming in the woods. It all has to link up somehow. You went to reach up to grab it but remembered your hands were tied.

His eyes moved from yours as he removed his hand from your jaw, turning to the other men at the table. Your eyes followed. Both the one with blue eyes and the blonde one with fluffy hair were frozen in place still. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

The one kneeling in front of you raised his eyebrows at the one with the braids as if asking him what to do. He walked over to the both of you, gawking down at you with his green eyes.

“It’s as if she’d risen from the dead, but how can that be? We saw her body that day.” He said, staring down at you.

“Can someone just explain to me what’s going on?” You pipped up. A loud bang caused you to jump, looking towards the cause of the noise. The blue-eyed man had gotten up, his chair fallen behind him and his hands pressed against the surface of the table. His chest was heaving under his leather armor. His face was twisted with anger and hurt, barely looking at you as he grabbed his crutch.

“I don’t care what you do with her," he looked over to you with eyes so intense, your lips parted as your breath hitched in your throat. You felt your heart dip into your stomach.

Holy shit. Those eyes... Where have you seen them before?

"She's not Freyja." He walked out the hall and passed you, his crutch stabbing into the wood beneath him in anger, he looked as if he was almost snarling as he walked through the doors.

“Ivar--” The one with the green eyes called after him, going to walk after him but the one who was knelt suddenly stood up, holding a hand against his chest.

“Leave him, this must be a shocking sight for him. He needs time.”

“Can you untie me so I can leave?” You cut in, the rope irritating the skin off your wrists. The men ignored you, the blonde fluffy-haired one finally speaking up after this whole time.

“You can’t let her leave.”

—————————

You sat awkwardly in the chair, fiddling with your fingers on your lap as the three men stared at you. The fluffy-haired one had untied you but sat you in the chair at the large table, the green-eyed one threatening that if you tried anything then you’d regret it.

Scary.

They spoke as if you weren’t even there too.

“What kind of clothes is she wearing? She's dressed like a prostitute.” The one with the two braids spoke, cutting an apple slowly with a knife before placing it in his mouth.

Your gaze turned to him, anger rising in your chest. What was with these guys? Do they have no respect?

“Say that again,” You pointed your finger towards him. “and I’ll spoon your eyes out. How can you say anything about what I'm wearing when you’re dressed like a rodent in all those furs?”

The man stared at you for a moment before smirking. Who are you smiling at, you bastard--

“With a mouth like hers, she certainly isn’t Freyja. She wouldn’t dare speak like that.” He said. "Even if she is identical to her."

“That’s because I’m not Freyja. And you do know that this is kidnapping, right? You can get put into jail because of this.”

The brothers exchanged a look.

“And where would you find one of those?” Asked the one with the long braid, Ubbe, you remembered. “We’re the sons of Ragnar, nobody can tell us what we can or cannot do.”

Your eyebrows frowned, looking at them sideways at you felt dumbfounded.

Who is Ragnar?

“As if I know, or care, who Ragnar is. Let me go.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. Shit, it was cold here. Even this cloak did nothing to help with your soaking clothes.

Their expressions only looked more confused, as if they were more confused than you are and couldn't understand how you didn't know who Ragnar is.

“Where are you from?” The one eating asked.

“Tell me your names and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.” You cocked an eyebrow at them. If they were stupid enough, they’d tell you so you can report them to the police once you find a way out of here.

God, the air here smells like constant shit. You want to go home already, to your scented candles to cleanse your nose of this stench.

“Curious thing, aren’t you? I’m Hvitserk,” Hvitserk pointed to the other men with the end of his knife. “these are my brothers, Ubbe and Sigurd.”

Ubbe smiled at you as Sigurd only stood still, unsure of what to say to you.

“And the blue-eyed one who walked out?” You asked.

“That was Ivar, our youngest brother.”

“What was his problem?” You quizzed again. Shut up, Y/N. This curiosity is the reason why you’re here in the first place.

Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at you before exchanging a look between them, Sigurd shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. You noticed his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides.

“Well?” You repeated, waiting for an answer from one of them.

“The woman you resemble—” Ubbe began, getting cut off by a nudge from Hvitserk.

“Is it wise to tell her?” He asked his brother lowly, his green eyes looking at you.

“You do not think she deserves to know?”

“She could be deceiving us, a volva like the men said,” Hvitserk warned his brother.

You could only roll your eyes at them as you shifted in the chair, crossing your legs over.

“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I'm not deceiving you. I just want to know what’s going on.” You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You resemble a woman called ‘Freyja’,” Sigurd spoke suddenly, looking into the bright flame that burned in the hall. His brothers turned to look at him with you. “No, you don’t resemble her. You are her.”

“Who is Freyja?” You asked.

“She was my first love.” He turned to look at you. “And Ivar's.”

Hvitserk and Ubbe sat back in the chairs, staying deadly quiet as their brother spoke to you. Their first love?

“What happened to her?” The question made your heart sink, taking you off guard. Why do you care?

“She died protecting us all. She was the most beautiful and loved woman in Kattegat, every man wanted her hand in marriage. Including all of us,” Sigurd suggested to his brothers, making Ubbe take a sip out of his cup and Hvitserk turn his gaze.

“A king came one day, wanting to trade. But once his eyes set on Freyja, demanding to marry her or risk causing a war between us. We all agreed to go to war, prepared, made an army. She refused to cause a war over her, Freyja had always hated violence.”

Sigurd took a shaky breath, his hands trembling in the light of the fire. The sight was enough to let you know how much he was affected by this.

“She... she was in love with Ivar. The thought of either losing him in battle or by marrying herself off was too much for her to ever bare. The day of the battle, Freyja stood between armies, in the middle of the battle field,” His eyes looked at yours, something flashing over them. “She drove a sword through herself in front of everyone. She did it for her love.”

The words made your breath hitch in your throat.

She killed herself... for him?

Your eyes tore away from Sigurd’s figure, looking anywhere but at the brothers.

No wonder Ivar left, you thought. Imagine seeing the woman you loved kill herself in front of you and then seeing her alive again...

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, staring at your lap. “But I just want to go home. I have a family there, friends. They’re probably searching for me.”

“It’s dark out now,” Ubbe spoke, clearing his throat as he stood. “You should rest here for the night and begin searching for your way back in the morning. We'll help you.”

You nodded a 'thank you', standing from your chair. Hvitserk looked at your soaking clothes, turning to Sigurd.

"Tell one of the thralls to prepare some clothes for Y/N. She can't sleep in those."

Sigurd nodded, walking down a passageway and out of sight. You could see a grateful look on his face towards his brother for getting him out the room.

"You still haven't told me where you're from." Hvitserk turned his attention to you, leaning back against the table.

"Honestly, I don't think any of you will know where I'm from. But I can tell you I'm not from here. I come from a different time." You uttered, holding the necklace under your cloak, your thumb grazing the lines in it. "Someone or something brought me here, I want to know why."

#vikings #ivar the boneless #reader #ivar x reader #sigurd lothbrok #sigurd x reader #Ubbe Lothbrok #ubbe x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk x reader #ivar lothbrok #ragnarssons #hvitserk smut #ubbe smut #ivar smut #sigurd snake in the eye

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tare-anime · 3 years

Text

A story about the journey of Pirate Captain Anya in finding her most valuable treasure. A Pirate AU (?) :P (AO3)

Don’t forget to check this magnificent Pirate Captain Anya art by @honeycloverbee

-----------------------------

The sun set high in the blue summer sky. A perfect day to sail on the Black Beauty. The wind picked up the pace, and it made the Jolly Roger flapped proudly on top of their main mast.

The captain of the ship, a girl with pink hair wearing traditional pirate headgear, an eyepatch, pirate robe, hook in her hand, black leather pants, and cute boots. She whistled cheerfully while steering the Black Beauty through the ocean.

Suddenly, her first mate, a tall blond man shouted, "Land ahoy!! 9 o'clock!!"

"Aye!!" Anya Forger, the captain yelled back, "Nice job there, inmate!!"

"First mate! Or just… 'mate'" the blond man, Loid Forger, rolled his eyes, corrected the term, and slid down from the crows nest.

“We’re close to the treasure island, mate! As my magic compass now starts to glow!” The captain was brimming.

“Aye!” First mate Loid answered unenthusiastically.

Suddenly the bright sky turned dark, as the sun was covered with thick heavy thunderstorm clouds. The wind blew harder, and the Black Beauty tried her best to roam the raging sea.

“Stay strong, mate!! We’re so close to our treasure!”

The captain tried her best to steer the Black Beauty and made her sail on course, while the first mate held the sails with all his strength.

Suddenly a strong wave washed the deck of Black Beauty, and the first mate was washed away.

“Oh no! Help me, captain!” Loid flatly called his captain.

“Hang in there mate!!” the captain shouted dramatically, and ran to grab the live preserver. She then threw the live preserver to her mate, and shouted again “Grab it, mate!! I’ll save you!!”

“……..” Loid blinked at the thing thrown at him.

"........."

“Psst…. Papa, use it!” Anya whispered.

With a heavy sigh, Loid took the Bondman rubber buoy, and hung it around his neck. He then wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Suddenly a beautiful ‘aaaaaa’ singing voice could be heard.

Captain Anya gasped dramatically, “The siren!! Help is coming!!”

“Weren’t sirens supposed to be a bad omen for sailors?” Loid thought to himself.

“Look, it’s the mermaid!!” Anya pointed to the edge of the stage, and Loid turned his head towards the direction pointed by his daughter.

His jaw dropped.

From the end of the stage, Yor emerged. She was using a grey rotund costume from head to toe, only her face was showing. Loid could see whiskers protruding from the costume around her face, and she was moving the flippers arms as she waddled forward with difficulties because both of her legs were wrapped tightly around the costume tails, only showing her ankles and feet.

“It’s a frikin’ dugong!” Loid exclaimed.

“Mermaid is actually a dugong, Papa! We need to stay to the science fact,” Anya deadpanned.

The audience started to laugh out loud when they saw “the mermaid”.

Loid felt his face reddened, and not just from the heat.

He kept reminding himself the reason why he did this embarrassing acting in the first place.

A week ago, Anya had come home and relayed the news about a probability of earning a stela star, should she win at the summer festival plays. Unfortunately, back to back missions had prevented him from assisting his daughter and Becky in preparing a play scenario, costumes, and props. He left supervision to Yor, but… now he started to question the decision.

This play scenario made no sense at all.

Plus, he wondered why Eden Academy thought it was a good idea to build the stage in the middle of their courtyard, under direct heat of summer sun, instead making it in their hall where surely there were aircons.

“Hang in there, o brave sailors…. I’ll come and save you….” Yor said her lines stiffly.

She then waddled for several steps towards Loid, but then she tripped and fell flat forward.

Out of reflex, Loid immediately stood up to help his wife, but then he was yanked backward by the buoy tied to a rope, and fell flat on his bottom.

Laughs from the audiences again could be heard.

Yor tried to get up, but the costumes hindered her from doing so. Anya then jumped down from the ‘ship’, approached her mother and tried to help her to no avail.

Loid removed the buoy from his neck, and hurriedly helped his wife to stand. He then noticed how crimson his wife’s face was, and she was sweating profusely.

“You okay?” He whispered.

“..m fine…” Yor whispered back, then she continued her line, “Look…. The magic island appears!”

“Oh!!” Anya then ran to the ‘island’ stage, and lifted up an Aladdin lamp, “I found the treasure!!”

"Huh?" Loid raised his brows, "Magic lamp?"

Captain Anya then started to rub the lamp, and with a dramatic puff of smoke, Becky the genie appeared. She was using a very cute simple summer dress.

“Now there’s a genie?” Loid muttered under his breath, while Yor giggled and whispered, “A very cute one.”

“O brave souls, I shall grant three of your wishes!” Becky said her lines proudly.

“Please give me the most priceless treasure of all time!” Anya then said her first wish.

“Your wish is my command!” Becky then moves her arms dramatically, “Now I’ll marry Mr. Forger, and become your mom!”

Loid gawked, “Huh?”

The black haired girl then ran towards Loid, but before she reached him, she was pulled at the side by his daughter.

“Becky!! You’re supposed to turn my mom into a princess!” Anya whispered to her friend.

“But I want to marry Mr. Forger!”

“Aren’t you supposed to grant my wishes?”

“Yes! And I shall become your mom!”

“I want you as my best friend! I already have a mom! Becky, please stick to the scenario!!” Anya pleaded to her best friend.

The black haired girl sighed, and finally relented, “Fine…. Behold the princess mermaid!!”

On her que, the puff of smoke filled the stage. Loid saw Yor squirming and tugging from inside her costume.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I’m stuck!” his wife whined.

“I’ll rip this costume open then.”

“No! No! Loid, stop! You’ll ruin the dress!”

“You mean you’re wearing another costume inside that?!” he bewilderedly asked.

“I’m supposed to transform into a princess,” she whispered back and struggled even harder. Loid noticed how Yor started to sweat even more and breath heavily.

Unfortunately, the smoke cleared out before Yor managed to shed the dugong costume, and she can only cringed at her failure. She then mouthed her apology to Anya.

Fortunately, the kid immediately thought of an improvised line, and shouted to the audience, “And thus, The Pirate Captain got her most valuable treasure: a family! The Prince as the Father, The Dugong Princess as the Mother, and the Genie as her best friend. They all live happily ever after!”

“Wait, now I’m the prince?? What kind of scenario is this?!” Loid facepalmed.

The audience aaaw-ed and gave them big applause.

All four of them bowed and the curtain closed.

They started to walk out of the stage, when Loid noticed Yor swayed and staggered. He reflexively steadied her.

“Sorry, I suddenly feel a bit dizzy….” she smiled sheepishly.

He frowned and in one swift motion carried his wife bridal style.

“Lo-...Loid!! Put me down!”

“I’m getting you out of this stupid costume right away, or you’re going to get a heat stroke!”

“Carry me too, Mr. Forger!”

“Becky!!”

Loid could only roll his eyes at the antics of these ladies, and hope that at least after enduring all this trouble and embarrassment, Anya would get the Stela Star.

Unfortunately for him, there were no promises of stella stars to begin with. It was just a rumour among the students.

But being able to perform with all of her family and BFF made Anya really happy.

So that one achievement was enough for him.

------------------

Ah… what parents would do for their children's happiness… at the end Anya was right. The most precious treasure IS family. But seriously, what did I just write? I have no idea. Just thrown in pure random things XD

Hope you enjoyed it though ^^

#spy x family #sxf #sxf fics #loid forger #anya forger #becky blackbell #yor forger #twiyor #slice of life #pirate AU #AUpril #comedy

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marisferasiop · 4 years

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For @racketghost 13 days of halloween day four: vampires

"I van to shuck your blood," Crowley says in a low voice, pitched with a terrible accent.

"Oh, are you finally hungr-- wait, you what?" Aziraphale asks, baffled. He turns from the bookshelf in their little library at their new seaside cottage and blinks at his husband.

Crowley has come across the hall from the bedroom in a black fitted tuxedo with a cape that brushes his ankles and is lined red on the inside with a tall, stiff collar. His normally snakeskin boots are polished black leather and (to the angel's dismay) his recently-grown hair has been brushed and pressed flat backward onto his head with a glossy gel that leaves it looking wet and dark, emphasizing a sharp widow's peak.

"Oh fome om an'el, I'm pre'y obvioush'ere."

"Halloween is not for another week."

"Sssho? Has'hat ever shtopped ush from'a shpot of dresh-up?" He clicks the plastic teeth menacingly, lips curling to expose them. Across the room, one white eyebrow slides slowly up towards a fluffy white hairline.

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale concedes, thinking back to his most recent insistence on role play that involved a dashing young gamekeeper and a buxom lady-in-waiting. Trellises had been built and a wisteria coaxed up it in a matter of hours just so Crowley could climb up it and into the second floor window. He had even been forced into a poet shirt and breeches.

Crowley prowls playfully closer, heels clicking as he moves deliberately in the shadows with his face half-hidden by the cape stretched over his forearm.

"Reshishtansh is usheless," he hisses, pinning the angel against the bookshelf and mantling them both with his cape.

"Oh, you are an idiot," Aziraphale demures, swatting at a narrow thigh as it insinuates between its plump targets. He ends up with two hands full of narrow back side, to no one's dismay. Crowley drags the tips of the plastic play teeth down one of the angel's collarbones and the stupid things nearly fall out, making the demon move a hand to catch them (and try not to laugh).

"Take them out you wretched thing," Aziraphale giggles, batting at the demon's grinning face as he leers closer. The damnable things glow in the dark a hideous green.

"Oh, fome on, an-hel. D'ere not fo bad!" Crowley laughs again outright, spitting out the plastic vampire teeth. Aziraphale wipes tears from his eyes and tugs Crowley down for a kiss not that his mouth is unoccupied.

"Really now, the tux and cape and slicked-back hair were enough to give you away, you silly old serpent." The angel lets Crowley tip his chin up, mouth descending over the pale folds of his neck. "And your can- oh. Can do your own fangs anyway."

"That I can," Crowley pitches the toy over his shoulder and moves to clasp Aziraphale around the back of his head. "Shall i?"

"Oh, I do believe you are meant to be a vampire, dear. Otherwise what's the point of all this?" Aziraphale teases, melting into the demon's touch like a sun-warmed caramel.

"Very well," Crowley concedes, sprouting two fine little points on his eye teeth. "Where were we?"

"I do believe you were meant to be sucking something of mine?" Aziraphale bids helpfully.

#more stupidity #theyre softe of heart and dumbe of ass #two entire braincells #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #vampires #racket's 13 days of halloween

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whitj82 · 2 years

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Coutgo Womens Lace Up Knee High Boots Motorcycle Riding Flat Low Heels Strappy.

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inforapound · 4 years

Text

Ease The Dawn Part 1 Alternate Ending - Ch.1

Thank you to those who messaged and expressed interest in this. Chapter 1 of this alternate ending begins at Chapter 14 of Part 1. A different outcome following Ivar’s accident. The first section is a bit repetitive. Part 1 Ease The Dawn is here - please remember it was my first piece of writing. This was a request from over a year ago.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith Words - 3,400 (others aren’t this long)

Ivar's limp body was being dragged, his head slumped forward and his heavy limbs jostled as Hvitserk, and another warrior named Loni hauled him toward the tent. Heaving him along, both men grunted under the awkward weight of his slack body.

Rushing forward, Brana and Gussr ran to help, stopping to listen to Hvitserk's urgent orders. Paralyzed in place, Aethelswith watched the horrific scene before her. Unable to hold back, her eyes filled with tears and she cried out, pleading for an explanation as to what had happened.

The men dragged Ivar through the tent door, heaving him onto his bed and Loni rounded the far side to help Hvitserk roll him onto his back. As if moving in slow motion, Aethelswith approached the foot of the bed and scanned his wet clothes and his ash coloured skin void entirely of colour... of life. His lips were deep violet and his eyes were peacefully closed.

"Is he dead?" she covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the burn of another wave of tears in her eyes.

Crouching forward, Hvitserk brought his ear to Ivar's mouth before dropping down and pressing his ear to his chest. His eyes darted side to side listening for sounds of life. Glancing up to Aethelswith, he nodded.

"He is little dead. Little heart. Little breathe," he answered in a thick accent, using the best english he knew.

Pushing through the tent flap, Brana and Gussr hurried in, carrying large rocks; Brana held one, while Gussr managed four. They placed them into the crackling fire and fast words began flowing between the men. Aethelswith's eyes dashed between them, hopelessly attempting to understand. Nodding, Brana approached Aethelswith, tipping her head close.

"Ivar insisted they cut across the frozen lake instead of following the shore back to camp. To save time and return before dark." Pausing, Brana listened to the men continuing to talk. "It sounds like the weight of his chariot broke the ice and he went into the water." She paused again. "It took time to get him out. The ice kept cracking. Ivar's horse and chariot were lost."

Reaching forward, she squeezed Aethelswith's arm. "The Prince is dying from the cold water, My Lady."

The ghastly image of Ivar thrashing in the broken ice flashed through Aethelswith's mind. Her eyes widened and she shook her head unable to process what Brana had told her.

"We must warm him," she whispered, "quickly."

Nodding, Brana returned to the fire and began laying sheets of thick canvas down flat on the ground, layering one on top of the other.

Rounding the bed, Aethelswith stood beside Hvitserk.

"We must undress him."

Hvitserk raised his eyebrows clearly not understanding.

"Remove his wet clothes," she explained, using her arms to motion.

Brana, glancing over her shoulder from the fire, rushed a fast translation for the men. Hvitserk's expression went slack and he nodded his agreement.

Crawling onto her knees beside Ivar, Aethelswith reached for the bindings on his legs. Not wearing his braces in the chariot, his legs were bound tight by leather ties in three places. Her shaky hands fumbled with the first knot and Loni leaned in, motioning for her to move, and pushed a knife under the tie above his knees, cutting them with a crisp snap. Loni set to work on the others moi before he slipped his knife down the front of Ivar's pants. Turning the blade up, he sliced the fabric from Ivar’s groin down to his boot making a smooth ripping sound while Hvitserk started on Ivar's chest armour.

Gussr returned to the tent wearing oversized thick gloves that Aethelswith recognized as the ones blacksmiths wore. Approaching, he quickly exchanged words with Brana before reaching into the fire and picking up one of the rocks. Lowering it onto the center of the linens spread on the ground, Brana wrapped the edges of the fabric around the rock, holding her hands still on either side as if gauging the heat. She nodded to Gussr and he picked up the bundle and headed to the bed.

Moving to her own bed, Aethelswith quickly gathered her fur and wool blanket and rushed back to the men, stopping in place at the sight before her. Void of all signs of life, Ivar lay flat, naked before all of them, looking like a corpse. The wrapped rock was placed high in the crook of his arm near his faint beating heart.

Taking a step closer, Aethelswith’s eyes raked over his immense torso, large shoulders and muscular chest. A small trail of dark hair stretched from his navel down to his displayed member and beneath his groin were his legs. Their appearance was shocking; thin and scrawny without any of the muscle of his upper body. His knees were enlarged and knobby, his thighs bowed with thins whispers of calves attached to misshaped ankles and puffy, swollen feet. The rounded soles, reminded Aethelswith of the feet of a baby with no defined arch or flat bottom, like an adult's from years of carrying the body's weight.

The form of his legs was not the only startling sight, it was their colour, causing her to gasp. They were grey, nearly blue with cold skin that looked like casing on uncooked meat. Biting the flesh on the inside of her cheek, she looked away fighting the urge to be sick.

"No," she cried to herself, shaking her head. She could not let him die like this, vulnerable and exposed, his chest barely moving with his shallow, sporadic breath.

Pushing past the men, she threw the wool blanket over his body, smoothing it around him, before adding and straightening the fur. Grabbing Ivar's furs from the ground beside, she piled those on top of the others. Brana lifted the stack of blankets at the foot of the bed and Gussr placed three more wrapped rocks around him.

Moving a stool from the table, Hvitserk dropped it beside the bed and sat, talking quickly to Loni and Gussr. Nodding, they hurried out of the tent following his orders.

Standing awkwardly at the end of the bed, Aethelswith just stared down at Ivar, waiting.

"Is he still breathing?" she asked quietly, looking over at Hvitserk.

Seeming to understand, he leaned forward hovering his ear over Ivar's mouth. Sitting back on the stool, he looked up.

"Small," he answered again in english.

The feeling of helplessness forced her to pace the small area in the tent, clutching her hands in front of her. Circling back and forth, she watched Brana heat the new load of rocks. Wanting to do more, she stepped back to the bed and dropped to kneel on the grass and began rubbing Ivar's legs through the layers and layers of blankets.

All this time, she thought, sharing one room and here she was running her hands over the most guarded part of his body. She nearly laughed at the horridness of the entire situation as if it could not be real. How could it be real?

Pulling back the furs to add another rock, Brana gasped and Aethelswith lurched over to see. White... his legs were white as bone and his feet had turned a deep blue with barely recognizable black toes. Hvitserk stood, grimacing as he bent closer to look and launched into Norse, shaking his head as he spoke to Brana.

"What is it? Please tell me." Aethelswith looked expectantly to Brana.

"Ivar's blood does not pass through his legs as well as it does the rest of him." Frowning, Brana looked back to the bed. "They may not warm."

Pushing herself up to stand, Aethelswith again stared down at Ivar. Tossing her shall onto the bed, she reached for the laces at her bust and began to untie and open the front of her dress; both Hvitserk and Brana watched her clearly confused.

"I will not sit and watch him freeze," she murmured, bringing each knee up and unstrapping her leather boots, pushing them off at the heels.

Unsure of what to say, Hvitserk stepped back from the bed, allowing her more space.

The cold air hit her skin as she let her dress fall to her feet leaving her standing in only her thin, sheer slip. Stepping around to the side of the bed, Hvitserk backed up further, knocking into Ivar's wooden table. Pulling back the heavy furs, she climbed into the bed beside him, sliding down his side and gasping as her skin made contact with his frigid body.

Ivar, she thought, the most powerful, fiery man she had ever known, now ice-cold. Shuddering, she closed her eyes remembering the heat that emanated from his large hand and sweet mouth the night she cut her thumb cleaning the fish.

Exhaling shakily, she looked up at his peaceful, pale face and slid her arm across his stomach, pulling herself closer against his body. Positioning her legs across his frozen ones, she pulled herself partially over him, resting her cheek on his cold broad chest. Taking another deep breath, she exhaled loudly, holding him as tight as her strength would allow.

Never did she believe she would be this close to him, a man she thought could never be hurt. She sighed loudly against his skin thinking that he was, in fact, human, made of flesh and blood like anyone else. Not the invincible, immortal she had built him up in her mind to be. Closing her eyes, she prayed; she prayed and she prayed. To her god and once through, she prayed to his.

She was aware that the tent flap opened and closed many times and that, at some point, the furs had been pulled back and careful hands had shifted her legs to replace the stones. She did not care who was in the tent or how long she had been there. Laying still, she closed her mind to the world and focused only on the sound of her breath and the slow beat of his tired heart, willing it to strengthen. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump... following him into the darkness, she drifted off to sleep.

—

Looking down at her bare feet standing on ice, she shifted her toes unable to feel the burn of its cold. Disorientated, she looked up and scanned her surroundings. She was alone, a short distance into a large clearing with tall frosted trees forming a heavy guard around the frozen lake she was on. The light was muted and the shadows from the forest were heavy, telling her it was that point in time between night and early morning. Large soft flakes of snow floated down through the air at a speed too gentle to be real. The utter silence buzzed in her ears and a huff from ahead snapped her from her daze.

A gasp slipped from her lips as she looked through the mist and across the ice. Standing in the center of the lake was a magnificent buck, broad and imperial, proudly holding high its enormous antlers. She was no huntress, but she could see fourteen points on it's large rack. He was impressive, terrifying and beautiful and seemed to be watching her. It had no reason to fear her and yet it seemed guarded.

He huffed again and his warm breath shot fog from his nose as he he jerked his head forward with a snort. Shaking the mange of hair on his neck, he straightened, again standing tall and continued to assess her.

Tilting her head to one side, she watched him back, unsure if he was sending a message and wondering how such a majestic creature had evaded death to reach such a size. His sheer scale and immense rack would be the obsession of any man who had ever held a weapon but his evasive ways were surely his method of escaping a violent end.

Suddenly, he whined and dipped his horns, snorting loudly making her think that she should run away, but she did not. She stood still like a statue, eyes locked with his, feeling the sensation of recognition as she stared into his dark eyes.

A sound from behind caused her to turn and look at the edge of the forest. A man stood utterly motionless on the ice. His face was not visible from the shade of the hood on his dark cloak, over which, he wore a vest of chainmail. Standing with his arms raised, he held a bow, the string stretched taut, the arrow aimed directly at the stag.

Gasping, she turned back to the beast, watching him grow more agitated. Snorting and huffing, dipping his head, he bucked the ice with the tips of his antlers. Rearing up on his hind legs, he slammed his hooves down, a sharp crack sounded, followed by the groan of shifting ice.

Looking back to the hooded man, Aethelswith saw that his stance had not changed. She turned back to the stag who slammed his front hooves a second time, grunting an angry groan while the ice beneath cracked further.

"No," she cried to the animal. "Be still. Please."

Turning back to the man at the edge of the forest, she called out.

"Do not do this. Let him live. I beg you."

The bow and arrow held steady and the head of the hooded man turned to look at her dead on. There was no face, only a void of black. Slowly looking back to the stag, his hand on the string pulled.

"No!" Aethelswith screamed, stepping forward to run. With arms raised in the air, she was knocked sharply in the chest, falling forward to her knees.

Mouth open and eyes wide, she made no sound, somehow unable to scream. Reaching up, she touched her chest, feeling the embedded arrow, the pain hot like fire, stabbing through her. Gazing down, she realized she was wearing her white marital dress, soaked in deep red blood. Falling forward onto her hands, the crimson drops pooled on the surface of the ice looking nearly black.

A loud crack rang through the silence followed by a squeal as the stag broke through the frozen lake, crashing into the cold water below. Frothing at the mouth and breath heaving, he thrashed violently in the water, his eyes wild, as he fought, unable to lift his front hooves above the thick edge.

She could do nothing, only watch as he grunted frantically, struggling in the frigid water. After sometime, and her still unable to move, his movements slowed as exhaustion and cold set in. Beginning to tire, he caught his chin on the edge of the broken ice, his head and antlers the only parts visible above the freezing water. Snorting, his cries quieted and his groans became weak and even at a distance, she could see the fear drain from his dark, round eyes.

"I will not leave you," she whispered, slumping onto her side, lowering her cheek to the ice below. The cold bit at her skin as she lay helplessly watching the beautiful stag slip away, down into the darkness, until he was completely gone.

"I am sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes, listening to footsteps coming toward her, crunching over the fresh snow.

—

"My Lady?"

A hand shook her shoulder and she startled awake. Lifting her cheek from his skin, her eyes worked to adjust to the dim tent now lit by burning candles. It was night.

Immediately looking at Ivar, she could see, even in the dull light, small rounds of colour in the center of his cheeks, his lips now a light shade of pink. Shifting her lower limbs, she could feel that his legs were cold but not frozen as they had been.

Brana was bending over her speaking in a soft voice and Aethelswith rubbed her face, attempting to clear the fog of her dream.

"My Lady, come eat something. Please." She motioned with her hands to the table.

"The stones... can we change them?" she asked instead.

"We did not long ago. We will again soon."

"Thank you."

"My lady, you must drink something. Water? Shall I bring it to you here?"

"Yes, thank you." Aethelswith swallowed realizing how dry she felt.

Pulling away from Ivar, she sat up, the cold air on her bare arms and shoulders causing her to shiver. She wanted to return to his side under the blankets.

Taking the cup from Brana, she drank quickly, emptying it and handed it back with an appreciative nod. Her eyes returned to him, studying his features and listening to the sound of his breathing.

"Did he wake?" she looked back up to Brana.

"He stirred but did not wake."

"His legs?" she asked.

"They are better than his toes," Brana replied evenly. "A healer will likely need to remove them."

Shaking her head, Aethelswith breathed out slowly.

"But he lives,” Brana touched her arm, giving her a smile. "Thanks to you."

Aethelswith turned to look at her. "No Brana, thanks to you."

With a flat smile, Brana nodded back.

"Would you like me to collect more furs and make up your bed?"

"I will stay here," Aethelswith replied, shimmying back down beside him, pulling the blankets back up to cover them both. Resting her face back against his chest, she wrapped her arm over is now warm stomach and her leg over his. He lives, she thought, as she closed her eyes and allowed the smell of his skin and steady breathing to carry her back off to sleep.

—

In the suspended space between dreams and the reality of the present, his body felt adrift and behind his closed eyes flickered images of her heart-shaped face. Aethelswith....

In the distance and filtering through were the sounds of muted voices and the morning calls of birds announcing a new day, as if it were like any other, but above all, there was one faint, repetitive sound that drew him in like an arrow hitting straw. It was her…. her soft, sweet breathing, so close, it sounded as if it were inside him. On top of that, the delicate scent of roses and the warmth he felt against his one side drew him up toward to the surface, his skin even ahead of his mind knowing that she lay draped over him, asleep.

He did not dare move or crack open an eye, even wince from the pain that felt like flames searing his feet and legs. He just lay still and like fitting together the jagged pieces of something broken, his mind worked, struggled, to recount the events that placed her in his arms. The images, although fractured; cracking the reigns, driving his skittish horse over the frozen lake, his eyes fixed on the tree line, anxious to return before dark were all that remained of his black memory.

Whatever had occurred, it was surely the Gods who had placed her in his bed, placed her tiny body to his, her perfect face to the skin of his chest. Some reward or distraction from the pain that, by the breath, was growing unbearable. Yet he would bear it...bear it or risk unsettling what he was unable to fully believe could be true - that she was there by his side giving him his first taste of peace.

----

She woke to the feeling of a heavy arm around her, squeezing, a large hand on her lower back radiating heat. Ivar cleared his throat and Aethelswith’s head shot up and she looked at his closed eyes, his brows creased together as he began to cough and hack as if his lungs were being used for the first time. Instinctively, her hand slid higher to rest on his smooth, muscular chest like somehow her touch could soothe him. And, it seemed to.

Shifting away, she turned toward the edge of his bed and pushed herself up as his arm, still around her, tensed, his hand stopping her, holding her in place. She could feel the tips of each of his fingers pressing into to the soft skin above her hip like they, somehow on their own, had discovered that her thin, sheer slip was the only barrier.

Sucking in a breath, she turned back and looked at his questioning face, his eyes open just enough to see out. He somehow looked older and so, so weak, like he had been walking with death while the heavens were deciding whether to take him. Their eyes stayed locked but neither said a word. She felt confronted, conflicted, but above all grateful that he was awake and she was there.

“Stay,” he tried to whisper but it came out as a rasp. His eyes opened wider in what she thought looked like a wordless plea.

“I must go…” she heard herself whisper but realized she was already lowering herself back down toward him, her body not giving her mind a moment to object. Nudging closer, she carefully lay her cheek against his warm skin, her hand finding its place on his chest.

And there they stayed, under the sloped ceiling of their canvas life, their bodies easing and their breathing falling into rhythm and with every slow exhale, all regard for the world beyond faded away. Together, they again, surrendered to sleep.

@youbloodymadgenius @naaladareia @whenimaunicorn @ceridwenofwales @funmadnessandbadassvikings @didiintheblog @londongal2810 @hecohansen31 @blonddnamedhandz @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @redama @where-beauty-goes-to-die @shannygoatgruff @kittybites-94 @ivarsgoddess @lordsexmachine

#ease the dawn #ease the dawn alternate ending #Ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar fanfiction #ivar romance #ivar love #Ivar and Aethelswith

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v-velvetykisscs · 3 years

Text

Safety Net

Note: here’s the update after two months. I’m so sorry, I’ve been going through personal stuff and school has been stressing me out like crazy. Hope you like this !!

Chapter 2:

My heartbeat is ringing in my ears. I watch the figures in the passenger seat attentively, whilst inhaling deeply and exhaling once again. 10 minutes have passed inside of this car, and not a single word has been spoken by Historia or either of the people in the driver and passenger seat. My palms are moist and a warm rush passes through my body. I dig my nails into the soft, damp skin of my palms. My eyes divert to the window of the car, following the fleeting street lights with my eyes before screwing my eyes shut. I'm going to be sick. This dread has formed a coiled-up knot in my stomach, I fear it'll travel up my throat and out.

"What is this?" I state firmly.

Historia turns her head away from her black ballet flats to look at me, rigid strands of her golden hair falling onto her face. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows furrow. She purses her lips as she looks away from me.

I stare furiously into the rear-view mirror.

"Who are you guys?"

The man in the driver's seat, pushes his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose and makes eye contact with me. His dark, thick eyebrows are relaxed and his chocolatey eyes pour indirectly into mine.

"So she didn't tell you."

I've seen those eyes somewhere.

"No, why would I be asking?"

As if on cue, he stops at the red light, turning around slowly.

"She's a feisty one, Krista."

He sports a light brown messy hair-do and leather jacket as a replacement for the white shirt, brown waistcoat and black bow tie.

"What the fuck?! I recognise you, you're the bartender I spoke to back there."

"I'm Jean, Sugar Cube." he smirks, quirking an eyebrow.

I spare him a glance before waiting for the other to speak.

"And I'm Armin." A shorter, skinnier man speaks quietly before turning to give me a small smile. He has short, straw-blonde hair and dusty blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you, although this doesn't answer my question."

The red-light fades to green and Jean turns around and pushes the pedal, resuming his driving.

I focus on Historia again, waiting for her to give me a response.

"I swear I was going to tell you-"

"And I was there to make sure that she would, but when I realised you ran into trouble, I got my baby ready for a swift escape." Jean intervenes.

"Who do you work for?"

"I work at Yeager Corporations, Jean and Armin are my colleagues."

"And where are they taking us?"

"The HQ. It's the safest place at the moment." Armin butts in promptly.

"You obviously don't know the first thing about me but I would definitely feel much safer within the walls of my house."

"I'm sure anyone would, but right now we need to make it to HQ, where the boss will know what to do."

...

I eye the pair as they slam the front doors of the vehicle and walk to either side of the car to prompt the doors open for us.

I huff, snatching my messenger bag up from the floor, reaching for the door handle. I hold onto it. Jean notices and frowns a little. He speaks loud enough for me to hear him through the glass with a muffle. "Allow me." he insists. I let go of the door handle and wait for him. He moves to the side and I step out of the car. "Thank you" I fix the neat rows of cars parked opposite us instead of making eye contact.

Historia falls behind and walks besides me.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Because there's more to it."

"God you sound so morbid. Look, I've covered your ass more times than I seem to recall, so nothing you do shocks me. I know you better than anyone else."

"But this is different."

I pause.

"Different how?"

"We're nearly there, ladies."

"Alright Jean."

She wobbles forward as she tries to walk faster than before to avoid resuming our conversation. I glance at her injured foot; her ankle is bruised and battered with purple and blue. It looks as if it's swelling. I move up next to her and hold her arm, putting it gently around my shoulder to support her. I look away from her. There's an elevator. The boys pause and we walk a few more steps. Armin's finger skims over the numbers. He pushes the button. After a while, the metallic doors slide open smoothly.

Stepping out of the lift, Armin strides forward, his shoes clunking somewhat gracefully onto the white marble tiles. Jean follows quickly behind, not wanting to be the one left behind to tail the group. He puffs his chest out, straightening his posture to make himself seem taller and more intimidating. He turns and gives me a side smirk, but I scoff and roll my eyes, not allowing myself to associate with that heathen. Historia places a hand on your shoulder almost comfortingly, ushering you to follow behind Armin and that cocky bastard Jean. I exhale defeatedly, having no choice but to follow along and play their stupid little game. Historia whimpers, her ankle still being in moderate pain and currently untreated. This left her hopeless at the back, hopping along and trying to keep up with everyone else's paces. I check back on Historia every so often to make sure she's okay, and the lift door shuts, leaving only the cityscape lights to illuminate the room. I think to myself for a moment, how blindingly bright it must be here on a sunny day, the room being mostly white, and white being a reflective colour. Is that why mafia bosses wear sunglasses? I guess we'll never know. Focusing myself again, I turn back around to face the backs of Armin and Jean, whispering to one another, Armin occasionally glancing back at me.

"So.. where are we going?" I ask, feeling quite awkward being sandwiched between these weirdos. There was no response from either of them. Only the low chatter and the monotonous sound of a few keyboards typing away filled the silence. In fact, they both stopped whispering and continued to walk. I narrow my eyes, balling my hands into a fist and beginning to pierce my skin with my nails.

"Hello? I know the two of you aren't fucking deaf." This was a bold move from me, adrenaline rushing through my body as my anger levels continued to rise, them both still ignoring me. These fuckers. I look back at Historia hopelessly, asking for assistance with my eyes. She just stares back blankly at me, trying to keep her own balance whilst walking, leaving me to debate whether I should just throw a tantrum in the middle of the workroom, there and then, oblivious to the consequences.

"What the FUCK is this." I raise my voice this time, close to a yell. They both stop and look at each other, then turning back around to me. The sound of Historia's shoes stopped behind me. I gulped, looking up at the two of them. "Our workroom." Armin would finally reply, scarily calm.

Jean intervenes "It's our condo. We make business here, We drink and eat and socialise. No need to get so worked up, you little lemon. We're nearly there."

I let a short, humourless laugh escape, pulling my lips into a horrid smile. Jean smiles, unbothered by my sour attitude. "Bye Hitch!" Jean exclaims, waving at someone; a woman, in chunky, leather Dr. Martens black boots, red fishnet tights, a red lingerie silk dress with a khaki green jacket. She's carrying a black duffel back over her shoulder. She waves back at him with her free hand, smirking. "You have a goodnight" he says to himself. We make a right turn, down a corridor, past white office doors with plastic plaques. We walk past a red haired man, sliding a piece of paper with printed lettering through one of the transparent plates. "Still on prep duty I see, Floch." Jean blurts as he passes the man.

"Shut up Horseface." he retorts bitterly, sparing a quick glance at me before returning to his job. A few steps away sits a nameless mahogany door. Armin takes a nimble step forward, knocking on the door softly. When no one responds, Jean twists the door handle, leaving the door ajar. He slips through and we follow. The room is illuminated by a dim light dangling from the ceiling, above a round, oak table. The table is littered with playing cards, 3 cans of coke and 3 open packets of potato chips on the surface, crumbs splayed all over. The space smells of cheap lavender diffuser. Two people are sitting at the table, simultaneously turning their heads around to look at the commotion. One of them- a woman- with long brown hair, tied back in a dishevelled ponytail and beige skin, has potato chips crumbs on her face. Her chocolate eyes widen at the sight of us. The other, a man- has a buzz cut with prominent, light green eyes that mirror the woman's expression.

"Oh- Jean! We didn't expect you to pay us a visit. Otherwise I might've thought about saving you some of these." The woman admits, her tone guilty as she looks down at the empty, open crisps packets.

"Oh spare me the apology Sasha, these things have a lot of calories in them anyway. I was hoping you'd know where I can find Jaeger."

"Jaeger? He should be in his office, working late." The man adds.

"Thanks Connie."

Connie nods, craning his neck and swinging his chair back, his hands holding the table as he gazes at me curiously.

"Who's this?"

"Y/n, Y/n L/n." I respond before Jean can

Sasha laughs loudly, seeming to have heard that.

We've now walked back to the main lobby and steered towards a set of a coiling staircase. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing Historia's arm gently. " I'm not letting you go further in the state you're in." I eye Armin, his eyes already fixated on me. "Will you please take care of her?"

Armin nods sharply, walking towards Historia.

"Y/N, I'm okay-" She begins, but I turn around beginning to walk up the steps. "Lead the way" I ordered Jean. At the top, Jean saunters over to a pair of opaque double doors. Next to those are 3 velvet cushion chairs. I stare at him as he brings his fist up on the door, to knock gently.

I gulp.

"Come in." a voice from within says clearly, with a neutral tone.

#fanfic #snk #writing #eren yeager #eren x reader #smut #mafia au #aot s4 #aot #hot #safety net

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clarksstores · 2 years

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The Dress Code- Tips for Ladies’ Shoes

Any fashionista worth their online following will tell you that shoes can make or break an outfit. Selecting the right pair to go with your attire and the occasion needn’t be a daunting task, though. This collection of shoe tips for ladies, some time-honored, others more modern, will help you choose shoes that are fashionable, functional, and never frumpy.

All About the Context

Picking the best shoes for the occasion means a little more than whatever looks best with the rest of your outfit. While complementing the style, colours and materials of what you are wearing is important, your choice of footwear must work harder than that.

Consider the time of year, weather, and environment you shall be in while wearing them. For walking around the shops in the depths of winter, a skinny-heeled boot might look great with your jeans, but will leave your feet cold and potentially unsteady. Wider heels, wedges, and flats will offer better grip and help prevent you from slipping on icy ground. Chunkier, heavier shoes will also better hold their own alongside the heavier fabrics of the autumn/winter season.

At the same time, a New Year’s Eve party where you will be inside in the warm all night can be a great time to wear your strappy stilettos (so long as your feet can handle a full night in heels!).

What activities you will be doing is another factor you should take into account. If you’re going to be on your feet and doing a lot of walking through the day, loafers or kitten heels make for a far more comfortable choice than a higher pair of heels.

For sporty and outdoor pursuits, the appropriate footwear will not only keep you more comfortable, but should bolster your progress and protect you from injury by offering proper support to your feet during the activity, too. Think hiking boots, specialist running trainers, or riding boots, for example.

The setting of the occasion also plays a part in what footwear choices are going to be appropriate. At more informal gatherings like meeting with friends for drinks, casual footwear like high-tops can look cool and relaxed. In most workplace environments, however, shoes like that would look entirely out of place.

In fact, ‘What kind of shoes should I wear to the office?’ is one of the most searched questions relating to ladies’ shoes. Here, a more conservative approach is key, keeping your outfit smart and functional without stealing focus from the work that you are doing. Black, brown, navy, and grey leather shoes are classics of the workplace for good reason. These neutral tones work with most outfit colours and give an air of sensible competence without being too eye-catching.

Old-School Wisdom for Style and Fit

There are some age-old pearls of wisdom for choosing flattering footwear which will always hold true. In pursuit of elegance, the ideal shoe should help to elongate and slim the leg, while avoiding creating any odd proportions.

Ankle straps and T-bar shoes shorten the look of the leg by cutting across at its narrowest point. A classic heeled court shoe or ballet pump style will help far more to lengthen and slim the leg. Nude court shoes with a heel under 4” are leg-lengthening wonders, tricking the eye into thinking your shoes are an extension of your limbs.

Boots that finish mid-calf, and ultra-high heels over 4”, are both best avoided if you are looking to minimise the width of your legs. Very high heels cause the calf muscle to contract, with the effect of widening the widest point of your lower legs. Similarly, boots which finish at this point will accentuate the width- knee-high boots finish at one of the narrowest parts of your leg, and so will give an opposite, slimming effect.

Ladies with larger feet might want to avoid shoes with narrow, pointed toes, which can serve to lengthen the feet even more. Oval shoes and more square-shaped shoes will instead help big feet look daintier and more petite.

Keep it Modern with Complementary Tones

Matching your shoes to your belt, bag, and other accessories was a popular approach in the past but this can look twee and dated nowadays. Instead, try choosing shoes and accessories in different shades or tones of one core colour, to keep the outfit cohesive while avoiding looking homogenous. Picking out one colour from a multicoloured outfit and highlighting that with your shoe choice is a good way of keeping things looking harmonious and coordinated.

Your shoes should complement and not compete with your outfit. Pairing light-coloured shoes with pale outfits and darker, heavier shoes with deeper colours is an easy way to look well put together.

Similarly, bright statement shoes can look incredible with- and really elevate- a simple, pared-down outfit of jeans and a tailored shirt. Bolder, more eye-catching apparel can appear slightly overwhelming paired with dramatic, scene-stealing footwear. A more restrained, neutral-toned choice of footwear would look more sophisticated, allowing your clothes to enjoy the spotlight.

Ensuring your shoes fit properly, no matter what colour or style they are, will keep your feet secure and protected, offering support throughout the day and night. Choose to shop with companies who make shoes in a variety of width fittings, like Clarks whose shoes come in narrow, wide and standard widths, so your feet are properly accommodated and held in place.

Of course, as with all things style-related, these shoe tips for ladies are only here to serve as guidance. The breaking of fashion rules can often be part of the fun, and lead to some interesting looks, too- biker boots paired with a long floaty summer dress is a great example of this. What matters most is personal preference- what shoes will you feel happy and comfortable wearing? So, no matter what style of footwear you choose, the best shoe tip of all is to enjoy wearing them!

#footwear #school shoes #dresses #ladies shoes

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witchygagirlwrites · 4 years

Text

Cant Love You Back

*Not My Gif*

Because the song was stuck in my hand and apparently I am a fucking narcissist that loves pain so here ya go. @gottaboopthesnoot

There was a time in Kelly's life he was simply coasting through. He'd bust his ass at work then either go home to an empty apartment or go get drunk and go home with a girl whose name he had forgotten by the time he left her place.

That changed the day Chief Boden announced fifty one was getting a new addition. You stood at the front of the room as Boden introduced you. Kelly offered you his hand and from the moment you smiled at him he felt something start to flutter inside him he had never dreamt of giving the light of day.

You fit in as if you'd been a part of the team from the start. Everyone that met you seemed to be drawn to you, Kelly worse of all. He'd find himself scanning for you after a tough call just to see for himself you were fine. After shift would end he'd make any excuse to spend more time with you

--------------------

"So when are you gonna bite the bullet and ask her out?" Matt asked after watching Kelly follow you around like a puppy for two solid months.

When Kelly cut his eyes at him he raised both hands defensively "Just saying man. It's painfully obvious how you feel. I can't blame you she's a great woman and beautiful. I think she feels the same but you're her Lieutenant and she's not going to admit anything that may make her seem as if she's ladder climbing"

"That you or Gabby talking?" Kelly asked looking out into the bay where you were currently helping Gabby and Sylvie restock their rig. "Little bit of both. I'm just saying Kelly you've changed since she got here and it's not bad changes. Go with your gut. It's never led you wrong"

Kelly felt Matt patt his shoulder before hearing his footsteps walk away. Had he changed that much since meeting you? When he thought about it he didn't remember the last time he'd drank over a couple beer and he'd been content with an empty bed knowing he'd see you the following shift

You threw him off balance in the best way possible. You wouldn't blink an eye going into a fire but volunteered in the n.i.c.u. on your days off. You were a perfect combination of that fire he'd always crave and the peace that he desperately needed.

Hearing your laughter drew him out his thoughts and he glanced up to see you walking into the common room laughing about something Slyvie had said. When your eyes met his you smiled even further "Hey Kelly" "Hey Y/N can i talk to you for a minute?" The moment he asked Slyvie and Gabby shared a look then made up some excuse to be scarce.

"What's up?" You asked smiling up at him and Jesus christ he felt like a teenager with their first crush "You think you may wanna grab dinner with me sometime?" "Kelly Severide are you asking me out?" You questioned and he nearly blushed "Yeah?" You took a step closer to him and leaned up to leave a kiss on his cheek "good cause I am doing absolutely nothing Friday night and I have a new outfit sitting in my closet that desperately needs to see the light of day"

"About frickin time!" Both of you both turned when you heard Mouch who was sitting on the couch watching t.v. but it was apparent he'd seen your exchange. "Excuse me?" You asked with a laugh so Mouch shrugged "I had the two and a half month mark in the betting pool"

Your mouth fell open in shock and Kelly couldn't help but laugh when you recovered enough to say "That's it! I'm calling sergeant Platt!" and Mouch started backtracking trying his best to apologize but you winked at Kelly then ran off already dialing on your phone.

--------------------

Kelly pulled up in front of your apartment building around seven and slowly walked inside. Your apartment was on the second floor so headed for the elevator while he sent you a text that he was on the way up.

By the time he stepped off the elevator you were standing in the hall waiting on him. You were wearing black ankle boots with a black dress and a red leather jacket. Your hair was down in loose curls around your face and he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. "Wow" he breathed and a smile spread across your face "Does that mean you like?" He nodded quickly "Very much"

--------------------

The night went by too quick in Kelly's opinion. The two of you went to dinner and a movie then stopped at Molly's for a drink before he took you home. When he walked in with his arm around your waist it just felt right. Otis slid two drinks across the bar with a smile "These are from Mouch and Trudy" you leaned back in your seat and spotted the two so you raised your bottle to them with a smile then turned back to Kelly "So Severide I was going to wait until you take me home but you owe me a kiss. I mean i technically kissed you first"

"Is that right?" He asked with a smirk that only deepened when you said "oh yeah definitely. I mean I've heard that you're some sort of ladies man yet all night the furthest you've went is home my hand or putting your arm around me" he cut you off mid sentence with a kiss. The kiss was gentle, barely a brush of the lips but when he pulled back a smile was on both of your faces "So does that mean this is going to be more than one date?" He asked and was answered by you grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

-------------------------

The first time you told Kelly you loved him was after a huge fight between the two of you. You'd been staying at his place more and more so he was on the verge of asking you to move in but it just so happened a friend of yours had stopped by the firehouse to catch up. That friend just so happened to be male and Kelly's jealousy flared up.

The night had ended with you storming out of his apartment slamming the door behind you. You didn't answer any of his calls or texts and when he came over to your place you opened the door long enough to say "Kelly if you care about me at all you'll leave"

The next day he was miserable walking into fifty one. He spotted your car and prayed you'd talk to him but you stayed close to either Gabby and Sylvie or once they left on a call you walked over to where Herrman was sitting and struck up a conversation with him.

A call came out for an apartment fire with civilians trapped. Kelly was watching you take your orders from Matt and wanted nothing more than to tell you to be safe before you went in but didn't want to distract you if you were still upset. You started to walk past him but stopped just long enough to say "I love you Kelly" then jogged to catch up with your crew who were headed in. He had just a few seconds to process what you'd said before heading in the other entrance with Cruz.

The moment the building was cleared you were outside helping roll the hoses up. Kelly had just got through talking with Matt and chief Boden when he saw you. He caught your hand when you bent down to pick up another hose and the moment your eyes met his he said "I love you too. I'm sorry i was a jealous asshole. I've just never felt this way" you rolled your eyes but the smile you had told him all he needed to know even before you said "Good because neither have I. I'm not going anywhere Kelly"

----------------------

You and Kelly were coming up on your two year anniversary. Your present had been sitting in the top drawer of his dresser for weeks. Gabby had went with him to help pick out what cut and style of ring she thought you'd like and of course she'd somehow managed to find out your ring size as well.

He had everything planned. Where he was going to take you, what he was going to say. The thing about plans is that sometimes the unexpected happens.

--------------------

The call had been simple enough. A warehouse had caught fire on the south side. You'd went in with Matt to clear the base floor where a few workers were trapped. You were following close behind Matt "Fire Department call out!" The haze of smoke was bad enough you could barely see in front of you.

You took another step and heard the crack right before your footing gave way. One moment you were falling the next you felt a sharp pain rip through your abdomen. You looked down to see a piece of rebar sticking out an inch above your navel. Your hands were shaking as you touched the wound trying to apply pressure but the slightest movement ripped a scream from your lips. "Y/N!" You could hear Matt's voice and knew you just had to hold on.

A moment later you heard him across the radio "Floor collapsed. Y/N's hurt. I need assistance" when his face appeared next to you the look on your face told you everything you needed to know about your injury. "Matt if something happens. Help Kelly please" you begged him your only thoughts being what would happen to the man you loved. Gabby told you how bad he'd gotten about Shay had been killed. You didn't want him falling in that hole. "Hey don't talk like that. You'll be fine. Your anniversary is in two weeks you'll be on your feet by then"

Matt's hand found yours and gripped it tight. You could hear voices and knew everyone was working their way to you.

Kelly was fighting to get inside to your side but Boden called him back "You'll be in the way. Let them get her out then you can ride with them to med" it took everything in him to not argue. The moment he saw Cruz and Capp emerge he ran to your side feeling himself weaken when he saw how severely injured you were.

"Hey baby" you managed weakly as he climbed into the ambulance next to you while Gabby worked to stop the flow of blood. "Hey beautiful" he said with a smile that was marred by the tears flowing down his face. Every bump the ambulance hit caused a grimace to flash across your face. "Kelly I don't want to die" you whispered right as your grip on his hand loosened and the heart monitor on you flat lined.

--------------------

"If love could have saved Y/N she would have lived forever. Love from her aunt and uncle who raised her, from her family at firehouse fifty one and from her loving boyfriend. Sadly fate as it seemed had other plans. We don't know why she was taken from us so soon and as we grieve today may the loving warmth of her spirit live on in all of us she held close"

Kelly sat in the front of the church staring at the photo of you that had been chosen. Those eyes he loved looking into that never opened again after you whispered how you didn't want to die. That smile that always made even his worse day better that he'd never see again. He never got to ask you to marry him. He never got to see you pregnant with his child. He'd never get to tell you again just how much you meant to him.

He'd love you every day for the rest of his life. If only he could manage to love you back to this world then maybe his heart wouldn't feel like it had been ripped out his chest the moment you took your last breath.

#kelly severide x reader #chicago fire fanfic #one chicago fanfic #kelly severide x you #kelly severide fanfiction

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