#I love Charles if you talk smack about him in my presence it's on SIGHT

[emilythezeldafan]

Small Rant

really pisses me off when people reduce Charles Xavier to "Oh, that guy in the wheelchair with Psychic Powers who died in The Last Stand and then again in Logan."

Shut up before I send you to join the Mute-ants (credit to my mom for the pun)

[its-a-can-of-peaches-siir]

Chuck Grant

This one is a little 18 +, just a heads up

Even after two years after the war Chuck found himself still in awe of you, he still got the goosebumps on his arms when you looked at him a certain way, and he still got chills when you touched any part of him. He still found you the most beautiful women in the whole world, and couldn't believe you had picked him of all people.

Despite the fact that for the first year at Toccoa the two of you hadn't been able to stand being in each other's presence for more then ten minutes- he still acknowledged the fact that he still found you quite attractive. If anything that awareness only added to his resentment of you and anything to do with you.

You were to easy on the eyes to be as annoying as he found you. It just wasn't fair, to be so attractive but to be annoying at the same time.

To chucks disappointment he'd made an absolutely ass of himself during your first interaction- he'd been too drunk and too confident in his abilities to sweet talk women and too hyped up on his mates encouragement that he'd decided to make a move on you.

Chuck couldn't quite remember what exactly happened that night but he does remember putting his hand on your ass and getting a back hand to the face for it, And, because he was young and cocky, he'd immediately labeled you as a prude and made it his mission to hate your guts. Even though he knew that he was in the wrong. Because that's just how he was back then.

Had anyone asked Chuck back then if he'd be willing to share a home with you, let alone share a bed, he would of probably punched them in the face and he imagines that would of been your response as well.

Since then you both had come very far indeed.Chuck leaned on the doorframe of your bedroom door while crossing his arms over his chest and smiled at the sight of you.As much as you hated how open he was when admiring you, he just couldn't curb the bad habit.The vision of you so at ease was a sight to be-hold, especially after seeing you so On edge for so long.

Right now you were sprawled out on your stomach with your legs up in the air behind you, you were dressed in one of chucks old t-shirts that had stretched over time and you had black underwear on underneath and he could only just see, with woollen socks on your feet.

You had the window open letting in a gentle breeze from the spring ocean. All the lights in the bedroom were off and the sun setting outside was the only thing that lit up the room for him to see you.Your head was propped up on your hand as you took a drag from your cigarette, and tapped the ash onto a small plate beside you, the smoke leaving your lips floating above you forming a halo cloud above your head. Chuck cursed himself in his head knowing he was the reason you started smoking in the first place, you hadn't smoked before meeting him but after your second jump he offered you one and you took it without thinking, so he blames himself for even asking you.Now though he was the one not smoking and you were the one smoking."Are you going to stand there like a creep all night darling?" As Chuck refocuses he realises you can see him in the reflection in the dressing table mirror and he can hear the teasing smile On your voice.Putting your cigarette out on the plate he watches you push yourself up onto your elbows and turn to face him over your shoulder. He bites back a smile of his own as he hits the switch off for the hall way light and closes the bedroom door and makes his way over to you while kicking his shoes off."Sorry baby" he says using the terrible pet name he'd first used when he first meet you. "Was just enjoying the view" You snort a laugh while turning back to look out the open window shacking your head. "Careful buddy- my mans got a mean right hook" He rolls his eyes despite the fact that you can't see it, Stripping down to just his boxes he joins you."I don't know sweetheart" he grumbles "I've heard you've got a nasty backhand." Using his hands to map out where your legs are, he carefully fits himself behind you like a familiar and comforting puzzle piece. While the side effects of his head injury were relatively minor compared to the severity of the wound, he still wasn't always able to trust his eyes when it came to their depth perception. You didn't seem to mind his way of accommodating this certain handicap. You weren't shy to admit you enjoyed his hands on you.  With ease that only comes from years of routine, you turn your head at just the right time for him to pluck a kiss from your lips, the taste of chocolate and smoke on your lips. Chuck lets his legs tangle with yours as he rests on his elbow beside you, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of your head and keep your lips on his for a few moments longer. When you hum happily, he can't help but smile into the skin of your lips.Pulling back he rans his fingers down from your neck, down your spine and then his hand rests just above your bum, chuckling warmly when he hears a moan of relief leave your lips.

"Hello Darling" he whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps all over you skin."Hey handsome" you say with a sigh. Turning to look into his eyes you see him smile. "I missed you today" you whispered Chuck knew what you meant. After living together day in and day out for so long, coming home and establishing lives and routines of your own had initially been difficult. He always feels bad In the mornings when leaving you all alone in the  house."Such a sap for me huh" he chuckled into the skin of your neck.Rolling your eyes you turn back to the window making a sound of annoyance."Of all the idiots who propositioned me, I had to go and pick the most obnoxious—" Chuck freezes at that, furrowing his brow in surprise and using the hand resting on your back to gently fist a handful of your hair and turn you back to face him. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Your eyes scan his face and a smile breaks out on your lips. "Charles Grant is that jealousy I'm sensing?" Your voice had taken on a teasing tone, one that he loved but hated at the same time.He frowns at that, hating how you can still read him even are all this time.When he doesn't reply right away, you purposefully lift your backside and press it against him. God, you knew how to irritate him- you could be such a brat sometimes. Luckily he had learned a long time ago how to curb your teasing.Tightening his grip on your hair infinitesimally, you let him crane your head back and hiss quietly at the sweet sting of it."Darling if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were trying to make me jealous."Smirking you wet your lips before rolling your hips back up against him."Me? I'm just being honest- you can't really think you were the only one to make a move- shoot your shot if you will" Chuck feels heat curl in his stomach, shaking his head at your insinuation. When he angles your head to bite at the lobe of your ear, you tremble beneath him with excitement- your antagonizing behavior had become a strange turn on somewhere between Normandy and Bastogne. "Who?"  You didn't answer your breath hitching in your throat as you feel the press of him against your backside. You knew how much he hated when you did that- knew how frustrated your silence made him.At your silence chuck pulled away which made a whine float out your mouth at the loss of contact.Hearing him chuckle made you groan into the mattress, you felt his hands slide up your bare legs and land on your bum.Sighing as he squeezed your bum he lowered himself back down so he was hovering over your back.You felt his lips graze your ear and his breath skin the hairs on your neck."How about this Sweetheart?" He asks innocently using his hands to pull down your underwear. "I'll give you a name and you tell me if they were stupid enough to try something with you, hm?" Your groan is muffled by the mattress as your faces down into it, it's unclear to him what you said until he looks down and sees you nodding to his question.Using his index and ring finger he holds open your sex and begins to play with your clit. "Skinny?" Even with your face hidden in the mattress he can still make out the scoff of a 'no'. Good he thought, he hadn't thought Skinny would try anyway. "Shifty?"One of your hands come round to swat at his leg as you turn your face around so he can hear you more clearly."Charles you were there when shifty accidentally walked in on us having sex- what do you think?" Chuck chuckled at the memory of shifty walking in with you on top of Chuck, the poor boy almost had a heart attack. When you go to say something, Chuck smacks your ass playfully and your words were long gone in surprise. "Chuck-" "Bull?" "No. Obviously no, geez" Chuck ends up going through the whole easy company roster, he started by getting all the obvious ones out the way: Winters, Sink, Strayer, Sobel- ew, Blithe, Welsh, Lipton, Speirs.With each negative answer he lets you roll yourself down against ha hand.

The first 'yes' that Chuck got was for Talbert, which earned you a bite on your neck despite the fact that Chuck had already figured as much. Same went for Luz- which he already knew because him and George bonded over the fact that you'd rejected both of them. Then came the first surprise of the evening- Nixon.

"What!? Are you Serious Lewis Nixon?" Smirking as you could hear the jealousy melting through. "Does that piss you off baby?" Your tone is teasing but there's a hint of Curiosity in your voice that catches him off Guard.

It did in fact piss him off- Chuck didn't want to think to hard about why though.Not when you'd started this little game.Chucks hand smacking onto your backside again made you gasp and grip the duvet you were laying on. Pressing himself up against you he looks down at you rolling your hips back into him.The idea of you with someone like Nixon inspired rage and pride in his chest- anger at the fact a married man and your CO was looking at you in such manner, and pride because you picked him despite Nixon's trying with you.

"Chuck"

When he looks at your face he sees you've turned your head to look over your shoulder, your face flushed with arousal

"I want you please.- don't make me wait any longer" Well how could he say no to that, he was never very good and telling you No. The sound you make when he slips inside of you almost has him bursting right then and there- the sound so broken and full of want and lewd promise that it almost hurts him to hold himself back. Your hand has reached up and behind your head to grip his hair, pulling him down and over you in a haunting pantomime of how he'd covered you from enemy fire in the hellish woods outside of Foy. You chanting his name like a prayer, babbling as you slip into a state of carnal bliss. When he kisses you it's desperate and messy All jealousy takes a back seat to the feeling of this- your skin under his hands and your breath on his lips and the squeeze of you around him. It doesn't matter, none of those other men and their understandable attraction to you matters because you are undeniably his. You chose him- you chose him when he was the picture of health and when he was nearly dead on an operating table. You'd held his hand as he healed and you'd taken him as your husband in a shelled out Austrian church. You were his, and that was all because you wanted to be. Chuck didn't need anything more then that in life, he was happy and content.

[whenimaunicorn]

The Heart of Admiration - Part 5

Charles Vane x Original Female Character

The slow burn just might be heating up as these two disaster pirates find themselves in a Fake Marriage situation... with maybe a There Was Only One Bed thrown in for good measure. What can I say I write what I love.

Catch up on the start of the story with the links here

A/N: yes, you may find the opening scene feeling familiar. I did decide to include “Charles, Darling” as a part of Hope’s story. I hope you enjoy revisiting that that little moment and seeing what it turns into next.

“Watch your hands. She’s mine.” Captain Vane’s arm wraps tight around Hope’s waist, pulling her in snug against his body.

She bites her tongue, trying not to display either surprise or displeasure, and forces her furrowing brow to smooth. Is he really doing this right now? She hadn’t even known he was in this tavern. Although, while she fervently resents being rescued from a man’s advances in in such a demeaning fashion, it is also true that she had no idea how she was going to handle her current predicament without ruining everything by resorting to violence.

The man crowding Hope at the bar, a Mr. Fellows, takes half a step back. Vane is a bared saber all on his own, his very presence and dark look just as threatening as a pistol in one’s hand. Hope supposes this is one of those times that he is worth wielding, and she wraps her hand over his thick wrist at her waist. Sinking into him the way a relieved wife ought to, she pats the back of his hand. “There you are, Charles darling.” His breath catches at her term of endearment, and she figures he is trying not to laugh at her. “Calm yourself, I’ve barely been out of your sight for ten minutes! I know how you fret, but please, don’t take it out on this poor man.”

The less rational part of her would like nothing more than to watch Vane smash Mr. Fellows’ face in, after the things he’d been saying to her, but she could not set loose his wrath for the same reason she hadn’t been reaching for her own belt-knife: Fellows had turned out to be the contact that the Ranger’s officers had been scouring the whole of Port Royal for. Without his cooperation, this entire voyage will have turned out to be for nothing. She couldn’t let the secret fortune he had reportedly stumbled upon slip away jut because she felt offended.

Fellows clears his throat with a nervous noise.

Vane’s still staring down at Hope in his arms. She knows the mark in front of them is more important, can’t be allowed to slip away now that the game has been changed, but she also can’t quite tear her gaze away from Captain Vane’s face either. He’s never held her like this before; she’s never let him get so close. She becomes aware of how fast her heart is beating, and she’s not certain she can attribute the entirety of its pace to anger at Mr. Fellows’ bad behavior.

“N-newlyweds?” the man stutters, offering up a handy excuse. Oh, how quickly a man’s attitude can change, when a bigger dick walks into the room.

“Yes,” Vane smiles to him. It’s a false smile, wide and too cheerful, something Hope’s never seen spread across his face, but Fellows wouldn’t know that. Certainly the lopsided grin is fitting for the ruse. He hugs her even closer, his big hand spreading up the side of her bodice, and even leans in to press a kiss to the side of her forehead.

Shameless. His affection would be positively bawdy in the more respectable circles she once walked in, but it fits the dirty alehouse just fine.

She watches Fellows stiffen; Vane must have resumed his usual scowl abruptly above her head. “And I don’t take kindly to anyone bothering my wife. If—”

She cut him off before moods can sour any further. “Darling, it’s just a misunderstanding.” She turns her face up, willing him with the force of her eyes to pay attention. “This is Mr. Fellows. And he has some very interesting stories to tell.”

Vane’s brows crease; from the flash of annoyance in his face it’s apparent that at first he thinks she’s just trying to confound him. His embrace tightens, and then she sees it click. He gives the man another look. “Is that so. Well then. I’m Charles Vane, captain of the Ranger.” He extends his right hand for a friendly shake. “How about I buy us a round, and we’ll all sit and talk a while.” Even when he tries to sound gentlemanly, that scraping growl of a voice he has still sounds like a threat.

Fellows’ eyes shift back and forth in rapid thought, and Hope can see that he’s got an idea now what’s going on, that she had not started chatting him up by accident. His face starts to glower, but he’s not looking at the door so she doesn’t think she’s lost the chance at making a deal with him. She just has to change the stratagem, now, to incorporate Vane’s looming presence.

Vane signals the barmaid, and draws Hope toward an open table. His arm stays decidedly around her waist. While she doesn’t think it’s quite necessary to keep selling the marriage ruse this hard, she’s not going to ruin it by pushing him away.

It’s only after he plops down in a seat that she realizes the table he’s chosen only has two chairs. Fellows assumes the other, and to Hope’s surprise Vane tries to pull her down into his lap. He’s got a cheeky grin on his face and she realizes that all this is not just for Fellows’ benefit; Vane is having fun with her.

She decides not to make a scene by resisting physically. But as soon as she’s seated across his thighs, she looks down at him crossly. “Charles. Darling. Get me a chair.”

A boyish grin is tugging at the edges of his lips. “I thought you said my lap was the best seat in the house.”

Oh, how she wants to smack him. And yet she finds herself wanting to smile too. “Just because when we met, I was acting like an alehouse strumpet, does not mean you get the show every night.” His scarred brow raises, and she feels a thrill she doesn’t quite understand. “I am a wife now. And a ranking member of your crew. And I will comport myself as such.” She comes back to her feet imperiously, ignoring the feeling of Vane’s fingers trailing reluctantly off her body. She grabs a chair from another table and turns it around, seating herself between the two men. She doesn’t miss the knowing look that passes from Fellows to Vane. If Fellows thinks she’s a veritable ball-buster, all the better.

“You still owe me the rest of that story,” Hope says with a broad smile. She turns the charm back on, even though that’s what had gotten her a little in over her head in the first place.  She feels Vane looming over her shoulder. And ignores him. “Where was the galleon going?”

“What galleon?” Vane’s rumble rips into the conversation, and his palm slides to rest upon her thigh, just above her knee.

Fellows’s pockmarked cheek twitches, but Hope brightens her smile, and he focuses back on her. With Vane here, she realizes, posing as her husband, it’s actually safer to keep pushing that edge, to continue to use Mr. Fellows’s attraction to her to captivate him. “Be a dear and start the story over?” The barmaid slaps three mugs on the table and Hope lifts one to hand it directly to him herself. “Otherwise he’ll never catch up.” She jerks her shoulder at Vane without looking, still holding Fellows’ eyes with a grin and a mischievous quirk to her brow.

Vane’s fingers tighten on her thigh.

It’s damned distracting, that hand. Hope does her best to just let it lie there, using it, an incongruous little reminder that however much Fellows might be enjoying her saucy remarks, her ‘husband’ is still in the room. Any possibility of dalliance that her eyes might be suggesting over the rim of her cup will have to wait for another time to be made plain. But the weight of Vane’s palm never quite leaves her awareness, nor its warmth, especially not when his thumb starts stroking a line up and down the surprisingly sensitive edge of her knee.

Fellows is cautious, but Hope is ever tenacious. Vane plays his part by leaning back, oblivious at the times when he needs to be, listening to Fellows’ tale of mysterious supply ships headed toward an unknown location. His stony face brings just enough skepticism to the table that Fellows works harder to impress, divulges more details than he meant to as he brags about his lead. And Hope is right there at his elbow, encouraging his tale, imploring Vane to take it seriously until it seems that her and Fellows are a team together, attempting to convince the captain of the Ranger to believe the man’s story, and consider taking him on. Now that she’d found her angle on him, Fellows is proving to be an easy mark.

After all, they’d come to Port Royal because Fellows was not as coy as he thought he was. Rumors had spread that there was a fisherman who might have stumbled upon the location of a new British supply dump, some island so unknown and un-frequented that the Navy felt confident they could use it to stockpile munitions and other valuable sundries. This fisherman was supposedly a less-than-staunch loyalist to the Crown, and might possibly be open to leading a crew of privateers or pirates to plunder this secret location. But up to this date, no decent crew had managed to convince him, and no indecent crew had managed to find him.

“The Ranger,” Fellows says over the rim of his fourth ale, “is that a gunship?”

Hope tries not to smile too wide. Captain Vane nods.

“Forgive me, but I don’t recognize the name.”

Vane’s eyes flash, like he’s only barely forgiving that slight. “We’re not Navy. Not privateers, either.”

Hope leans closer to the fisherman, blocking her captain just a little bit from view. “We used to sail out of Nassau.” This is it, time to lay all the cards on the table, and she can’t trust Vane not to botch it.

“Used to?”

She leans her elbow on the table, settling her cheek into her hand. “For a ‘free city,’ that place was accumulating quite a bit of overhead. Quite stifling, really, in the hands of the Guthries. We prefer to live truly free; to be accountable to no one but ourselves.” She leaves just enough pause between her words to imply there might be all kinds of ways she likes to be free. “It leaves us open to all sorts of amenable relationships. Partnerships, even.”

What man could resist twin appeals to both his greed and lust? And yet she had said nothing that would bind her to fulfilment of the latter, and Vane’s presence precluded any chance for Fellows to press her into a more concrete promise. He would be enticed by hope alone, that she might be planning to meet him for a more secret dalliance, and it would be too late by the time he realized that his dream was never going to come to pass.

Fellows grins back at her. “It almost sounds too good to be true.” Then his gaze floats over her shoulder. To Captain Vane.

Of course he’d need the man to confirm.

“Seems to me,” Vane says, leaning forward, putting more of his weight on Hope’s thigh, “that you’ve been sitting on this information for quite some time. Any of the pirate crews in the Caribbean would love to know the location of this cache. There must be a reason you haven’t already sold it.”

Fellows’ eyes shine with guile. “Just waiting for the right offer.” He nods his head, indicating a table under the window on the other side of the room. “Captain Black over there’s interested too.” He leans in conspiratorially. “But I think I deserve more than just a finder’s fee.”

Hope assesses the competition swiftly: two men in threadbare coats, with shifty eyes that betray a certain lack of confidence in their demeanor. One of their mugs lies on its side on the table, unrefilled; their coin might already be running out.

Vane spares only a glance in the direction of his rivals. They’re not even in his class. He summons an agreeable smile to his face for Fellows. “Seems only fair that the man whose careful eye caught the lead should get a larger share of the take.”

Hope smiles at him. He’s picked up on the need for flattery with this one, good.

“But have you ever gone a-pirating, Fellows?” He’s leaning in, looking at him from under heavy brows. “Faced down armed men, trained ones, try to take from them what they’re willing to give their lives to defend?” His face is only a hand’s breadth away from Hope’s, leaning over her the way he is, and she finds herself fascinated by a little muscle flexing in his jaw as he growls out his challenge. “Do you know that you have the stones not to run, not to sink to your knees when your back’s against the wall?”

Fellows licks his lips, but keeps his eyes on Vane’s hard stare. “I won’t run.”

Vane inclines his head, just a fraction. “On my ship, a man earns his share. If you fight alongside us, no matter how hairy it gets when we go in there, I can convince my crew you deserve a lion’s share.” He sits back, his hand traveling just an inch higher on Hope’s thigh. “Or you can stay on board and get your finder’s fee, let us be the ones that get our hands dirty. Your choice.”

Masterful, really. Now they aren’t talking about if Fellows will hire them, but what the terms of his own participation will be. Hope’s first impression of Captain Vane was not one of any formidable wit, but she can see in moments like this how he came to be a leader of men.

Fellows seems to have taken the bait. “Is your crew ready now?”

A long rumble of thunder, too loud to be very distant, interrupts everyone’s thoughts. A glance at the wide double doorway of the tavern shows nothing but roiling clouds, and Hope wonders how she could have missed the sudden darkening of the evening sky. She and Vane step to the door; a massive sheet of rain is sweeping across the bay, the wall of clouds stretching too far for this storm to be brief.

“Don’t think you’ll make it back to your ship before this hits,” Fellows remarks, coming up behind them. “Better to pass the night comfortably here. There’s rooms to let upstairs; I’m in one of ‘em. You two might as well see if there’s another still available. I can show you the island in the morning.”

 Hours later, they thump through the narrow upstairs hallway, arm-in-arm and singing one last sea shanty as they see Fellows off to bed. Negotiations complete, there had been nothing else to do but keep drinking, and entertain their cash cow well enough to ensure he didn’t develop second thoughts. They couldn’t have him wandering over to that other table and seeking a counteroffer.

As Fellows pulls the door closed to his room he catches Hope’s eye, head cocked and an inviting smile on his face. Does he think she might sneak out after her “husband” has fallen asleep? Hope barely suppresses a shudder. Good thing they had bought the man so many rounds that he was certain to pass out as soon as his cheek hit the pillow in there. She waves him a bland, friendly goodnight as Vane’s arm about her shoulders drags her on down the hall.

Last door on the right. Hope and Vane had indeed acquired the only room that the inn had left to let for this night. And with the rain continuing unabated, they’re lucky to have it. “Here we are,” Vane announces as he fumbles with the key given to them by the innkeeper while still trying to keep a hold on both her and the lantern, “time for our honeymoon, my sweet.”

Hope grins and slaps him on the chest. She takes the lantern from his hand so he can properly work the door. “I hope the bed is big, Charles, darling, because…” she trails off as her cheeks flush hot, simply unable to finish that line even in jest.

“Would it be too much if I carried you inside?”

Hope laughs and steps over the threshold before he can try it. She doesn’t want to have to face the way all his little physical affections have been making her feel. And yet, she can’t seem to make herself ask him to stop, either.

The door closes behind them and his arm is still around her. They’re leaning against each other more heavily than they would if they were sober, Hope is at least aware of that. And Vane most definitely outweighs her. “Get your legs under you before you topple us over,” she chides.

Instead of leaning away from her, Vane wraps his other arm around her body. “I’ll keep us steady, love.”

Hope tries to ignore the escalation of pet names, holding up the lantern to get a look at their abode for the night. It’s terribly small; there’s barely space for a chair beyond the foot of the modest-sized bed underneath a single window. It seems to be no more than a glorified closet, an alcove where they probably stick stumbling patrons to sleep off their overindulgences. If they’d taken one more step into the room they would have barked their shins on the edge of the furniture.

“Mmmm,” Vane murmurs into her neck, “What is this smell?” He inhales right against her skin, and Hope wonders how much the drink has actually gone to his head. Or hers, for that matter, as she finds herself melting just a little into his arms.

“Rosewater,” she answers, her voice coming out a bit thin, “from that cargo a few weeks ago.”

She can feel the rumbling sound of recognition he makes. A sudden throb between her legs makes Hope certain she’s had too much to drink herself. Her hands want to grasp the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer, but she pushes him away instead.

“What’s the matter?” His eyes look almost sleepy; more relaxed and cheerful than she’s ever seen from the man. A genuine smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he gazes down at her across the small distance her half-hearted shove had put between their bodies. “We are husband and wife, after all.”

She wants to meet his gaze levelly, to give him the sort of plain, no-nonsense stare that usually keeps the men in line around her. As soon as she looks into his eyes, though, something catches at her, and she cannot summon her frown. How had she never noticed the sweet, boyish softness of Captain Vane’s eyes before? She swallows, and awkwardly realizes she should have said something by now, as his face looms almost imperceptibly closer. She side-steps him, spying a nail beside the door to hang the lantern on. “Oh yes. You’ve yet to apologize to me for that.”

He pulls back. She wanted him to, didn’t she? And yet her heart dips a little as she watches him readjust his expectations. “For saving you?”

Hope just raises her brow and glares.

“He had a look about him,” Vane says defensively. “You wouldn’t like where that look was leading.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the door, which gives Hope just barely enough room to step between the bedframe and him to inspect the state of the linens the bed had been made up with.

“I had him handled.” The blanket is old, but appears unstained, and when Hope turns down the sheets they smell clean. At least there’s that.

“That you did. I was impressed, really, at the way you were able to work the man. It was a real pleasure to watch.”

She risks another glance at his face, checking for sarcasm, but his admiration seems sincere.

“I had no idea you could flirt like that.” He takes a step toward her, but it’s only so he can sit down at the foot of the bed and start working his boots off. “As good as any whore I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath sucks into her chest sharply. She doesn’t have anything against the women who make their living that way, really she doesn’t, but there’s a certain involuntary reaction that comes when that comparison is made.

Vane realizes his mistake almost immediately. “I didn’t mean—” he starts, penitent face turning up to her.

“Of course you didn’t,” Hope cuts him off matter-of-factly.

“I only meant to—”

“I know what you meant.”

Vane drops his head with a pained look and focuses intently on the laces of his boots.

And that’s about the moment when she realizes that not only is there only one bed in this room, there’s barely enough space between it and the walls for someone to sleep comfortably on the floor. A claim over the best sleeping spot would have to be made quickly, and right now it’s Vane’s butt that’s planted firmly on the mattress.

In a moment of almost childish intensity, Hope rushes to sit down next to him. Can’t have his claim appear uncontested.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him turn toward her in silent question, but she focuses firmly on unlacing her own boots. Vane finishes with his and places them carefully underneath the rickety wooden chair past the foot of the bed. His jacket goes next, shrugged off and laid over the chair’s seat.

When she gets her first boot off, he places it next to his own.

“I don’t normally prefer to act like that,” she admits, now feeling a bit embarrassed about her performance with Fellows.

“I know. It’s why I was so surprised.”

“To play that card…” she sucks in a deep breath. “It’s simultaneously the most easy and the most difficult option for a lady. I generally prefer to keep a hand full of better plays. Fellows, unfortunately… I must be his type. He set the terms of the game rather early, and would not be distracted.”

“Is this going to be a problem going forward? The poor chap seems intent on coming along tomorrow, playing pirate with us.” It was in fact all he had wanted to talk about, through five more rounds before they called it a night.

Hope shakes her head. “I don’t expect it to be. So long as he doesn’t find out we lied to him for hours about our marriage.”

Vane leans back, grinning. “It would break his little heart to know that we didn’t force a voyaging missionary to marry us at gunpoint, while the men plundered his ship?”

Hope can’t help but smile at that particular yarn they’d spun. “Honestly, I don’t think he even wants to sleep with me anymore. I think he just wants to be you.”

His eyes flash with glee. “Don’t sell yourself short now, love. If he does, it’s only because being me is the only way to get into your bed.”

She can barely handle hearing him say such things, in the dim light of a single lantern, and close enough that she could reach out and stroke her finger against the stubble along his jaw. She smooths her palm across the sheets between them and changes the subject to a much more important one. “Yes, it is my bed, isn’t it.”

Vane frowns down at her hand, then the floor. He lifts his face with a cool look. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

Hope cocks an eyebrow.

“I do outrank you. Unless you want to play one of those ‘lady’ cards you’re not very fond of, the bed by rights goes to me.”

“Any gentleman would—”

“I don't believe I have ever been accused of being a gentleman.”

Hope can barely stand to keep meeting his eyes, not with the fire brewing behind those particular words, the way they’re kindling an answering flame in her own core. But she also can’t show him even the least sign of submission on this matter.

Vane interrupts their staring match by shrugging his shirt up over his head.

Hope responds by turning down the sheet and blanket, swiveling on her hip, and shoving both her legs underneath as fast as she can. She fixes her gaze on his climbing eyebrows, not his bared chest, and tucks herself into bed, burrowing her feet behind him and pulling the blanket firmly up to her chin. “You might want to put that shirt back on; the floor’s likely to be cold and none too clean.”

For a moment, he looks like a great beast about to tear out her throat. Then his snarl cracks open into a peal of laughter. Hope giggles a bit too as Vane leans forward and inspects the floor a second time. “You really think my shoulders will even fit into that space down there?”

Hope tries not to blush as she appraises the breadth of her captain’s impressive back. “It will be cozy.”

Vane huffs, tosses his hair—and throws his body down onto the bed beside her. “Cozier here,” he intones, settling his cheek on the pillow right beside hers.

She makes her face show as much affront as she can muster.

“Would you look at that,” he continues, “there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

Vane settles in on his back and closes his eyes. “Suit yourself. I’ll be asleep in about two minutes.”

Playfulness aside, Hope knows that if she kept up her insistence Vane would respect her limits. She also knows that the heaviness in her limbs means she’ll fall asleep soon too, and what does it matter if he’s right beside her or down on the floor as she sleeps off all this ale, anyway. She can even admit that the heat of his body, the grounding presence of his weight in the bed, are somewhat comforting. Distracting, vexing even if she were to think too hard about things like that, but she’s too drunk to think that hard, isn’t she. “Put out the lantern before you pass out.”

She holds up the covers for him when he climbs back into the bed. Their shoulders come to rest softly against each other’s, and Hope falls asleep pondering what might be making Vane’s hair smell vaguely of lemon and cedar.

Sorry, ending on a cliffhanger is not usual for this story, but I already have half of the next chapter written and it picks up directly from here! In fact, yesterday’s teaser technically comes from Part 6.

Taglist is open:  @ladyhubris @summertimesadness101 @acebreathesfire​@kind-wolf  @pleasemelafook-outta-ere​

[thatwritingho]

Momento Mori

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Olive had been given all of 24 hours to pack her things and make arrangements before she was flown out for her two week trial in Mordhaus. Now, after a day to settle in and go over various rules and regulations and what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of health and safety waivers, she found herself in a rather lavish, gothic styled guest room, her bags tossed randomly across the floor, clothes strung out on the bed as she fretted and mumbled to herself over what to wear for her first meeting with the band.

“I don’t want to look too formal, but I don’t want to seem too casual either, oh my god why didn’t I pack more options I don’t have shit to wear fuck fuck fuck… should I wear something kinda sexy? I want them to think I’m hot but I don’t want to look like a fucking groupie either, this is supposed to be a professional meeting after all… god damn it…”

Dark eyes shot over to the plastic tub serving as temporary housing for her ball python, and she quickly approached, popping off the lid and lifting the snake out.

“What do you think, Apophis? Is this outfit ok for a first meeting?”

Said snake was draped over her neck as she walked to the mirror, turning this way and that as she mentally critiqued every little detail of her appearance. Her makeup was done, skin appearing flawless, dusty rose and grey eye shadow with matching rosey lips, and a dusting of gold highlight to compliment her skin tone, nails done with pointed tips and shiny black polish.

Her hair was proving to be as wild and unruly as ever, natural curls refusing to be tamed and forming a large pink mass on the left side of her head, a stark contrast to the dark brown stubble on the right. She longed to be able to pull it back in a classy french braid, but exposing the left side of her scalp was absolutely out of the question.

The grey, short sleeve turtle neck was tight and hugged her curves in all the right ways, accentuating her large chest without being revealing enough to be considered inappropriate, and the high waisted, black pencil skirt with equally black belt cinched in her waist before smoothing over her hips and coming to a stop at a modest-but-not-grandmotherly length just below her knees.

She had chosen short sleeves to highlight the sprawling art that made up the tattoo sleeve on her right arm, as well as the rest of the singular pieces littered across her other arm and both legs.

The ensemble did wonders for her figure, but it was still a bit plain. Missing something.

Boring.

And that was the last thing she wanted to seem when meeting her favorite band.

“If only I could wear you as an accessory, Apophis,” she sighed, walking over to the messy, tangled pile of metal that her jewelry had become in her haste to pack.

“Now… how to spice this up…”

After much frustration and cursing herself multiple times for not taking the time to properly store her necklaces, Olive finally managed to untangle her statement piece. It was simple, but beautifully crafted; a medium sized, smoky glass pendant attached to a long silver chain, a few shades darker than her top. To compliment, she fished out a plethora of silver studs and hoops to fill in all of her ear piercings, choosing plain black tunnels to make her stretched lobes stand out.

Slipping on a pair of black closed toe heels, she did one last turn, jolting a bit in surprise at the knock on her door, a muffled voice addressing her through the heavy wood.

“It’s time, miss.”

Nerves set heavy in the pit of her stomach as she returned the reptile to it’s home, and she bounced in the balls of her feet for a few moments before working up the courage to open the door, smiling politely at the Klokateer who was stationed outside her room, the very same one, it turned out, whom had been her mystery stalker a few days prior.

“Are you ready, miss?”

Olive cleared her throat awkwardly, nodding in response as she didn’t trust her voice not to crack, and began to follow after the rather large fellow who’s name she didn’t know, heels clacking against the stone floor as she fought the urge to vomit. He had introduced himself as a number, twelve-thousand-and-something, which was honestly very unnerving, and had her questioning whether she should be working for a place that dehumanized it’s employees so, but had decidedly disregarded the matter. It was probably easier for everyone involved, with the sheer amount of people they employed, to go by number instead.

Lost in thought as she was, she barely noticed as a large, medieval style door came into view, two more large, hooded men posted up on either side, and sucked in a few, hopefully discreet, deep breaths as it dawned on her that this was actually happening. Behind that door await the most famous, most musically talented men in the entire fucking world. Waiting to evaluate her. To judge her. To decide if she was worthy of their time. Worthy of their presence.

Oh, she was absolutely fucked! What had she been thinking? There was no way in hell that she was actually qualified for this!

Stalkateer, as she had dubbed the behemoth of a man, rapped gently on the wood, addressing her before entering.

“Please wait here, miss.”

Heart slamming against her chest, pounding in her ears, stomach about to implode, a cold sweat breaking out all over, she fought the primal urge to fucking run.

God I need to get myself together. I can do this. It’s just like any other stupid business meeting. Only this time it’s with fucking Dethklok. Oh god oh god…

After what seemed like hours but was in reality mere thirty seconds of Olive trying her damndest to avoid eye contact with the two guards, the door creaked open and Stalkateer reemerged, taking up post next to one of his coworkers.

“The masters are ready for you.”

.

Charles took a steadying breath, assessing the band members in various states of inebriation before him. He had requested they be sober for the first meeting with their potential physician, so of course none of them were, although he would give them credit for all being awake and semi interested, which is more than he could typically say about their usual alertness during meetings.

“So.. you uh, you really found someone, huh?” Nathan looked at him with mild skepticism, slouching in his chair, beer bottle in hand.

“Ah, yes, yes I did. And I can assure you that she meets all of your, ah, conditions.” 

“Scho then sche’sh hot, right?”

“And knows how to, uh, like, cut up corpses and stuff?”

“She’s ams a nice ladys too, rights? One whats know hows to haves fun?”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Charles raised his hands in a silencing gesture, attempting to quiet the rapid fire questions, “why don’t you all make the call yourselves? I’ve asked her to do a two week trial, to, ah, see how she gets along with everyone. She should be here any moment now, actually, for me to introduce to you all.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, a Klokateer entering and bowing before his masters, announcing the arrival of the woman in question.

“Ah, very well. Thank you, Number 12945. You may let her in.”

All eyes turned to the door, the click clack of heels approaching the only sound in the room as a small figure appeared, dark eyes glancing over every person in the room once as she made her way to stand next to Charles, looking every bit as cool and collected on the outside as she felt nauseous on the inside.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Olive Axworthy, your new personal doctor.”

.

A deafening silence filled the room for a few moments as Olive stood before the band, all eyes on her as everyone was frozen for a beat, a bit shocked at just how very young, how very small, and how very pretty of a doctor Charles had managed to pull out of nowhere. She fought against the need to fidget under their stare, standing straight and proud with a neutral expression like she had been drilled to by her adoptive father.

“Dood. Are ya even, like, old enough ta be a doctor?”

Finally, the awkward silence was broken, Olive’s eyes snapping over to the owner of the voice and nearly squealing in excitement as she met the gaze of fucking Pickles the Drummer, frontman of Snakes n’ Barrels turned best drummer in the world, who was talking to her.

Oh sweet jesus, he was talking to her!

Respond, you idiot!

“Oh, um, yeah. I graduated early.”

Great, real articulate, Olive…

She could have smacked herself for giving such a lame answer, but he merely raised a pierced brow at her in response, and she nearly died from how ridiculously attractive it was.

“Scho are you like schome kinda geniush or schomethin?”

Dark eyes slid over to the person sitting next to the redhead, and she felt her heart flip at the sight of William fucking Murderface slouching in his chair, arms crossed and eyes racking over her body none too subtly.

Oh my god, he’s checking me out, holy fuck.

“Uh, technically, yeah, I am.”

“Huh. How ‘bout that.”

On the other side of the table, someone cleared their throat, and Olive was sure every person in the room could hear how loud her heart was pounding as she met the eyes of Nathan god damn Explosion, his broad form even more appealing in person.

Lord, how I’d love to be pinned under him…

“You, uh.. You can, like, work on, uh, dead people, right?”

Shaking off her perverted train of thought, Olive couldn’t help but smile at that, relaxing a bit as the topic turned away from her and to corpses.

“Yeah. I’ve been working in a morgue for the past year.”

“And you, like, take out all their, uh, organs and blood and stuff? You can do that?” He had leaned forward in his chair, becoming more attentive at the change in conversation.

“Yeah. I can do autopsies, embalming, cremation.. pretty much anything.”

“Oh, wowee! That ams so cool!”

Olive practically salivated at the sight of Toki Wartooth grinning at her from beside Nathan, his long, silky hair shining beautifully as he stared at her in fascination.

“Ja, how cools ams it tos cuts open people whats already died?”

“Yous ams so means, Skwisgaar! It ams too cool!”

Said blonde scoffed at Toki, fingers plucking away at the strings of the guitar in his grasp as his icey eyes sized up the woman before him, much slower and with much more purpose than Murderface had.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf. I’m in the same room as Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He’s so beautiful. This isn’t real.

Despite her Inner Fangirl blabbering away like an idiot, Olive managed to push aside the urge to jump the blonde and ride him for all he was worth right then and there on the table in front of everyone, instead shrugging as his eyes finally met hers.

“I mean, it’s pretty fun. Better than dealing with most living people, y’know?“

There were a few chuckles around the table at that, and Pickles stole her attention once more, a sexy, crooked grin on his face.

“Fun, huh? Is dat what ya cahll it?”

Olive grinned a slightly devious grin back at him, eyes glinting in mirth.

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Whoah. So, like, can you, uh, show us? Like right now?”

Nathan’s face was lit up with childlike excitement, and as she glanced around the table, so were the other member’s, even Skwisgaar.

“Sure, why not?” Dark eyes turned their focus to the suited man next to her, who had been silent for this entire exchange, and he eyed her with slight suspicion as she smiled mischievously at him. Oh god, what had he done, putting this woman and Dethklok together? And with her next question, it cemented in his mind that she was going to be nothing but trouble for him.

“Got a body?”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

[imladris-soldier]

Lashes (pt 10)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

Dutch ended up giving one of his speeches, thanking the bank crew for their contribution and efforts, urging everyone else to step up their game. Star had been sharing a log at the fire with Bill at the time and leaned into him when Dutch said their names, causing Bill to blush and look away, though she caught the smile on his face.

Spirits in the camp were high following the bank heist, and there was an air of progress that lingered. Maybe Dutch's dreams weren't quite so far-fetched as they sometimes sounded. In any case, people kept their doubts to themselves – even when the possibility of peace with Colm O'Driscoll came up.

Star had mostly stumbled onto that conversation, though Pearon's animated storytelling would've drawn just about anyone. She listened from a distance, knowing well enough to stay out of that which she did not understand. To her, the O'Driscolls were just a phantom threat that the gang muttered under their breath every once in a while. Even in Valentine she had somehow avoided running afoul of the rival gang.

“They want to parley?” Hosea called from the table where he sat with his book. “It's a trap!”

“Of course it's probably a trap,” Micah agreed, “but what have we got to lose finding out?”

“We get shot,” Arthur deadpanned.

Star went and joined Hosea at the table, glancing over at the men surrounding Dutch every once in a while. Hosea was holding his book, but his eyes weren't moving. He was eavesdropping as much as she was, and they shared a tiny smile over it.

Finally, Dutch walked over, shaking his head. “I killed Colm's brother. Long time ago. Then he killed... a woman I loved dear.”

Micah leaned on the back of Star's chair, causing her to stiffen. “As you say,” he drawled, “it's a long time ago, Dutch.”

Dutch deliberated for a long moment, eyes drifting out to the lake. With a heavy sigh, he decided, “Let's go. Micah and me, with Arthur protecting us. No one else!”

“What about me?” Pearson cried.

“This ain't the time for tigers, my friend.”

They all marched off, leaving Star and Hosea alone once more.

The woman's gaze slipped to the old man's, and she saw a profound worry creasing his brow. “What do you think, Hosea?”

He shook his head, gently closing the book in his hands. “It's a trap. We've known Colm a long time. He ain't the sort of man for peace. I don't know what Dutch hopes to get outta this, but it ain't gonna be nothin' good.”

Star looked over her shoulder, watching Dutch, Micah, and Arthur ride away. Anxiety wormed around in her chest, egged on by Hosea's doubts. She knew nothing about Colm O'Driscoll, but if Hosea didn't trust him, then she knew not to either.

“Maybe I should tail them,” she murmured. “Keep an eye out.”

“You could, but if Dutch spotted you, he'd have a fit.”

He was right, and she had no interest in bringing down the wrath of Dutch van der Linde over something like this. “Is there anything you can do besides sit and worry?”

Hosea sat back in his chair, then smiled and pushed his novel across the table. “Read a good book?”

Star chuckled and picked up the volume, examining the spine. “The Shrew of the Fog?”

“Just some crime novel Arthur found for me. You read much?”

“No,” she mused softly, flipping through the pages. “Not since school. If you can call it school. We were taught to speak and read in English. If we used Lakota, even among ourselves, we had our knuckles smacked with wood. It started as twigs... then it became sticks... then boards. Before long, the more defiant of the children were just getting beaten.” She gently pushed the book back across the table. “Never developed much of a taste for reading.”

“No, I expect not.” Hosea watched her for a moment, then reached out and pat her hand. “I'm glad you found us, Star.” He gave a soft smile before standing, stretching his back, and wandering off towards the stew pot.

Star watched him go, not even realizing that her worries had melted away. It was almost as though they hadn't existed to start with. Of course, nothing lasted forever.

Later that night, after dark, Dutch and Micah rode back into camp, alone. Star looked up from the bowl of stew she was nibbling on, eager to hear how things had gone, but Arthur's absence struck her odd. She got up and hurried to Dutch as he climbed down from The Count.

“Hey. How'd it go?”

“Worthless waste of time,” Dutch grumbled. “Talked about nothin', learned nothin', did nothin'.”

“So... are you still fighting?”

Dutch just shrugged and walked past her. She watched him go, confusion and worry constricting her breath. Micah sidled up next to her and followed her line of sight. “Thought it was gonna be more excitin' than it was,” he commented. “Don't even really know if it did anything at all.”

“Where's Arthur?” she asked tersely.

“Don't know that either. Said he would meet us at the crossroads when all was said and done. Didn't.”

Star turned to glare at him. “And you just left? You left him?!”

“Calm down, missy. He's a big boy, and he can handle himself.”

“If he didn't meet where you agreed to meet, did it ever occur to you that something might've gone wrong? Ignorant fool!” She stalked off after Dutch, calling, “You agreed to this?”

Dutch stopped and turned back, a weary but annoyed look on his face. “To what?”

“Leaving Arthur!”

“He's fine, Star.”

“But you can't know that!”

“I think I know Arthur Morgan better than you.”

Star was taken aback slightly at Dutch's tone, unaccustomed to such a bite. It must have shown on her face, because he softened when he continued. “If Arthur didn't meet us, he had reason enough, and I trust that he's got it under control. You needn't worry yourself.”

With that, it seemed the case was closed. Dutch went on his way, and Micah followed him, throwing a glance back at Star that might have been described as smug. She snarled under her breath and went back to her stew, though she had lost all interest in it.

As the night went on, Star kept her place at the table, looking up at the slightest noise outside of the camp's perimeter. Arthur never returned. Around 2am, Bill finally came looking for her.

“What're you doin'? Come to bed.”

She looked at him, then stood and started towards the horses. “Can't.”

“Why not?” he cried, following her.

“Something isn't right, Bill. Arthur should be back by now.”

“Well, you know him. Likes to stay out a long while, right?”

“Yes, but not after something like this.” She threw her saddle onto Rhiannon, pulling the cinch tight. “It's not like him to avoid camp after something so important.”

“Well... Dutch said...”

“I know what Dutch said. I think Dutch is wrong.”

Bill looked like she'd slapped him. “I... that's not... he wouldn't...”

“Arthur was the first, aside from Charles, to take me under his wing here. He's my friend. I'm going to go look for him. Now, you can either come or not, but I'm going.”

In the moonlight, one might almost say that Bill looked afraid. He looked over his shoulder at Dutch's tent, then back at Star, caught between the two forces of most influence in his life. “I... I just don't know if we should... if Dutch said...”

Star sighed, realizing that was her answer. It stung, but she understood it. Slender fingers wrapped around the edge of his leather jacket, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Keep an eye on things while I'm gone, would you?”

“I... sure.”

She jumped up, threw a glance back at Bill, then rode off into the darkness.

The location of the meet had not been divulged, but it wasn't hard to follow the tracks that Dutch and Micah had left returning. Star followed them up into the Heartlands, then found the spot they'd waited for Arthur by Twin Stacks Pass. From there, she got down and retraced the tracks to the meeting place, then back again only to realize that Arthur had split off from them at some point on arrival.

The tracks from Arthur's horse led up to a ridge overlooking the plain. She followed them carefully, Rhiannon trailing behind her. The tracks ended at a ledge, and a small stain of blood marred the rock there.

“Shit,” she breathed, crouching lower to examine it.

The sun had begun to rise at that point, sparkling a shade of orange and illuminating another set of tracks – this time of several horses from the other direction up the ridge, and then down again.

Star stood, casting her dark eyes over the plains in slight panic. “They took him!”

It took her most of the day to track the horses from the ridge into West Elizabeth, only to lose them in a wooded area. From there, she was left with two choices: go back, or continue to search with absolutely no hint of where to go. In the moment, she panicked slightly, knowing that going back wasn't really an option. She could not, in good faith, give up when she knew that Arthur was in trouble. That said, she did not know what to do next.

She did not know enough about the O'Driscolls to have any guesses where they might hole up. Even if she did, there was no guarantee that they hadn't moved house in light of everything going on. In order to feel like she was making progress, Star rode slowly south along the river, keeping an eye out for any movement.

Darkness fell as she rode, and the world around her became far more peaceful than she felt. Due to Arthur constantly having business outside of the camp, she didn't see him as much as she would have liked. He had been very caring when she first joined up, always asking after her and making sure that she had what she needed. Once she had settled in, he worried less, but still checked in. His presence meant safety and friendship, and she was not willing to let that go.

As it neared midnight, Star pulled Rhiannon up short. Down the bank a ways, there was a silhouette of a horse drinking from the river. The mist of the night obscured details, but the horse definitely did not have a rider. And there was definitely a heap lying next to it.

Cautiously, Star urged Rhiannon forward. As the horse ahead became clearer, Star recognized the buckskin coloring. A few steps more and the heap on the ground became recognizable too.

“Arthur!” she cried, leaping down and running to him.

He groaned as she rolled him over. Her eyes fell on a bullet wound in his shoulder that had been shoddily cauterized. It didn't look good. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Arthur, can you hear me?”

“Star?” he slurred, managing to open his eyes. “That you?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“It was a trap. They... took me to lure in Dutch.”

Star's blood boiled briefly. Unless they had planned on sending an envoy, their plan might not have worked out. “Ok. Well, I can't get you onto the horse without help. Can you stand?”

“I'll try.”

Star wrapped her arms around Arthur's torso and hauled with all her strength, aided only slightly by Arthur's legs. They ended up back on the ground multiple times, but finally they got to their feet. Star helped Arthur hobble to Rhiannon, then helped him get a foot in the stirrup and pushed him up onto the animal. After taking a moment to catch her breath, Star got up in front of him.

“Hold on tight,” she told him, taking his arms and wrapping them around her. “It's going to be ok.”

With a whistle to Arthur's horse, Star sped off.

It was a rough ride, trying to keep Arthur seated and conscious. Star hadn't had time to fully assess his injuries and it seemed ill-advised to let him slip unconscious without knowing what effect it might have. She tried to get him to talk to her about things, but he was in so much pain that it felt cruel to make him speak. Still, he did his best.

It was around 5am when they rode back into camp. No one had yet begun to stir, but the sky was turning grey and yellow in the east. Star slid down, then turned to try and help Arthur. He attempted to control his descent, but had lost almost all energy, so he basically crashed into her, sending them both to the ground.

“Help!” Star bellowed. “I need some help here!”

Slowly, people began to emerge from their tents, sleepily rubbing at their eyes in confusion. Mary-Beth was the first to run over, crying Arthur's name in concern. Ms. Grimshaw followed soon after. It wasn't long before Dutch came racing over with Bill hot on his heels.

“Arthur? Oh, Arthur! My boy.”

Between the two of them, they managed to hoist Arthur off of Star and carry him to his cot. Arthur groaned out a few incomprehensible words while Ms. Grimshaw soothed him. “It's alright, Mr. Morgan. You're home. You're safe.”

“Ms. Grimshaw, will you... sit with him a while?” Dutch requested.

She nodded, pulling a chair to Arthur's bedside and taking his hand. Mary-Beth did the same, but sat at Arthur's head, petting back his hair. Star heaved a sigh which brought Dutch's attention to her. “What happened?” he demanded.

She wearily lifted her head to glare at him and coldly replied, “It was a fucking trap.”

Dutch stared after her in surprise as she marched off. Bill glanced between the two of them, then hurried after Star.

“Hey!” he called, jogging to keep up with her fevered pace. “What happened? Where did you go?”

Star didn't stop until they had left camp and were on the shore of the lake where she fished. And even then, she just paced up and down the sand in rage. “I told him something wasn't right. Arthur would've died. What kind of father just leaves his so-called son?”

“Now, that ain't fair,” Bill countered, standing around the middle of her path, but keeping out of her way. “Dutch couldn't've known what happened. And Arthur can take care of himself. Weren't no reason for anyone to be worried.”

“He said he would meet them. And then he did not. Arthur keeps his word, and if he doesn't, there is a reason and it is not good. Dutch should have known that.”

“Why are you so angry?”

She slammed to a stop, clenching and unclenching her fists as she desperately tried to put words to her feelings. “Because... because I was right. Because Arthur could have died. If Dutch knows so much... he never should have ridden away in the first place.”

Bill stared at the ground as she answered, then just shrugged. “I... I still don't understand.”

Star turned to him, sagging under the weight of her exhaustion and emotions. “I'm angry... because I'm afraid. If it could happen to Arthur... it could happen to any of us. And Dutch cares more about Arthur than anyone, but... he left him. If it were you or me... no one would come for us.”

“That ain't true,” he replied confidently, stepping up to take her hands in his. “You've got me, and Charles, and Arthur. Hell, I bet even Karen would ride out lookin' for ya. I dunno 'bout anyone else, but I know you'd come for me... and that's enough. Ain't no reason to be afraid.”

Star sighed, then just walked forward until she was pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and leaned his head against hers. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Course,” he murmured. “Now, come on. Bet you're tired.”

“Exhausted.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you.” He chuckled softly, taking her hand once more and leading her back to camp.

They passed unnoticed to the tent they now shared, slipped in and shut the flap. Star collapsed in a heap on her bedroll, nearly asleep already, but she stirred slightly as Bill joined her and pulled her into his arms. She smiled, curling against him and allowing the heat from his body to leech away the aches of the last two days.

It was a troubling turn of events. Dutch's attitude felt... off. While it was true that Star hadn't known him as long as the rest of the gang, he felt volatile – like a cornered animal. Quick to snap at friend and foe alike. It worried her. Dutch was the glue that held this ramshackle family together. If he changed... everything changed.

[nolongerironicteenwrites]

charlie weasley pt. 2

here is pt. 1 if it was missed: https://nolongerironicteenwrites.tumblr.com/post/175969084629/charlie-weasley-pt-1

reader insert continued: “weasley wedding rehearsal dinner” 

Charlie Weasley x reader 

You kept frequenting The Burrow after that night at dinner. You've learned most of the family’s work schedules and you managed to befriend Percy. ‘Percy of all people’ George would mumble every time he would see. You were very pleased to know how much everyone has taken to liking you.

It was a Thursday, typically the busiest day of The Burrow but it was closed today in preparation of the wedding, it was the day of the rehearsal dinner meaning you were at home, in your pjs, drinking tea and doing some research about vet programs in the area, until your phone rang. It was Ginny.

 “He-”

 “Help me!” she cried.

 “Excuses me?” you asked.

 “I need help with makeup. Me, Mum, Hermione, and Oliver’s mum and sisters.”

  “Uh, sure? I'll be there as soon as I can.” you replied.  

You ran to your room and got dressed. You pulled on a burgundy sweater and a pair of leggings, threw your hair into a bun and ran out the door grabbing your keys. You ran down to your car and rushed over to The Burrow.

You pulled up to The Burrow in twelve minutes. You didn’t even make it out your car when Ginny rushed out the door.  

  “You look cute. Now come on!” she replied pulling you away.

  “Whoa okay. What time is dinner?”

  “Six thirty.” she replied.

Okay, so you had about four hours to finish six people's makeup. You could easily do that, think of it as your aunt's wedding all over again. You let Ginny pull you to where all the girls were congregated. You steadied your breathing and nodded to yourself.

   “Okay, here we go. Let's start with the mum’s first yeah?” you asked pulling out your stuff.  

Ginny smiled and nodded. You smiled back and began on Molly. The boys kept coming in and out of the room and asking questions. You never missed a beat. Fred hung around the most while you worked. Percy stayed locked in the room with Charlie while Oliver hung out with George and Fred playing Fifa in the den.  

With about thirty or so minutes to spare you were done.  You sat back in the chair  Everyone was ready and you were so happy.

  “Congrats again Percy and Oliver. I should really get going.”

  “Or you could stay. If you want, we insist you stay right Ollie.” Percy asked batting his eyes.

  “‘Course (y/n) you've been a great addition to our friendship.” Oliver replied grabbing Percy’s hand.

   “I'm not dressed for this.” You responded slinging on your purse on.

Ginny and the other girls giggled pulling you away  They brought you to Ginny’s room. Hermione grabbed your makeup with the promise they'll be back. Ginny combed through her closet and Oliver’s sister searched her suitcase for something to wear. Hermione did your hair. Oliver’s other sister wasn't sure wasn't sure what to do so she just sat on the bed to watch.

Sure enough about twenty minutes later you were coming out of Ginny’s room completely ready. You did feel a tad bit awkward if you were being honest. You wore a borrowed dress from Oliver’s sister, it was a dark green color with some gold threads woven in. Hermione had redone your bun and curled some hair that she left down, and you had done your makeup very natural and glowy. Charlie’s eyes fell on you as did George’s.

   “Charlie if you don’t-” he whispered.

SMACK!

    “What’s with everyone smacking George?” you asked.

    “Come on, we may just be going to the backyard but we need to get this night started.” Arthur ushered.

You linked arms with the girls and continued on your merry little way. The boys excluding Oliver and Percy, who were wrapped in each other’s presence. Fred and Ron slung arms around Charlie.

    “My brother and my friend, you know you’re marked down for a plus one right?” Fred asked.

   “So you can invite (y/n).” Ron added.

   “That was the plan, but this week I have been on Percy duty so I never really got any chance to talk to her.”

    “What we grilling Charlie for now? Coming alone?”

    “Bill!” George smiled, “How’s Fleur?”

   “She’s fine. Had a doctor's appointment this morning, she wasn’t feeling the best after, she’ll be here tomorrow.” Bill explained.

    “Is the baby okay? Is Fleur okay?” asked Charlie.

    “They’re both fine.” Bill replied smiling, “We still don’t want to know the gender till we have it, we think the baby’s a girl though.”

Molly caught sight of her oldest son and rushed over to hug him. She started asking all kinds of questions about the baby and Fleur. Ginny and the other girls eventually left you leaving you alone. You managed to find a chair and sat down in it. It was in a corner of the tent. Charlie caught sight of you alone and he rushed to your side.

     “Hey, I’m sorry I hardly got to see and talk to your today. I was with Percy and-”

     “Say no more, you had the losing end of that bargain.” you smiled.

     “You did a beautiful job with everyone. Are you going to do it again tomorrow?” he asked sitting down by you.

You nodded.

      “Well since you’ll be around tomorrow wanna be my plus one? I have been needing to ask you but since I have been with Percy I haven't gotten a chance to ask you.”  

      “Mmh sure! I’m sure everyone would love that and will be happy to hear.” you replied feeling the blush creeping up your neck.

     “Oh easily, they have been on my case since I meet you. Even more so since we started hanging out all the time and you come to dinner. Oliver has even been harassing me.” Charlie laughed, “Sh- I feel like I shouldn’t have said that.”

     “Oh master Charles, his majesty awaits and he isn’t happy.” Ron called.

Charlie squeezed your knee and gave you a sad look that spoke more outwardly than he said, then he was off. You gave him a small wave before he turned to leave, leaving you all alone once again, but excited for tomorrow.

      “Finally. I’m so happy dear.” Molly smiled.

You jumped a little when you saw Molly, how long had she been there?

      “Pardon me?” you asked.

     “I head Charlie ask you to be him plus one. I’ve been waiting for this since the first few weeks of knowing you,” she explained sitting down where Charlie once was, “He doesn’t date much, but since he connected so much with you I could only hope, like all mothers hope.”

     “I’m glad he did.” you admitted, “I think he’s great.”

     “If you only knew dear, if you only knew.” Molly smiled looking away at her group of kids that she had taken under her wing whether it be by birth, marriage or chance. She was a remarkable

     “We need a group picture!” Percy demanded laughing.

     “Come on (y/n)!!” called Oliver.

Molly pulled you to the group and Charlie took you under his arm. He posed you in front of him like a formal dance with his hands on your hips.

     “Okay 1,2,3!” Oliver’s mum snapped a picture on Percy’s phone.

      “Let’s take a silly one please.” Oliver asked pulling Percy’s ears so he looked like a monkey.

You slung your arms around Charlie's neck and looked over your back and made a fish face. Charlie just crossed his eyes and puffed out his cheeks.

      “Let’s eat!” Arthur clapped his hands.

Charlie offered you his arm and he walked you over to the table. He pulled out your chair and then his and you two sat down. The evening then commenced.

tag list: @deadmanwalked

[dweemeister]

National Velvet (1944)

Elizabeth Taylor was born to British-American parents in London in 1932 and left with her family for California given the escalating hostilities in Europe. While in America, she auditioned for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) and Universal at the suggestion of her mother’s peers – her mother, initially hesitant, came to when she believed acting might help the young Elizabeth acclimate to the U.S. Terminated from her Universal contract after one film and picked up by MGM, she was soon credited in two animal movies that cemented her status as a rising child actor in Hollywood (she went uncredited in 1944′s Jane Eyre and The White Cliffs of Dover). Lassie Come Home (1943) was released first; the subject of this write-up, National Velvet, came second. Unlike Lassie Come Home, National Velvet puts Taylor front and center in the action – an agreeable, if not overdone and treacly movie about a young girl who loves horses and will never stop reminding everyone that she loves horses. Clarence Brown’s National Velvet is a film I have long procrastinated to watch – for no reason other than its scheduling on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) several times during the year (its super-availability made me prioritize other, less-available films) – and the returns are a mild disappointment.

Based on Enid Bagnold’s 1935 novel of the same name, National Velvet sees fourteen-year-old Velvet Brown (Taylor) living with her father Herbert (Donald Crisp) and mother Araminty (Anne Revere), as well as older sisters Edwina (Angela Lansbury; who looks too mature to be the schoolgirl age that the film depicts her character to be... this is the first and only time she plays a regular, boring teenager) and Malvolia (Juanita Quigley; “Mally”). Velvet has always been entranced by horses and meets someone who will foster that love – a down-on-his-luck wanderer named Mi Taylor (Mickey Rooney). Mi appears to have a connection to Mrs. Brown, but she says nothing about it early on. Soon after, Violet will win a horse she will name, “The Pie” in a raffle. Her sights set on the Grand National steeplechase, Mi offers to help take care of the horse and train Violet. Mrs. Brown is supportive and Mr. Brown, after lending his blustering opposition to the whole idea, relents. You probably have a good idea about what happens at the end; if you don’t, you obviously have never seen an animal or sports movie (or a hybrid of those two).

Screenwriter Helen Deutsch (1950′s King Solomon’s Mines and 1953′s Lili) really wants you to know that Velvet cannot stop thinking about horses. It’s obsessive and probably unhealthy. Even if a simple conversation is not even close to equestrian sports, Violet will insert something about horses in there. Even in quieter moments to herself, the audience knows the one subject she is thinking about. Yes, horses. Case in point: in the lead-up to the Grant National steeplechase, Violet takes a bit of time to deeply sniff a collection of decorative flowers. “Horses”, she dreamily exhales. One hopes there are dedicated sections of her heart unrelated to the race she is about to run and her love for The Pie. But damn it all, let the kid live out her dream as Mrs. Brown (who has lived a quiet life after garnering national acclaim for swimming the English Channel) puts so beautifully when speaking to Violet:

MRS. BROWN: We’re alike. I, too, believe that everyone should have a chance at a breathtaking piece of folly once in... life... Your dream has come early. But remember, Velvet, it will have to last you all the rest of your life.

For these fleeting accomplishments that make up so much of human desire, it is human memory that remains when the fanfare, the event or object of desire itself, and the celebrations have concluded. Deutsch does not emphasize this critical lesson as much as she could have in her screenplay, and that is to National Velvet’s detriment. The film, which could be presented as a children’s drama, could be more honest for the younger viewers who will watch. This is not to say that National Velvet should have adopted a darker tone – no, I’m not asking to kill any horses or have Violet fall into existential despair after the Grand National – but for films like this to better acknowledge how difficult it can be to reconcile our dreams with our future when our dreams have been realized. Through Mi’s decision after the Grand National, National Velvet touches upon this. But what about the decisions and troubles Violet might face? Violet, for all her equine fixations, is about to grow into her future self that hopefully will not be too hung up over the Grand National. That adjustment can be tricky, and the film’s resolution – given Violet’s characterization throughout – is unsatisfying in that respect.

Close to twelve years old upon the start of production, Elizabeth Taylor found herself entranced with the character of Violet just as much as Violet adores Pie. Taylor committed herself to working out by riding horses, swimming, and spine stretches. With Clarence Brown (1935′s Anna Karenina, 1943′s The Human Comedy) directing and bolstered by her own personal conviction to play this role, this is a solid child performance burdened by Deutsch’s lackluster screenplay and inability to invoke any sense of depth to Violet. Is it Taylor’s best child performance? I hesitate to commit to that, given my unfamiliarity with her earliest work. The other great performance in National Velvet is by Anne Revere (1943′s The Song of Bernadette, 1951′s A Place in the Sun) as Mrs. Brown. Revere’s character is the film’s sage – hackneyed fixtures for any animal or sports movie, but unusual in this case as it is a woman this time – and she only reveals herself incrementally. We know of her past glories, but her opinions towards Violet’s aspirations are not stated until shortly before the Grand National. Revere plays a mother curious about her child’s dreams, willing to stand aside and observe her daughter’s and her husband’s reactions, only wanting what is best for her child.

Mickey Rooney (Andy Hardy series and innumerable MGM movies, 1977′s Pete’s Dragon) is the only actor not attempting an accent and, goodness, is it distracting – if you think Dick Van Dyke’s failed Cockney accent in Mary Poppins (1964) is terrible, think again. Aside from his elocution, Rooney is serviceable in summoning Mi’s brokenness when he needs to. This is not vintage Rooney and fans of The Black Stallion (1979) will notice many similarities between Rooney’s performances in both films, but this is one of his better dramatic performances from his Studio System days if one ignores his antics during the Grand National scene – a drama-killing decision from Brown and Deutsch.

Less convincing is another veteran: Donald Crisp. Usually it is the mother or maternal figure that frowns upon their child’s love for animal. That is not the case in National Velvet, as Crisp (1941′s How Green Was My Valley, 1960′s Pollyanna) plays a smack-talking father unruly in his words and with seemingly no regard to his daughter’s feelings until the final half-hour (his catharsis is too abrupt, given all that he says). Crisp’s frustrating performance barely modulates, never breaking from the archetype of unsupportive father.

National Velvet reaches technical heights during the Grand National where Leonard Smith’s (Lassie Come Home, 1946′s The Yearling) cinematography and Robert Kern’s (1939′s The Women, 1952′s Plymouth Adventure) editing combine into one of the more thrilling race scenes captured for a Hollywood movie of that decade. Besides that, the Technicolor coastlines of Pebble Beach and Monterey, California might not be truly English, but the film always looks best during outdoor scenes away from the Brown household. Herbert Stothart’s (1940′s Waterloo Bridge, The Yearling) adaptation score works is overly reliant on British folk songs, particularly “Greensleeves”, to be of much musical interest.

Brown’s adaptation of National Velvet is remarkably disinterested in the details of how to take care of a racehorse and the training regimen involved for horse and jockey. However, its depiction of the Grand National is a precise recreation of the actual course. Beneath the film’s surface, Elizabeth Taylor wanted to keep the horse that played The Pie despite falling from him and breaking her back while filming the racing scene – this caused back problems for the rest of Taylor’s life. In his only film appearance, the horse, named King Charles, certainly had a racing pedigree. King Charles’ first cousin was Seabiscuit and his grandsire (equine lingo for paternal grandfather) was Man o’War, who won two Triple Crown races in 1920 – the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes (Man o’War did not race the Kentucky Derby).

For cinephiles and classic movie fans, National Velvet’s popularity and the presence of so many incredible actors (not necessarily their performances) is what makes it recommendable, if nothing more. Though it is not without considerable flaws, National Velvet is also an ideal film to introduce children to classic movies. It is wonderful, the film says, to have what others might deem to be follies, as long it does not harm oneself or others. Moving on, too, is just as important. For parents with young children, have a talk with your kids afterwards so that they might remember the film’s central message about going forth in life after completing a dream (because National Velvet does a poor job of discussing those ideas soon after the Grand National concludes). Be supportive of their healthy desires, and may they do what they want to do with all the enthusiasm Elizabeth Taylor (and Violet) put into this film.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

[riverofmemoriesft]

. Between the Lines . 198

Lucy found herself dancing with everyone during the party - almost everyone, anyways. Loke didn't show up despite having promised he would.

Gray cut in despite Natsu's protests. Jellal offered a dance when Erza demanded one with Natsu and he'd been surprisingly good at it, keeping up with her brisk pace. Sting and Rogue had each taken a turn, Rogue surprisingly playful despite his usual serious attitude. It had been awkward at first, remembering just who had caused their destruction. But she'd gotten over it.

She danced with Cana at Cana's insistence, and playfully whisked Asuka around. Happy had shyly asked much to her excitement.

She'd danced with Elfman and a reluctant Cobra, who Kinana had insisted dance with Lucy on the grounds that he owed her a dance for getting his name cleared.

Lyon had interrupted when Gray had danced with Meredy, and even a surprisingly willing Laxus had shown up at one point. Mirajane had been delighted and endlessly praised him when he'd returned to her and Lucy silently watched with amusement as Natsu placed a hand irritably on her waist, not pleased that everyone else had gotten more time dancing with her than him.

I bet Laxus did that on purpose to get Mirajane's favor, she accused silently.

Natsu puffed out a cloud of smoke into her face to get her attention and Lucy waved it away, giving him a sharp look before frowning. She suddenly smacked her hands over Natsu's cheeks, gently wiping with her thumbs beneath his eyes. "Is this...makeup?"

"Lucy-"

"Natsu," she said softly, her eyes widening at the black shadows she saw. Now that she looked closer, she saw his eyes drooping, his entire body ready to crash. He was exhausted - more than exhausted. He could have slept for days.

Yet he was here, trying to make her happy and swing around with as much as energy as he could exert.

"Natsu," she repeated, her voice surprisingly sad. His gaze flashed with panic and then settled on anxious. "You haven't been sleeping?"

"Couldn't," he rasped. "Nightmares."

She smiled sadly and glanced over her shoulder at the party that was taking place. No one else seemed to notice them except for Mavis, who wore a look of understanding - and longing. Lucy frowned a little. Did Mavis want to speak with them? She'd find out later.

"Why don't we head out?" Lucy suggested. "My feet hurt from these heels."

He hesitated. "Okay," Natsu agreed. He let her tug him by his hand out of the party and back into the fresh air. He made a face when they passed a couple that had hidden in a corner to make out. Ugh.

He'd never dream of doing that with Lucy in public.

...well, he'd never act on those dreams.

They entered the gardens after a few minutes of walking. Lucy was quiet, her fingers tangled in his, and he looked at their clasped hands with a thoughtful look. He could see the choker she'd chosen from his hoard wrapped around her wrist. His eyes lit up a little at the sight of it.

She never took it off, and it made him happy to know that there were fragments of his father's magic hidden within it alongside his own. She was protected mentally by it at least.

Suddenly, Natsu tugged Lucy to a stop. She glanced back at him and his heart swelled once more at the sight of her. He'd never thought of how pretty a girl could be. Not until Lucy had shown up and completely uprooted everything in his life. "Want to look at the gardens since they weren't wrecked?"

She frowned. He worried that she'd disagree, that they'd seen them before, but she shrugged instead. "Sure," she agreed, arching a brow.

He beamed, giving her his brightest grin.

After a while of wandering through the gardens, they headed back to where they were camping out. Jura had kindly created shelters for everyone to change in the night before, for after the party, and Lucy took advantage of one now.

Natsu pouted when she came out in some comfortable shorts and a tank top. While he thought Lucy to look nice in everything, he'd liked the colors on her.

"Alright," she said sharply when he'd changed too. "Talk. I want to hear why you aren't sleeping."

So much for avoiding the subject.

Natsu grimaced. He scrubbed at an eye with a yawn as he thought of what to say and Lucy waited patiently after settling beside him. Happy had agreed to stay with Wendy for the party, and she had no doubt that Wendy would bring him with her and Charle later.

Suddenly, he shook his head, his breath catching. "Luce, I can't. Please. I'll...I'll talk about it later. I don't...Luce, I don't want to…" Just the sudden idea of all of this, of explaining that when he was sleeping he saw things that tore him to pieces-

Frowning when she heard him begin to breathe harshly, his heartbeat picking up, the way his face was suddenly stricken with panic, Lucy nudged him lightly. "It's fine. I don't have to hear them now. But I want you to get some sleep. You'll crash and hurt yourself if you don't sleep soon."

He hesitantly nodded and relaxed after a few moments.

He took a deep breath and then glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. Lucy had her head tilted back, her eyes scanning the stars above their head. She was mouthing words - Zodiacs and her other keys, as she looked for their constellations. She'd worked hard with Loke and Aquarius to study them.

"Are you okay?" he finally mumbled. She glanced at him. "You didn't...say everything. About what happened when you were with…"

Lucy pressed her lips together. She thought over this, remembering the dark look in the future Natsu's eyes, the way he'd smiled so lovingly.

Zeref.

He was the one that haunted her dreams, he and the demon. She remembered the shocked look on the future Natsu's face when the demon had ripped its clawed and taloned hand through his chest and crushed his heart. She remembered how Zeref's fingers had gripped her chin painfully-

"Luce?"

"I watched him die," she said finally. "Your future self. Not like...when the Gate was destroyed, he disappeared and he told me goodbye. It was just...he had your face. And I knew you were okay, but…" She took a deep breath. "And we fought...we fought…" She couldn't bring herself to say. She didn't dare tell him that Zeref had come back.

That Zeref wanted something she knew nothing about yet seemed to have.

"You fought…?"

"Nothing. It's just I've been thinking of the future people a lot." Lucy changed the subject quickly. "Do you think they're happy? That they found one another in wherever they went to?"

Natsu leaned into her shoulder and buried his face in her hair, taking comfort in her warm presence.

"I think they're happy," he told her, closing his eyes with an exhausted sigh. "I think they found one another, Luce."

Without further ado, he pulled her down to sleep and curled himself happily around her. She squawked in protest - "It's too hot!" - but he ignored her.

And he slept.

His eyes fluttered open to blue skies and gently swaying golden wheat over his head. He blinked blearily, watching a beautiful white fluffy cloud roll across the sky. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

Where am I?

With care, he sat up. He was confused, he realized. Exceptionally confused. Really, really confused. The last thing he remembered was her, the girl he'd loved so fiercely yet couldn't touch. He remembered tackling her out of the way of Rogue's attack, of watching her future self die in front of him, and a lump rose in his throat.

Lucy.

He wanted her. He remembered her from before he'd lost everything, before he'd learned the truth of himself. Her warm smile and her loving touch. He knew he'd been older, that magic hadn't been revealed like it had in the next few experiences. She'd been older. He'd loved her fiercely.

He gave a ragged gasp as tears gathered.

He remembered being anxious that day, snappy because he'd been terrified. He'd been intending to demand she marry him. Because why not? Why wait?

He'd never gotten the chance to.

Magic had been revealed that day. Acnologia had come and broken everything. He'd come and ripped everything he'd known and loved to shreds. Lucy had survived the initial attack, but when Rogue had lost Frosch and killed Sting and Yukino - because he'd taken both of their lives that first time - he'd lost his mind. He'd killed her, too.

It was when Igneel escaped his confines that he'd learned the truth.

He'd used that information to break through, to slip into the past.

Where he'd screwed it up.

Lost her again.

And again.

And then again.

Thousands upon thousands of attempts ended with her and eventually himself dead, but he kept trying, because she was worth it.

Finally, he had won.

But he was without her.

"Natsu!"

His head snapped up, heart skipping a beat. He shot to his feet, staggering. And then he turned and he saw her.

She was just as beautiful as she'd been the day he'd lost her. She was smiling warmly with those big brown eyes glittering with unshed tears. Wordlessly, Lucy Heartfilia threw her arms out and he gave a sob, barreling into them. He wrapped his arms around her and they tumbled to the ground. Laughter from his nakama rang out around them, but he didn't care.

For the first time in thousands of years, he kissed Lucy.

And he was at peace.