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chick-from-nz · 4 years ago

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Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 7)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually)

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk, spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC

AUTHORS NOTE: ok so idk how good this is, kinda just word vomited onto the page, tryna generate some emotion in there but lets see how it goes, thanks for reading peeps. I know I said I wasn't gonna post but middle of the night inspiration stuck so imma keep writing this

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

CHAPTER: 7 OF ?

TAG LIST(OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The drive to the teams new base of operations was by no means short. While still being on defence land they were nearly three hours away from the main base, located in a flat valley in the hills and surrounded by greenery and training equipment. Ash had been here once before during a cadets course many years ago with her father, but it was vastly different now. The house had changed drastically from what used to be multiple cabins to what was now a single stand alone one story place. However while the accommodation had changed the grounds had stayed the same. There was an assault course set up that flowed into the trees to the south of the house and there was a pool to the west of the house, all in all, it was nothing to complain about.

The house itself was relatively modern, having been rebuilt within the last few years or so. The entrance was sealed by heavy wooden doors that required a pin in order to access. Upon entry Ash took in the place, it was actually really nice. It was open plan living, the kitchen was directly to the right as you came in the doors, nice wooden benchtops and crisp new appliances. Directly in front of the breakfast bar sat the living room. Three nice couches surrounded a rather large square coffee table, laden with maps. The fireplace that the couches faced was made of a slate grey stone and sat underneath the rather large tv. To the right of the fireplace was a door that she had been informed led to the only bathroom in the house that held a shower, while to the left of the fireplace was the door to Ash’s room.

Across the small hallway was the Colonels room, which was attached to his office that was on the far end of the house. At the end of the small hallway was an open archway that, from what she could see, led to a gym. Stepping further into the house and left from the kitchen Ash noticed another two sets of doors. One that led to the boys room, containing four single military style pits and separate draws for each of them, while the second door opened up onto the workspace for them all, which had a door in the back right corner that opened up onto Carrillo’s office. All in all, Ash couldn’t find a single fault to the house, okay perhaps one bathroom to share was gonna be a little tough.

She was startled from her thoughts and exploring when Carrillo called out to her while making his way to his office. “There's some food in the fridge and everything is pretty easy to find so make yourself at home, the boys should arrive in around about five weeks. You’ve got the single room closest to the bathroom” Ash nodded in thanks and watched as he disappeared into the teams workroom, no doubt going to his office to work through the enlistment papers for the rest of the team. Ash didn’t waste much time going to her room, she could eat later when hunger eventually struck her, she was miles too tired from the drive here and sore from moving about so much. Her room was nice. A large double bed sat in the middle of the room encompassed by grey side tables, each sporting a small lamp. In front of the bed sat a tall set of drawers and a small bookcase. Very homely indeed, thankfully, cause god only knows how long the team would be confined to the house doing research and/or planning and training for future raids.

Ash barely gave herself any time to get changed, haphazardly pulling on an oversized shirt and a pair of comfortable gym shorts, before she all but launched herself onto her new bed, grunting in pain when her left side made contact with the bed a little too harshly . She moved onto her back sinking deep into the comfort of the mattress. The bed was like heaven for her after sleeping on either a creaky army pit or the ground for the last twenty some weeks. If this is what she had to look forward to everyday her enthusiasm for work was about to increase ten fold. The moment her head touched the pillow she was out like a light. Thankful for her own space and a bed big enough to move around on and toss and turn how she used to.

-------

As much as Carrillo enjoyed the rank he was and the respect that followed his name, the paperwork at this level was a nightmare. Especially due to the complaints Sinclair had lodged against him due to the incident at the base hospital. Having to describe in detail the events that occurred between that despicable man and the young officer a mere few rooms over made his blood boil, yet again. He was starting to understand the warnings that came with being posted here, apparently work affairs between ranks wasn’t a condemnable act like it was back home in Columbia. An odd world indeed. Still, within his team he would not tolerate any kind of fraternization, hence his decision to cram the boys into one room together and give Greyson her own room, partly for her own privacy but also for his peace of mind.

Pushing the paperwork to the side of his desk, he sighed. That damn soldier might well be the best thing for the team but she sure came with some complications. He’d done extensive research into his team members upon his arrival to the base, most came from non-military backgrounds, a solid high school education or higher, and most but not all had been serving for at least four years and had seen some kind of fire fight. Then there was Greyson. Military background with files upon files that had been redacted and unable to be accessed by anyone in the force, no matter how hard he’d tried. Only the most basic of information could be found about the young soldier; graduated school with honors and received many scholarship proposals but turned them down, participated in many extracurricular activities before and after her education, applied to join the army as both a regular soldier and an enlisted officer as her father had served but yet again, any information surrounding him and his career or rank had been redacted. A Lot of mystery surrounded this soldier, a mystery the Colonel found himself wanting to solve, even if it did go against his own rule.

------

When Ash awoke the room was bathed in light from the full moon outside, the sounds of the bush were a welcome homely feeling for her, nature was her comfort. She went to sit but was struck with immense pain. Both her stab wound and head injuries were sending waves of pain throughout her body, making her vision temporarily blurry. The need to puke was high but Ash pushed it down as far as she could. She was hungry, in pain and now cranky, she just hoped her medication would be easy to find in the kitchen. Stumbling like a newborn deer she tried to shake the dizzy feeling from her head, this concussion was a pain in her ass, but the medics did say the symptoms should be gone within the next few weeks, until then Ash would have to put up with feeling sick and dizzy sometimes. Celebrating when she finally made it to the kitchen without falling on her ass, she then struggled to find the lightswitch, now that was one thing she really should have paid attention too when scouting the house when they arrived.

Having located the switch and turning on the lights she winced, they were just that tad bit too bright for a tired concussed brain. It was when she turned to grab a glass of water to quench her thirst that she noticed a glass already laid out on the bench, with what looked like her meds already measured out beside it and a note beneath the glass. Either she was hallucinating or the stoic Colonel had laid this out for her. Gripping the bench as tight as she could as another wave of nausea overtook her sense she moved closer to the glass, there were her meds. Perfectly placed atop a piece of paper that was covered in a rather elegant script. Each pill had the name and the purpose written next to it and at the bottom of the note were the words “Dinner is in the fridge, eat first. That's an order”

Ash scoffed a little at the note, of course he’d write that, seemed the man was more by the book than she thought. She was silently thankful for his detailed note explaining her meds, if she had to pick them from the bottle she wouldn’t have known what to take. Opening the fridge and grabbing out the only covered plate she was surprised to find that the meal looked home cooked, Did this man really cook dinner? . It was safe to say she was shocked by the thought but proceeded to microwave her dinner anyway, leaning against the bench to keep herself upright, lest the Colonel come into the kitchen later in the day and find her sprawled out on the floor.

Ash all but devoured the food when it was ready, not waiting for anything to cool down, she was far too hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, or the last time she ate this good. She never would have guessed that Carrillo was this good at cooking, like sure she’d guess he cooked, but this was some next level stuff. Finishing her meal and cleaning up any mess she’d made was an effort at best, the dizzy feeling was getting worse every time she moved. Quickly she gathered the pills from the bench and downed them in one gulp, chasing them down with water, she hoped at least one of them would help with the horrible dizziness and the nausea that accompanied it. The need to sleep was beginning to overtake her again, something she figured would be common while she was recovering, as much as that might annoy her she’d be thankful for the rest.

Like clockwork she yawned, stretching her arms above her head in an attempt to shake the sleep from her body, only to regret the motion a few seconds later. The stitches in her side had pulled impossibly tight at being stretched, her side felt like it was on fire. She reached down to grab her side in pain and pulled her hand away at the warm feeling. Glancing down she noted the rapidly growing red spot seeping into the gauze pad. Of course she had ripped her stitches, she'd been warned by not only the medics but also Carrillo to not move around too much due to her side. Seems she really hadn’t been listening to the warnings. Deciding that she was entirely too tired to deal with the result of her stretching Ash just walked as calmly as she could back to her room and clambered into bed. There was always tomorrow to fix this. And with that, Ash was quick to fall back to sleep, her medication no doubt aiding her plight.

------

It was the smell of freshly made coffee that had Ash climbing from her bed and shaking off sleep the next morning. Her medication had definitely kicked in, she could feel no pain from anywhere in her body and the nausea had disappeared finally. To her surprise, Carrillo was standing in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and simple white t-shirt that was entirely too tight, not the Ash was complaining cause the view from her vantage point was amazing. If Ash believed in a higher power she woulda thought that the gods had gifted her with the man standing in the kitchen. No man had the right to look so sinfully delicious in a simple white shirt like that. It was so tight that it clung to his sculpted upper body and left very little to the imagination The thin shirt was stretched thin across his chest, pecs struggling to stay contained. The fabric was stretched tight across his broad bulky shoulders, his biceps straining against the confines of the sleeves that were sure to tear if he were to flex just the right way. He reclined against the bench facing her but was wrapped up with whatever was on the tv. Ash was obvious in her gawking so it was only a matter of time before his eyes fell to her. When they did, his eyes widened comically in shock. Ash wasn’t sure why until his eyes travelled down her frame and landed on her side before a look of realisation overcame his face.

He took a few quick paces towards her before turning to his right and disappearing into the bathroom with a look of determination on his face. Ash paid him no mind and made her way to the kitchen counter to pour herself a coffee before taking a long pleasant sip. It was a mere minute later that Carrillo was standing in front of her, a med kit laid out on the bench and an expectant look on his face. She looked at him long and hard before realising he was speaking, she gave him a questioning look, tilting her head to the side, before she heard him huff and repeat what he said.

“Greyson, I asked you to take of your shirt”

It was Ash’s turn to gape at him, the audacity of this man, why would the most by the book man she’d ever met be so unprofessional. “Excuse me?” the disbelief in her words made him roll his eyes, if she wasn’t so confused right now she probably would’ve gone off at him for that.

“I don’t know what activities you got up too last night, but you’ve obviously torn through your stitches, despite the warning from both the medics and myself” He said with a small amount of annoyance while pointing at her side. Now that Ash looked down she realised he was right. Blood had well and truly soaked through her bandage and through the shirt she wore to bed, She was unsure how she didn’t notice this sooner because now that she was seeing it with her own two eyes, it was pretty obvious.

Begrudgingly she pulled the shirt over her head, unsure as to why she had to take it off completely before coming to the conclusion that the shirt probably should be washed. She had a second to drop her shirt before Carrillo was standing a mere few inches in front of her, slowly peeling the bandage from her skin before inspecting her wound, Since when was he a medic?, that thought had her laughing silently, or so she thought. Being this close meant that he heard her laugh so she was met with a raised eyebrow and a bored expression on his face, that surely ended her laughter. She was silent while he worked, wincing occasionally when he prodded a little too hard to see her reaction.

“You’ll be fine if you rest for the next few days, you tore the bottom few stitches. Don’t do anything stupid and the wound will be healed on time” His tone was definitive and the order was clear.

Ash groaned and rolled her eyes, a brave thing to do this close to the man. He handed her a bandage then turned around to pack away the supplies from the kit. She quickly fixed the bandage and took off toward her room, coffee abandoned on the bench, she was well and truly awake now. New shirt now acquired and covering herself she returned to the main room, Carrillo now vacant from the space and probably in his office working. She snatched up the tv remote and flicked through the channels, settling on an old war movie before curling onto her side to relax.

She woke hours later, the movie long since ended and the daylight now darkness. A blanket had been draped over her in her sleep and her dinner was sitting on the coffee table with a glass of water and her medication beside it. She would forever be grateful for the subtle ways the Colonel looked after her, even if he would never admit to it. She at least knew he cared enough for his team that he’d go out of his way to make her feel comfortable and like she belonged, even if she was new to the force.

-------

Aside from the incident in the kitchen the rest of the week went pretty smooth. They’d developed some semblance of a rhythm. Both woke early, whoever made it to the kitchen first put the pot of coffee on and poured a cup for the both of them, conveniently they preferred their coffee the same way. Black with no milk or sugar. Then they usually sat at the kitchen counter to eat breakfast, cereal for Ash and whatever Carrillo cooked himself for breakfast, Ash really wasn’t one for a big meal in the mornings. After breakfast the Colonel usually disappeared into his office to work and the younger officer would clean up their dishes and then hog the shower for as long as possible, soaking in the opportunity to have a warm shower all to herself without limits. Ash would spend most of the day watching tv or reading one of the many military inspired books that occupied the wall mounted shelves on either side of the tv.

Carrillo would emerge from his office around sixteen hundred hours each day, and proceed to cook dinner for the both of them. Ash had tried once but burnt the steak and been deemed too inexperienced and untrustworthy in the kitchen, something she was silently glad for cause the Colonel was a better cook than she ever could’ve hoped. Again Ash did the clean up, a fair trade off for not cooking, while Carrillo once again disappeared, this time to the gym or for a run around the perimeter of the property along the treeline, a sight Ash loved to enjoy. Only twice he had stayed to converse or silently watch the news beside her. Then like clockwork they would bid each other goodnight and retire to their rooms.

Everything was going perfect, the routine now something established and easy to work through, even if Ash did complain about being on couch/bed rest until either the medics cleared her or the Colonel deemed her fit enough to begin easing her way into training. It wasn’t until the Wednesday of their second week together that something changed between them, something Ash looked back on with a smile on her face and made Carrillo have conflicted feelings and wish he had just stuck to their schedule they had so easily adapted to around each other.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio Carrillo x oc #paper scissors rank #modern au #chapter 7

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joelmillerthirstqz · 4 years ago

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Fill for this ask~

(slight liberty taken with request for reader to get excited about the shop; Ellie's working through sixteen-year-old, new-to-commitment-as-a-concept with Cat, pre-dina tattoo girlfriend, so i went with that)

Joel, y/n, and Ellie are all out on patrol and come across a small town. In the town, there’s an abandoned wedding dress shop. Y/n gets all excited and goes inside to see there are untouched wedding dresses. Joel’s slightly annoyed when y/n and Ellie want to try some on for fun. But then he sees y/n in a wedding dress and realizes he sees her as more than a friend.

yeah, of course I wrote with reference images up:

texture/sheerness/skirt shape/front dress ref back of dress ref, specifically the window-back with the little covered buttons up over the lower part of the hips

[I evade y/n as a convention like the plague, it’s really immersion crushing for me. However, I’ll edit it for your OC’s name if you hit the ask box, so.]

There's already a second chapter if you we want to get into this, comment or kudos and I'll get brave!

----

Ellie grimaces, scrunching her whole face. She looks across the main street of the town you’d come to scout out, Joel taciturn on his horse a few yards away, scanning storefronts and alleys.

“What?” you jerk your head to her sightline and back at her, unholstering your revolver on reflex. Your horse snuffles below you, hoofing at the ground. You can never tell if the creature is clueless, indifferent, or confident in his rider, but he would certainly be perturbed if there were infected.

“Dude, people had whole shops just for weddings?” Ellie asks, snorting derisively.

You follow her extended arm to the storefront she points to, a frilly off-white dress draped over a sunken model, glass from the smashed display window embedded.

“I mean, you had to have seen them in Boston, plenty of bored people with money,” you supply warmly. You’d grown up there, a cataclysm between the city you’d known and Ellie’s birthplace. Weddings were for people who’d given up, who’d aged out of chasing their dreams, settled into dull domesticity. People, usually the woman-coded partner, whose parents had quarter of a million to drop on a party with lifelong implications.

You’d been a little relieved when social ritual had been mostly taken off the table by the apocalypse, so the wedding pressure never reached you. Hadn’t thought about the concept in years.

You wondered who in Victor, Idaho, just over the border from Jackson, had kept a bridal shop open even before the outbreak. The demand just couldn’t match thousands of dollars of dress.

“Oh, no,” Ellie said softly.

“Well, it was a whole thing. Get some champagne, drag a bunch of girls with you, try on all the shapes and get yelled at by your mom, make jokes about the wedding night. Mostly pointless rituals,” you explain.

“You ever go to one?” Ellie asks.

“I mean, I was my cousin’s bridesmaid, so I got drunk in one and shoved into a blue satin thing, if that counts,” you clarify, shifting in your saddle.

Ellie nudges Shimmer forward, Joel drawing up to your position with a helpless shrug to you.

“It was strange. Were you in Jackson for Tommy’s?” you ask. Maria and Tommy still have that thing where they see each other and tune everything else out, even for a beat, seeming like every sense recognizes the other, no matter what else they’re doing. It feels so belligerently normal, and you watch the younger couples in the town taking note to emulate it, like they knew what they were doing because they were born before.

“No,” Joel says, looking wistful. “Seen pictures,” he adds.

“Imagine they were a bigger deal in Texas,” you say, your horses trotting a few paces behind Ellie.

Joel looks at you, face cycling through the decision to keep speaking, the same circuit you always saw him loop before he bit down on a memory and fell silent. You let the afterimage of a smile cross your face before looking down, feeling like he needs the same privacy he’d proven skilled at respecting in your own expression.

—Yesterday—

“Ask you a favor?” you feel your bones leave your body and slam back into place with fear, registering Joel’s low drawl. You’d groggily found your way into the stables to start patrol, hoodie tucked over a beanie, praying not to be seen. Nobody was supposed to be awake this early—you were avoiding a less experienced, loquacious patrolmate you’d been sentenced to and your throat clasps around itself to find that the previous night’s team, Joel’s, was only just returning.

“How bad was it?” you tip your head at the blood spatter on the side of his jacket, reddened bucket and sponge set where he’d been cleaning the infected byproduct off of his horse.

“Oh, I straggled, rest gone home. Patrol route’s quiet now, though,” he non-explains. You’re not sure if he’s trying to keep his voice low out of respect for the early hour or if that’s just his usual rumbling tone resounding it in the stark, chilly air.

“Mhm. What’s the favor?” you ask, busying yourself with saddling your own horse.

“About scouting that town for the group to search, tomorrow. Ellie’s comin’ and…” he trails off, looking at the wood-plank wall, blinking an eye at the fierce early morning sun beaming through a sliver.

You’ve learned not to rush him, learned he’s easier to talk to with his hands full, and he finishes scrubbing off his horse’s bridle while you tack up your own.

“She talks to you, easier,” Joel admits, face obscured behind his horse, taking his time to brush through the animal’s fur, obliviously slurping hay into its mouth before crinkling it in its teeth.

“Huh?” you ask, marvel of articulation that you are.

“Ellie, she’s more talkative,” he repeats himself.

“No, I mean, what?”

You hear a sigh and he leans around his horse, hands on his hips.

“Please?” he asks, slightest edge of irritation at having to say more than he’d practiced. It's all insecurity, not directed at you, but you bristle anyway.

“Alright. It’s your business, but I’ll lend my girl talk instinct,” you prod with bite, stuffing your foot into a stirrup and swinging a leg up onto Clover, who’d been named before you got to Jackson. Your emotional labor threshold never existed, and Joel was fucking pushing it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds defeated as you look down at him, Clover slowing helpfully. His eyes look full, and you peer at him. He looks a little vulnerable—even if your worst anxieties read it as him noticing that you squint to avoid looking at his mouth—which is parted a little, black beard flecked with, for you, exactly the correct amount of grey. Joel rubs his lips together three times, quick, the way you’d seen when he wanted to stop talking at town meetings, shy of the eyes on him.

You soften, aware you’re irritable from lack of sleep and scarcity of good caffeine. You look ahead, reins creaking in your gloves conspicuously in the still space.

“Owe me a beer when I’m back tonight, okay?” you nod at him and press into Clover’s flank as Joel silently assents, focus snapping back to brushing out his horse. You risk looking back as Clover picks up, relieved and let down to see Joel doggedly focused on his task. You’d taken to drinking with the other patrolmen in the Tipsy Bison, edging into something resembling a social life borne of something like mutual responsibility. The group repeatedly made plain his welcome over the last few months until Joel had started to show up routinely, even murmuring a few words here and there, coming to the point that you’d notice when he wasn’t there.

—

“Okay but, why, though?” Ellie paws at a veil as you enter the store, pompous fabric ballooning halfway down the mannequin’s back.

“Dunno, it’s what people wore. I think that was for modesty, symbolically. Only went to a couple. My friends never hit the ‘wedding season’ stride. Too young,” you explain, your senior year of college on outbreak day. A look crosses Joel’s face and he spins the barrel of his revolver, leaning against the counter, trying to look busy checking the register, just in case something helpful lingered.

“Go try one on, Ellie,” you try, unsure what the sixteen-year-old is working through. Her attention hasn’t drifted to the next shops to explore, yet, so it clearly matters.

“Not for me,” she protests, hands raised. “Will you?”

You laugh ruefully, years away from the last time you’d put on something close to a dress, much less something formal, and you'd certainly never thought about being a bride. Not materially.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen like, a normal human in one,” Ellie pouts. You narrow your eyes for a second, lightly dubious.

“That’s not the best idea,” Joel grouses next to you, looking over both his shoulders like he was expecting an ambush even though it had been placid the whole way up here. Two of your three horses nudge each other for space near the tree you’ve secured them too, whinnying.

“I’ll keep my boots on for running. And you’ll keep a lookout,” you reply blithely, rolling your eyes at him.

“Yell for help!’ Ellie still discovering nuptial detritus she’d seen alluded to in comics at most.

You busy yourself finding something not set through with rot, moving towards the back of the store. Ellie swings open a display case and picks up a circular, springy fabric, a pale blue garter, squinting with the effort of discernment.

“Were the hair tie things a thing for a reason?” Ellie asks Joel, looping the blue-ribboned elastic around her wrist for later. Joel’s eyes widen in horror, ready to run towards the nearest infected to avoid explaining the whole garter thing to Ellie.

A second, more frigid wave hits him, remembering his own wedding day, Tommy helping him get just drunk enough to go through with the embarrassing ritual that complemented the bouquet toss. Sarah’s mom had loved all the stupid little wedding-day-things, though, so he’d accepted the shot(s) his brother snuck him and was grateful his red face would be under a skirt. He’d barely been eighteen, doing the right thing with Sarah’s mom pregnant, and two-years-younger Tommy held it together for him the whole day. He thought of not being here for the day his little brother had gotten hitched, a candid Polaroid in focus in the reel of guilt he’d built for himself these last twenty-some years. Tommy looked like his brother as he was before in it, looking up Maria with rapt awe as he accepted her hand to be led back to the dance floor. The crinkling at the corner of his eyes, though older, looked like Tommy again, and the joy Joel felt for him was dulled by the impossibility of ever speaking enough words to draw a partner near.

“Joel?” she pokes, twanging the elastic a little to jar him. He eyes it warily, expression the most intimidated you'd ever seen him.

You trudge past Ellie, awkwardly dragging a plastic-encased parcel of a voluminous dress, the best-preserved and least yellowed you’d found. You really didn’t relish the idea of figuring out how to get it on alone, but seeing their exchange, you fully self-preserved your way away from that particular explanation to the changing space.

“Fuck me,” you grimace, noticing the trail of covered buttons leading from the open mid-back to the very last point it could presentably grace between the dimples on your back. Wrestling this on would be a chore.

Before you shuck everything but your boots and socks, you try to smooth your hair down, the moss-flecked mirror of the changing space indicating how hopeless it is. You re-strap your pistol holster to your thigh, an overabundance of caution rubbing off on you from Joel's mere anxious proximity.

You look at your reflection a minute, appraising heavy breasts, softer hips than before. You’re proud that your abdomen and arms remain taut and toned from a combination of riding and patrolling, sprinting for your life, and helping around Jackson. For once in your life, you fall asleep at night when you hit the pillow, naked and alone, no longer captive of the ceiling’s backlighting of unidentifiable darting thoughts. Blinking your musing away, you remember how your cousin’s bridal attendant had made a circle of the dress for her to step into, and do your best to prepare it so you can slide it up and ask Ellie to help.

—

Ellie slingshotted the something-blue at Joel’s face as he finished explaining the garter tradition, hushing her ferociously and finally placing both palms over his whole face, crossing and re-crossing his ankles where he leant against the counter, rifle over his shoulder.

Ellie rolled her eyes, haughtily full of recent knowledge of thighs and what they connect to from Cat, fern and moth tattoo freshly peeling over her acid burn.

—

“Ellie!” you call once the skirt is over your hips, bodice with laced cap sleeves over your shoulders. You feel a little bad stepping past the carefully sewn fabric in your hiking boots and high socks, grimy from the trail’s dust, trying to hold it up while keeping the bodice straight.

She smiles wryly as her head pokes around the corner.

“I’ll help if you tell me if people really launched their bouquets at people and one person really pulled a—uh, shit, uh, thigh lingerie thing—off of the bride in front of everyone?”

You honk a laugh, a horrible sound, thinking of the velocity with which you’d seen Ellie launch bricks, knowing she has no sense of the soft lob of flowers at friends that she refers to. You guess she's picturing a full-bodied overarm spike ending in flower shrapnel instead of the over-the-shoulder choreography towards the bride's most single friend that happened in reality. You clasp the delicate buttons at your lower back together as best you can with your palms.

“Sounds like that was regionally universal in America, yeah, but—”

“Holy shit,” Ellie comments, suddenly shuddering in a very teenage, possibly exaggerated ripple of disgust. “Looked like a hair tie,” she mutters.

“Just—please help,” you hold the tulle and hand-cut lace near the buttons out to her.

“Wow, this was for everyone to see you in?” Ellie asks, alluding to the sheer fabric that gave the impression that the lace filigrees were directly applied to your skin. Asymmetrical, hand-sewn flowers cinch around your breasts and middle when she finally secures it.

You turn to the angled three-part mirror, noticing where your epaulet tattoo complicates the sheer effect the designers intended by the lace, nose bunching up. Not the flesh of the intended buyer of this thing, for sure.

“Come on, in the light!” Ellie goads gently.

Bracing to self-deprecate, you tuck your hair up in one hand and hold the front of the dress up and away from your muddy boots. You and outward, finding the weird little podium that was apparently customary—you remember your cousin twirling on it a similar one in delight when she’d found the right dress.

“Yeah, fuck, I can’t do this for long,” you bristle, feeling ungainly in the garment, dropping the skirts around your feet.

“And you’d just walk up to someone and kiss them in front of everyone and that worked?” Ellie prattles, tailing you closely.

Joel’s retreated to the store entrance, hunting rifle comfortable in his hands but pointedly ready.

He turns in the middle of running some sort of ten foot patrol route along the length of the store’s entrance, inevitable that he’d face you eventually. You realize he’s just pacing, the town quiet, stuck in a situation he accidentally created.

Ellie gives you a look that looks through you, and you recognize the contemplation in it. She’s thinking of someone, and what formalizing intimacy means, probably. Certainly where your mind was at around her age. Fuck, you’d not go back to sixteen for all the pre-outbreak world.

“I’m gonna go check the horses,” she mumbles, maybe in her own head, maybe more deliberate than that.

Your eyes bulge as you realize you’re stuck in this fucking thing and Ellie’s across the street.

You turn to Joel with a prepared face, tugging your dimples into a self-effacing “look at this shit” face.

“Wanna try one on?” you jab first, trying to get there before Joel can make this worse, more stupid. He’d kind of asked you, or asked for a favor that led to this, so you felt contented blaming him for it. You definitely will if his slight over-caution is vindicated and you get rushed by anything hostile while you're wearing this. Your holster may feel comforting, but the weight of the skirt would put a real drag on any reflexes you had if you actually needed your pistol.

Joel halted at the midpoint of his circling, rifle slack in his hands, hanging limp before him. The light from outside rings his form, broad shoulders and imposing frame worn uneasily in his posture.

His mouth parts the way it had when you’d ridden past him in the stables, chest expanding and falling in quick iterations, hazel eyes stranded on you.

You breathe as you hold his eyes, unable to back down from any time he proved capable of holding direct eye contact. Now that you had it, you realized you’d been teasing it out of him for months, forcing him to look right at you, any creative way you could, driving him up the wall.

Joel might as well have been waist-deep in water for how slowly he moves towards you.

“Sorry, not meaning to bring up anything—” you swallow the word painful, revising quickly, “from before,” you finish weakly. Gold star, idiot. You had no idea, but what if it had been a wife he’d lost? Fuck’s sake. Though, Ellie wouldn't be cruel like that—

Joel shakes his head absently, dismissive. He was run aground, captive to taking you in. The dress made no overtures to performative modesty, sheer tulle slits up to the edge of your hipbones, catching on your holster where you shift. Joel assesses the fabric spread over your chest quickly, mouth upturning too subtly for you to feel 100% confident you’d seen him do it. You’d seen him get the lay of a whole horde in a split second, and stood curious what it was he’d noted from the two and a half seconds his eyes drifted over you.

“‘m here, now,” he mumbles, looking down and pulling the bolt back, a dull click as it confirmed he’d chambered this particular round ten times in the last five minutes. If a weapon could sound exasperated with him, it did, and he jerks his head without turning it to Ellie’s retreating form.

Joel’s mind sprints between stations, picking up an artifact of your expression at each one: your body, your easy conversations on patrol, fumbling between them all, not sure where to start.

Ellie wasn’t far enough away for Joel to start this now, to cross the shop and kiss you, podium leveling you to the perfect height for him to lean into, hands on your face. Something in his posture looks ready to move quickly, and it's not to use the weapon his knuckles whiten around.

The edges of his eyes pinch, like he’s struggling to make sense of an indescribable noise. The tendon running from your ear to collarbone stands out as you look to the side, pretending to appraise the way the dress fits over your hips, snugly buttoned. Joel’s face shifts from startled to starved while you take reprieve from his focus.

Your furrowed brows while you watch Joel watch you spark understanding of the mechanics of a constant, firm draw towards your person. He’s recognizing you as more than a formidable shot he can be at ease with, not just a pleasant confidante with different but complementary pre-outbreak life experiences and a healthy sense of privacy.

Joel glances down one more time, catching your eyes on the way back up as he clears his throat, finding you looking at him sheepishly. He hadn’t tried to say a word in minutes.

“I’m. I’m stuck in here. Ellie—” you stammer, face reddening viciously. This was going to be a long, tiring patrol excursion, and you worried you had already made it weird.

You idly wonder where he might put his hands on you if you were alone, right now, and your terror is visible as the thought drifts by. If he would.

Joel doesn’t look back at Ellie where you’d normally expect a concerned jolt at her name, hazel eyes heatedly dark. You can chalk it up to the dimmed interior of the shop, but enough sunlight streams in to make you doubt its just the environment.

Grimacing at a clearly out-of-earshot Ellie, you need to be out of this fucking thing and redouble.

“Joel, can you? I feel bad ripping it and would really like my jeans again,” you offer weakly.

Joel’s fingertips, fingertips you wish you didn’t know were callused and so goddamn cautious when they’d had the occasion to meet yours, flex on his gun.

“Not sure I know how to, I mean, those seem—special?” he stammers at the prospect, you having turned to bare your back to him.

Joel breathes in a way you can hear on the silent street, usually so contained.

She’s just helping you see the buttons. Joel thinks, counting out twelve of them, in total.

Joel steadies his gaze, tipping his head forward and choosing to take in the slope of your back, mostly bare and deep-dipping expanse scantly wreathed in lace. His face looks like he’s staring something potentially fatal down, gritted jaw muscles pulsing. He steps towards you, though. He’d never done anything in the right order, not Sarah, not with Tess, not a bit, one single time. Might as well get you dress off before he can even get the courage to kiss you.

Slinging his rifle’s strap over his shoulder, Joel keeps his fingers at a careful angle, purposefully not against your skin. Pushing the top button through the satin loop containing it, he steps up on the podium with you, only because it puts his lips well out of an easy distance to drag along the nape of your neck. Hoping he can feel his way down the buttons without touching or looking at you, he fails three buttons down, knuckles brushing the bottom of your spine.

You laugh nervously, looking back at Joel. Every part of your core is twining into a spiral, abdomen first, then a layer deeper, then a clench you won’t register because then you’d have to admit that something was going on.

For his part, his dark brows are furrowed in effort, decidedly back in the realm of watching every movement to avoid the electrocution he’d just experienced from grazing you. Now was the time for accuracy, not speed.

Joel takes in your little cap sleeves between buttons, down to the eighth of twelve. The hand-cut lace outlines your shoulders, leading to lean skin below, dipping lower in the front than he should be noticing now that you’ve turned away from him—but he’s too tall to miss it once you’re standing on level ground. He wonders what you would do if he pulled you against him now, back pressed to his front, his mouth on your neck before your own.

‘Thank you,” Joel says.

You crane your head to meet his eyes again, hands pressed to opposite shoulders to prevent the now-loosened dress from slipping all the way. Maybe you didn’t need the rest of the buttons, but there they went. You blink at him, wondering what would happen if you leaned against him.

“What?” you feel all wrapped in half-fabric, half-suggestion, no idea what the fuck he means.

“For comin’,” he gives. “Didn’t, uh, thanks for…” he trails off, so unaccustomed to indirectness and illocution that he doesn’t know what to call it. He clears his throat.

Joels hits the tenth button and breathes deep, flicking through the last two like he’s reloading, stepping back to reclaim his rifle and get so, so many feet away from you.

You turn to him, holding the weighty dress flush against your skin with both hands.

Joel’s chest is rising and falling every three seconds in rapid cycles, peculiar as you’d patrolled enough together to hear how he can silence his breath, the infrequent draws of someone yards underwater. He either can’t control this or made a choice to stop, and you can only think that the rust colored plaid he’d worn today was truly nice on him.

The rest of your scouting trip is deafeningly quiet, like Joel riding next to you and his surly expression produce volume equivalent to standing under a roaring set of falls. Ellie punctures it every few minutes with an attempted joke and you can almost feel Joel groan before you hear it each time, thoughtful.

Notes:

Here's the meta you didn't ask for

In current 2020, hard to see in weddings as anything other than class signifiers/routes to wife-n’ up, but:

holy shit does the apocalypse , esp. Tommy’s hope-imperative thing, make room for meaningfully coded rituals and aspirational ideologies not hijacked by the wedding industry’s profit motive.

Joel’s coming from the context of a wife who left Joel alone because having Sarah ruined her young life, so his view of it is understandably dismissive. Reader was more interesting to make opposite—college-aged asshole without responsibilities on Outbreak Day, less room for traditions.

But: Jackson is frozen in time and CRAVES ritual. Where it was meaningless in a world of abundance, you need markers of the years and ways to say “that person is my person;" it's joy as resistance.

For instance, something about Christmas hits different when you’re not fist fighting consumers for prelit trees after scuttling past a Salvation Army Santa in a mall. Jackson feels so sincere, every decoration scavenged or hewn with love, with purpose and forethought.

There’s joy in scarcity and glut in abundance is my point, I guess. Joel gets that on a basic level, even though he’s obstinate as hell about letting himself have anything good or even open to the idea.

#prompt fills #joel tlou #tlou #tlou ii #dumb epiphanies #joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #the last of us joel #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us ii #the last of us 2 #asks #filled prompts #prompts #joel/reader

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brideofedoras · 5 years ago

Text

Myne Owne Hertis Rote

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, Eomer, or any of Tolkien’s characters or settings. (Although I do wish Eomer were mine!) I only own my OCs.

Mood board is my creation, but the images were found on Google. Credit to the artists.

Word count: 3000+

Rating: teen (for now, rating will go up in later chapters)

Warnings: physical abuse, lashing, beating, animal abuse, blood, some cursing

Spring 3017 (Third Age)

Rohan

Éomer led his exhausted Eored along the familiar path to Edoras. They had been away a fortnight, patrolling the East-mark, fighting small skirmishes with a few orcs here and there.

He hoped all was well in Edoras. He missed his sister dearly, his uncle, Theoden King of Rohan. If he were being honest with himself, which he was not, he would admit he missed his bed, he missed a good, hot meal, and he missed being clean. Even though he had scrubbed himself clean of the orc blood and entrails, he could still feel the oozing filth on his skin and in his hair. He could still smell the foul stench in his clothes and his armor despite rinsing everything out in a stream three days ago. It was all a trick of the mind, he knew, but still he shuddered.

Alldred drew his horse abreast with Firefoot, Éomer’s dark grey dappled steed. “I speak for all the riders, my Lord,” he smiled tiredly. “We desire to set foot in Edoras this evening but our horses need a rest.”

Éomer smiled back. “Indeed,” he agreed, leaning to stroke Firefoot’s neck. “I shall ride ahead to scout a place to rest.”

Alldred nodded, and fell back to relay word of a rest, and Éomer nudged his horse to a lope.

His thoughts turned to home once more. The riders were half a day’s ride from Edoras, they could easily make it home, if they wished to awaken their wives and children or their parents and siblings upon their late arrival. In his case, his uncle and sister, and any guest who may be staying in the Golden Hall. It was already nearing midday, judging by the position of the sun in the sky.

We will decide when we stop, he thought, his dark hazel eyes scanning the horizon ahead. The Snowbourn River was less than an hour’s ride ahead with a small clearing up a hill from the ford. The woods surrounding the river offered shade and fruit, the nearby leah a good spot to hunt for rabbit and deer. Yes, he thought. Perhaps we shall break for nooning and hunt for fresh food. He smiled tiredly at the thought. With warm food in our bellies, we may decide to rest longer for the sake of our horses.

Firefoot tossed his head as if in agreement, causing the third marshal of the Riddermark to chuckle. “I long to be home,” he stated softly. “As you long to be in your stall, but we both need a rest.” He shook his head. “Let us seek out our nooning place, shall we?”

As they neared the Snowbourn, Firefoot snorted in warning. Éomer tensed up, reaching for his sword. Then he heard it: a high-pitched yelp of an animal in pain, and the undeniable cry of a human. He drew his sword when he heard the thwacks and thumps, followed by another cry of pain.

“Leave him be!” he heard a young woman’s voice cry out, followed by a scream of pain following a thwacking sound.

Éomer kicked his heels into Firefoot’s sides, clutching his sword as they rushed toward the sound. They rounded the curve in the path, drawing up short when he found two young men lashing out with a leather crop and a sizable stick, both looming over a young woman who was cowering—no, not cowering, folding herself over something.

“What are you doing?” Éomer shouted, sheathing his sword and jumping down from Firefoot. The young men had no chance to move away from the girl before he grabbed them by their collars and shook them violently, jerking them away from her. Despite the rage filling him, he recognized the boys. “Theolaf, Eosolaf,” he looked at them in disgust. Two young men who had been kicked out of training for the eored when they were fifteen years old for being overly aggressive and bringing physical harm to the other boys. “We will discuss the consequences of your actions in Edoras,” he growled at them. “Do not ever let me catch you lashing anyone or anything ever again,” he shoved them away. “Get out of my sight before I bring down punishment upon you without the king’s say!”

The boys fell, sprawling out onto the ground before scrambling to their feet and running off. Éomer glared after them before turning to the girl sobbing on the ground. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest when he realized who he had rescued.

She had sat up during his dealings with the boys (for they were not men; no man dared to treat a woman with such malice). He could see the creature she had protected, now carefully embraced on her lap. Her face was resting against the wolf pup’s forehead as she brokenly whispered to it. “You are safe, you will live, I will not ever let anything happen to you while you are by my side.”

Her hair, a deep shade of dark chestnut, was full of tangles and snarls and broken pieces of the stick used on her. A gash ran across her cheek, blood dripping down her jaw and neck with an angry red welt forming around it, another bruising gash on her forearm, the ivory-hued trumpet sleeve of her dress ripped from her shoulder to her wrist. Blood oozed from her arm down to her fingers clutched in the young wolf’s fur. He knew her back was covered in gashes, an unknown number. Her dress was torn and bloody, ruined beyond any repair Maewyn would be able to do.

The pup, he noted, was shaking, whimpering, whining, cowering in her arms, a bleeding wound on his hip.

Before Éomer could take a step closer, the young woman collapsed, passing out cold.

He moved quickly, dropping to his knees beside her and moving her carefully so he could put his ear to her chest. Her heart was a little erratic, her breathing hitched.

“Rochiriel,” he whispered, his voice thick with worry as he reached up to brush her hair from her face. He whistled sharply and Firefoot snorted in reply before trotting to him.

Éomer eased Rochiriel onto the ground, grimacing at the thought of her beaten back touching the dirt and grass. He stood, grabbing his bedroll and saddlebags from the saddle before making quick work of spreading out the blankets and organizing what he needed to clean and treat her wounds. With great care he lifted the girl onto the blankets, cradling one arm around her shoulders to hold her up as he loosened the thin leather cord cinching the ruined bodice of her dress together. He kept his eyes trained on her face as he worked the bodice loose and off her arms, pushing it to her waist before he laid her down on her stomach.

Eight lashes covered her back, one so deep he could see muscle. Torn muscle. His jaw ticked as he yanked clean bandages out of his bag, unsheathing his knife to slice a couple of strips into smaller pieces. He soaked one piece with water from his canteen and set to work cleaning the wounds and washing away the blood. He grabbed the jar of salve he had procured from one of the healers in Aldburg the last time he had stayed at his home in the East Mark. He was thankful Rochiriel had passed out, the salve was going to burn on the deeper gashes.

He treated the smaller wounds first on her arm and her cheek before tending the eight on her back. The deepest one bothered him the most with that lacerated muscle. He prayed his Eored would arrive soon, he would need Alldred to stitch her wounds.

Éomer wrapped the gash on Rochiriel’s arm and wrapped the wounds on her back the best he could. He frowned at the bodice of her dress, grabbing his knife and carefully cutting it free from the skirt. He grabbed his spare tunic from his bag and carefully put it on Rochiriel before he eased her onto her stomach on the bedroll.

He looked down at the little pup, holding his hand out to let it sniff at him. “I need to treat you,” he whispered, and gently lifted the small wolf into his arms. He talked to the pup the entire time he cleaned and treated the wound, gently petting him and crooning to him to calm him down each time he yelped in pain. “Shh, Faelan, hush, little wolf,” he whispered, settling the pup next to Rochiriel’s side, stroking the soft, thick fur. Eventually, the pup stopped crying and shaking and drifted off to sleep.

He moved to wipe at his forehead only to stop short when he saw the blood on his hands. Rochiriel’s blood.

Sweet, beautiful Rochiriel.

The anger flared up once more as he pushed to his feet and snagged the canteen. What is she doing this far from Edoras? It is far too dangerous for a woman, anyone, to be alone away from home. He stalked down the hill toward the river, making quick work of scrubbing his hands and his armor of the blood. I did not see Brecc anywhere in sight… Where is her horse? She could not have walked this far on foot, we are half a day’s ride from Edoras.

He refilled his canteen, his hazel eyes scanning the area for any signs of Rochiriel’s horse. With a scowl he stood and stalked back up the hill.

Éomer untied his cloak from the front of his saddle, shaking it loose from the roll before he carefully draped it over Rochiriel. He reached down to uncover the pup, his heart squeezing painfully as he watched the girl and the wolf cub sleep. What happened, Rochiriel? What would send you so far from home alone, only to be beaten?

Theolaf and Eosolaf did not lure Rochiriel far from the safety of Edoras, that much he knew. She disliked the boys, she had told his sister in confidence one day a few years before as they sat on the parapet watching the daily activity of their capital city. He had overheard her concern when he had walked out of the Golden Hall on his way to the stables to saddle up Firefoot. She had called them bullies, mean-spirited boys who would never be treated or respected as men. “I know Éomer is training them for the eored,” she had said. “I just pray he sees what bullies they are. I know he will not stand to have anyone with such a mean spirit riding under his command.” She had turned her head to look at her friend, suddenly smiling. That smile would someday bring one lucky man to his knees he recalled thinking. “I would be better-suited for the eored, as would you. We are both better horsemen than those two will ever be.”

“Be that as it may,” his voice was low and laced with a humor. He smiled apologetically when both young women startled, Rochiriel yelping and blushing a lovely shade of pink. “I would not be comfortable with my two favorite ladies riding under my command, or any marshal’s command,” he had walked over to kneel behind them. “It is far too dangerous, not from the enemy, not from the dangers of the land.” His smile faded. “I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to either of you.”

“It would not be any more dangerous for us than it would be here in Edoras,” Éowyn had pointed out quietly. Éomer’s words had bothered her, he knew. His sister wanted to be treated as an equal, she wanted to protect Rohan. She was skilled with blade and shield, she was skilled in the saddle. He would be proud to fight alongside his sister if it weren’t for the crippling fear he had of losing her. They had already lost their parents, he could not afford to lose anyone else he loved.

Éowyn’s words echoed in his head, and his jaw clenched, recalling how Éowyn had cast a quick glance over his shoulder to the doors of the Golden Hall behind them, how Rochiriel had stiffened and looked away. Wormtongue.

What has that snake done now? He wondered, frowning, as he pushed to stand up. He walked over to Firefoot and stroked the dappled grey’s neck before making fast work of unsaddling his mount. But why alone? Éowyn would not have let Rochiriel ride off by herself. She loves her like a sister.

He was jerked from his thoughts when Firefoot whinnied a greeting, answered by a few different neighs in the near distance. Relief flowed through him, his eored had arrived.

Alldred was the first to approach, frowning down at the girl on the marshal’s bedroll. “Is that… Braedon’s daughter?”

Éomer nodded, jaw tight. “Aye, tis Rochiriel,” he looked down at the girl.

“Bema!” He swore quietly. “What happened?”

“Two of the young… men…” his voice dripping with scorn as he said ‘men’, “Theolaf and Eosolaf were beating her when I arrived. Rochiriel fainted before I could ask her questions. I believe she was protecting this wolf pup from them, but I do not know why she is this far from home, and her horse is nowhere to be seen,” Éomer answered quietly as the other man turned back to his horse. “She is badly injured, one of the wounds on her back is deep, her muscle has been lacerated.”

Alldred returned with his saddlebags and the supplies he carried to tend to the injured.

Several of the men started to say something about the wolf pup but fell quiet when Éomer gave them a sharp look. “The pup stays with her,” his tone brooked no argument. “She risked her life to save him, and he will not survive on his own even if his mother finds him.” He sighed heavily. “I fear we will need to make camp, Rochiriel will be unable to travel tonight,” Éomer kneeled beside the unconscious girl. “Those of you who desire to return to Edoras tonight, I will not hold you back.”

“We’ve already decided, we need reprieve from the saddle,” Alldred kneeled on the other side of Rochiriel. “And we hunger for fresh food. We intend to make camp wherever you decide.” He started removing his protective armor, needing to be free from the heavy leather and chainmail.

“This clearing is as good a camp as any,” Éomer lifted his cloak from Rochiriel. “I need someone to gather firewood and start a fire, someone to hunt fresh meat, someone to forage for fruit in the forest.” He looked around at some of the men standing around, nodding his appreciation when they stated what they would do, before turning his attention back to Rochiriel.

He shifted his stance, placing himself between the girl and the rest of his men before he carefully pulled the shirt up to expose her back and the rough field dressing he had performed.

Alldred raised a brow at the hack job on Rochiriel’s dress. “What did you do with the bodice?”

“I intend to burn it,” Éomer answered, “along with the linens I used to clean the wounds. I do not want blood-soaked cloth around to draw in the predators.”

Alldred nodded. “Shame we do not have a tent,” he mentioned quietly as he carefully cut away the bandages wrapped around Rochiriel’s torso.

Éomer huffed in agreement, gently lifting Rochiriel so Alldred could remove the blood-soaked bandages. He looked over his shoulder, watching his men tend the horses and bring rocks and firewood to build a few campfires. None were paying attention to the girl.

Alldred let out a low whistle as he counted the gashes on Rochiriel’s back.

“She has one on her arm, and one on her cheek, as well,” Éomer growled. “I’ve half a mind to kill them for what they’ve done.”

Alldred nodded, his jaw set as he carefully poked at the wounds. “She is going to be in great pain, Éomer. Do we have enough mead among us?”

“I have a full skin,” Éomer nodded. Mead was one of the provisions each man packed, for medicinal purposes they claimed. They rarely imbibed while away from home on patrol unless they were wounded or cold and needed to numb the pain or warm up from the inside.

“As do I,” the other man smiled grimly. “These are all deep, I will stitch them up. This one,” he grimaced when Rochiriel made a pained sound as he cleaned out the deepest wound Éomer had pointed out, “I will need to stitch the muscle and the flesh.” He spared a glance at the wolf pup. “I will need to stitch the pup’s skin, as well.”

Éomer nodded. “What do I need to do?”

Alldred set to work stitching the gashes while Éomer held Rochiriel down. She had regained consciousness for a few moments, awakened by the sharp pain of the needle piercing muscle before passing out once more to their relief. By the time the men who headed out to hunt and forage returned, Alldred was stitching up the fifth laceration.

“Lord Éomer,” Godwine walked over, immediately turning his back upon getting an eyeful of the gashes and a needle being pushed through flesh. He made a gagging sound. “I am sorry, I cannot bear to see… that…” he motioned behind him.

“What is it, Godwine,” Éomer glanced up at the man. Any other time he would have teased Godwine for gagging, he knew the man had a weak stomach when it came to cleaning and patching up wounds. Being that Rochiriel was the one being stitched up, his good-natured ribbing was absent.

“Graehame and I found four wolf pups, beaten and lashed. They were dead, my lord,” Godwine’s voice was strained. “What should we do with the carcasses?”

Éomer’s eyes slid shut, pain gripping his heart. He hoped that Rochiriel had not found the other pups, it would break her heart. She had a gift when it came to animals, a gentle spirit that calmed even the wildest beast and was often sought after to soothe birthing mares and injured or frightened horses. He looked at Godwine. “We cannot leave them,” he sighed heavily. “They will only draw the predators. We’ll have to burn the carcasses.” His eyes flickered to Faran when he ran toward them. His brow furrowed at the grey pallor on the young man’s face. “Faran?”

“She-wolf, Lord Éomer,” Faran sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. “Bloody mess. Looked like she had been stabbed to death.”

Alldred muttered out a few curses.

Éomer clenched his jaw. “Those bastards…” he growled. “Build a fire downwind, away from camp and burn the carcasses of the she-wolf and her pups.” He turned his attention to the little pup still passed out by Rochiriel. “Faelan needs a mother now.”

Alldred’s brown eyes snapped up to Éomer’s. “You named the pup?”

Éomer scowled as he nodded. “I do not look forward to telling Rochiriel about the wolves,” he muttered, pulling the shirt higher up on her back as Alldred turned his attention back to stitching her up. It took every ounce of internal strength he possessed to keep his growing anger, his temper, in check. It would do Rochiriel no good if he exploded into a fit of rage.

He feared he would cause more pain for his beloved friend.

#lotr #eomer x ofc #eomer #friends to lovers #slow burn

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starlite-sin · 5 years ago

Text

Various Characters I have-I can’t draw well so sorry for this

Note: I might draw some of them, it might not be very good but i’ll try

Vivian: WKM D.A

1920s

· Blonde hair

· Green eyes

· Very basic makeup

· Very much for the jewelry however

· Born on April 1st, 1900: about 20 when she ‘disappeared’

· Just got her office when the party happened

· Good friends with Damien, although more than ready to call him out on his stupidity

· Green is her color

· Sassy, but can be very shy and clingy

2017-present

· Technically, 119 years old, still looks 20

· CAN’T AGE AND ITS STUPID CAUSE SHE LOOKS BETTER THAN ME

· Much more emo-ish makeup but still a fan of the 20s makeup

· Chokers are her thing

· Can get very homesick very easily

· Doesn’t regard Dark as an enemy but she wouldn’t call him a friend either

· They do work together when the Actor tries something though

· Mostly she stays on the downlow, trying to move on

· Lives with the Battle egos

· Works well with Phantom, even if she doesn’t like his whole ‘control freak’ thing

· Took some time getting used to Mare, gave up on making him stop flirting forever ago

· Takes neither of their shit and can and will fight them both

· Still sassy, shy and clingy

· Terrified of mirrors and has a hard time going to sleep

· She’s scared that she’s gonna wake up back in the mirror

· Tends to grab onto the nearest warm thing and not let go

· Doesn’t trust Athena, not after what happened with Celine

· Can you say trust issues?

· Scars on her knuckles from trying to break out

· Runs on anger and anxiety alone

· Can and will fight demons

· Sometimes locks herself in her room and listens to oldies

· Call her boomer and she’ll sock you

· Gets along with Jack’s egos

· But not Mark’s, since they look to much like him

· Except Eric and Dr.Iplier, they can stay

Artemis-OC

· Born on Halloween

· Black hair

· Violet eyes

· Rings around her wrists like cuff marks

· Usually seen wearing either her BS uniform or tank top and shorts

· Spider bite Lip piercings

· About 22, oldest of the four

· Witch

· Doesn’t believe in the rule of three but won’t curse you first

· Does Divination, works with crystals and beauty stuff

· Not quite a pagan but close

· Doesn’t like Celine much

· ‘Did she even know what she was doing?’

· Don’t even ask her to do anything with demons/spirits

· Kind of worried about the Jim twins

· But wants to watch what happens

· Hates Mare

· Works with Phantom, albeit not happily, after signing away her soul

· Fucking broke her orb

· You wanna see an angry Phantom?

· Won’t fight the demons

· The exception is Dark/Celine

· Eagle Scout, and proud of it

Celene-OC

· Well first off she’s dead

· Was a venture Scout, killed during Klondike

· It was an accident really, someone fucked around with a knife and long story short it landed in her chest

· If someone brings it up she will hurt

· A lot

· She has a giant gaping hole

· Youngest, age 14-15

· Covered in Blood and wearing her uniform

· So gore warning

· Shy and Sad and not as angry as the others

· Will hesitate but when she snaps hell breaks loose

· Scared of the battle egos

· Like will hide if Mare is around

· He thinks its adorable and will tease her

· Likes Robbie Zombie since they’re both dead

· Likes to scare the others by phasing through walls if they don’t know her

· Someone tried to smack her for it and their handed hit a rock

· It was funny

· She’s basically Chase’s new kid since she came to him first and won’t leave his side

· She also gets along with Wilford since he makes her laugh

· He and Paultin are the fun uncles

· Terrified of Pluck

Elhana-D&D Character

· Half Elf Rouge

· Black Hair

· Green eyes

· Shit ton of freckles

· Makes her look cute but she will not hesitate

· Noblewoman

· Has a dog named Juniper

· Doesn’t live with the others but will come and visit

· She’ll just vibe on the counters

· Doesn’t have much of an opinion on the Battle egos, but gets along great with Paultin and Pluck

· Also with Chase, Marvin, and JJ

· And with most of Mark’s egos

· She’ll hesitate until she won’t

· Then you’re dead

· Can’t stand loud noises

· Usually seen wearing traveling leathers

· Has a party and a home

· Sneaky Bitch, as called by a certain member (true story)

Shared things:

Double Jointed, so constantly popping limbs

they’ll snap their fingers when nervous or stressed

running on coffee and anxiety

#ocs

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beautifulramblingbrains · 7 years ago

Text

The Dog - Chapter 11

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with multiple trigger warnings on a range of subjects.

A/N: Thank you, @murmelinchen, as per! :). And thank you all so much. I had a little iddy biddy break away but I have seen and read all the reblogs and likes. Thanks again.

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter // 4th Chapter // 5th Chapter // 6th Chapter // 7th Chapter // 8th Chapter // 9th Chapter // 10th Chapter

Tags: @pathybo@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts@ariwolf14@bcat1291@tomarisela@romanchronicles @colours-of-my-heart @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lol-haha-joke@thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @tiyetiye @titty-teetee @microsmacrosandneedles @btslee15

For a long while, Avery had peered out across the land, waiting silently, beginning to see the curl of her breath as the temperature dropped rapidly and darkness began to shroud them. She pulled the furs further across her shoulders, not giving in to the thought of defeatism.

Ubbe had told her that he was riding out to Wark to speak with the Earl. He was going to tell him that his battle plans were changing, feeding him lies of their small army marching past both Keeps, not coming into contact with either. They would merely just rest a few more days. Whether it was the truth or not, Avery didn't know or care. But she would wait until Ubbe got back.

"My lady, please, it's cold," she heard Indra say from behind her as she came out to sit with her. She'd said the same thing over an hour ago.

"It's fine. You may go if you want. But I will stay here."

Neither of the women moved. Not until something grabbed Avery's attention, small dots far in the distance growing larger. It would be Ubbe, his brother, Hendrick and a few others. Indra snapped up before Avery, for she had two lovers on the field - whether she wanted to admit that or not.

Tiredly, Avery stood too, still clutching the furs. "Is it them? It's them, isn't it?" Her voice bled desperation and worry, and it was time for Indra to ignore her. The camp had swelled to life, obviously whoever on guard had spotted them and now came thundering back and alerting those left in charge.

As they raced up, Hendrick immediately dropped down into the field, handing over the reigns of his horse, his eyes searching. In another life, he would have raced to Indra. And to Avery's surprise, a sadness seemed to radiate from Indra when she spotted him.

But her own body felt urgent, despairing almost. The crowd fluctuated, trying to get the news, cutting her off from getting to Ubbe so easily. She had a hand up in the air, calling his name with her silly translation, "Ooh bear!" But Avery's voice was nothing compared to the congregating Vikings around her. So with reluctance, she waited, letting him debrief those smothering him.

"From the looks of it, the plan has worked," Indra noted distantly, leaning up on her tiptoes, still watching. Avery's worry had been the threat of anyone approaching the Christian Keep, that they may have found reason to attack rather than talk. "Ubbe was right about those cowards." She took a sharp intake of breath. "Forgive me."

"I'm not offended." She couldn't be, not when Ubbe scoured the crowd and landed on her, his white teeth visible from a distance. He waved the others off, pushing through and leaving Hvitserk with them. And when he got to her, he paused, a bashful sway to her posture before he reached out and pulled her closer. Indra slipped away.

Avery had only just fallen back upon the furs when Ubbe graciously tumbled after her. Due to the impending battle, there was a sense of urgency to his meanderings. Her mouth, her neck, her chest being lavished at any given opportunity. While she was bare, he remained clothed, but jutting his hips into hers, pushing hard into her crotch, so she could feel his need without a doubt. It gave her an idea of what he would be like as a lover. And it was overwhelming.

"Ooh bear," she panted, using both hands on either side of his face to get his attention. And it was all he needed to slow himself, propping himself up to look down at her. He appraised her slowly, drinking her body in before slipping down and taking her nipple into his mouth. She cradled him there, until he went further to her ribs and then to her lower belly.

"Like your silly stories, I'm going to eat you now," he growled.

Avery struggled to get up to her elbows, seeing him squatting between her legs. "What?" She smiled nervously, breath still stolen.

"Watch," he replied, licking his lips.

Ubbe rubbed his thumb once over her clit, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. She snapped her eyes open to watch him kiss his way down her inner thigh. And when he finally reached her core, enveloping her with his mouth, tongue flat against her, she pathetically withered back against the furs, unable to control the sounds that filtered through her lips.

Heat rose in her cheeks, his unrelenting care alternating between fast and then slow, making her hips twitch. But the distance between them was too much. Her hand flailed for him, and he choked back a laugh, reaching up to calm her, interlocking his fingers against hers.

Her legs began to shake uncontrollably, and he moved up until they could rest on his shoulders, which only eased it slightly.

"You taste as beautiful as you look," he mumbled, watching her body writhe and heave with each shaking breath.

"Mm-hmm… Don't stop." He chuckled at her desperation as she begged for him to not to stop over and over. With her eyes shut tightly she tried to reach him with her other hand. And when her fingers curled into his short hair, he greedily complied, not minding her nails digging into his hand as she felt herself being perfectly pushed to a physical limit, then bursting into a million melting pieces.

Ubbe crawled back to her side, very pleased with himself. "I think you just woke the whole camp." But she was still lost, beautifully lost. "Are you okay?"

"I think I saw Heaven," she sighed dreamily.

Ubbe tried very hard not to laugh but couldn't help himself. "If that is Heaven then why don't we go sooner rather than later?"

"Maybe that is pleasure then. Maybe comfort, love… I don't know. I find I don't care either way. Not right now." Rolling onto her side, she felt the need to sleep wash over her.

Sitting up, Ubbe discarded his tunic, unbuckling his pants and slipped them off without falter, then covered them both in the furs.

"This is only the beginning," he sighed, curling up behind her. "Soon I will make full love to you, and every passing moment until you are with child, and every moment thereafter." Ubbe looked at her over her shoulder but she was peacefully asleep already.

"Why won't you speak with me?" demanded Hvitserk. Indra turned away from the entrance to the tent and went further inside. "Have I done wrong? Have I hurt you somehow?"

"Hvitserk, please. I told you before, it was too serious. I didn't want anything serious and then you spoke of marriage," she said incredulously, pacing as much she could in the small space. "You know that you and the word marriage don't go hand in hand."

"What does that mean!"

"Please stop this. Please just leave." Her voice shook and she still couldn't face him. "Leave me alone."

"Is there another?" He put his hands to his hips and looked to the ground, stepping forward when she didn't reply. "Is. There. Another? Because I swear to the Gods, if there is, blood will be shed!"

"There is nobody. I want nobody else!" He stepped toward her and she swung at him, missing and falling into his arms. Memories surrounded them, the short, sweet days they had spent together, loving so much in such a short amount of time.

Between her tears, she turned and kissed him, stumbling across the room.

"Will you be gone long?" Avery's voice was intentionally quiet, so no one else could hear. Ubbe wore his helm, fully armoured, looking much taller than usual as he stood ferociously in front of her. The army waited to divide beyond the trees, splitting to hit both Keeps. Homecamp was moving itself too as soon as they would set off, for safety.

"Will you miss me?" His touch was gentle against her cheek regardless of how he looked. "What did I do to deserve to come across you in this life? How were you chosen to live - for me to see you?"

"I stabbed Hendrick." She smiled. "Life is strange." He stood in silence, studying her face still and her cheeks began to warm. "What...? What are you looking at?"

"I'm drawing you into my mind so that I have it with me. I believe Freya watches me on this day. I see her through your eyes."

Avery became bashful and blinked away. "Stop it."

"Is it not normal to express what I'm thinking? You don't like to hear compliments or how I appreciate you?"

"I'm still getting used to it." She crossed her arms, tightly smiling. She wasn't used to the attention, nor revealing herself to anyone. And he knew her better than anyone now. "Ooh bear, be patient with me. And… and come back."

"Are you ordering me?" His smile beamed.

"That is an order." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, nicked her chin, then turned towards his waiting raiders.

She watched them leave, like a parallel of the previous night. "My lady," Indra whispered behind her. "We will be moving shortly, you must prepare."

"I'm ready."

As the light died, Ubbe marched upon Wark, while Hendrick took the Keep in the North-West. They met with their scouts at the wall, hoisting scaling ladders against the downpour of arrows almost knocking Hvitserk from his climb. When Ubbe turned to check on him, he was laughing wildly, climbing quicker.

Ubbe pulled himself over the lip of the outer wall, upon the stand where the churchmen stood guard, noticing only a small number of soldiers. He pushed the thought from mind, using his axe to maim a man almost upon him.

Quickly he moved to open the gates, a zig-zag stair descent. Hvitserk was with him, having his back until more of the northmen joined them as most waited to be let in. They pulled the lumbering wood from the door, and Ubbe heaved them open, calling for this battle to be fast and favoured by the Gods.

The tents they had strung up were not as big as usual because they were not going to be staying very long. They would move to the Keeps after they were conquered and reside there until the next. Indra stayed with Avery, huddled together for warmth, fearing what was happening to their men.

Their conversation had changed several times, and there was no chance of sleep. It got so bad they fell silent and Avery hugged her knees, listening to Indra hum. After a while, she turned her head, still resting on her arms, just enough to see Indra on her back and looking up to the top of the tent. "I don't think we will sleep at all tonight."

"The battles make me afraid. Whatever outcome comes from them, changes our plans each time…" She furrowed her brows, lost in thought. "And we lose people sometimes."

For some reason, Avery thought of Benedict, the closest person she had had left from her old life. The last time she had seen him, he was half eaten by crows and still strung up. She pressed her hands together and silently prayed.

Indra glanced to her. "I do not doubt them. But the Gods are unpredictable, and so are people."

"I wish I was smarter," Avery blurted, causing Indra to sit up on her elbows. "All these Earls I could have learnt of, all the layouts of the land. Instead I know nothing. Instead I kept away from them as much as possible because I feared for my life... After what happened at Benedict's Keep, I suddenly snapped and was no longer fearful. I had a purpose and it was those children. They were my only vision." She paused with a sigh. "I told them they were in there but they ignored me. Though, now I know ooh bear understood exactly what I was saying."

"The Christians don't care for us. We don't care for them. He didn't know anything about you and for all he knew it was a ploy - a distraction."

"They kill innocent children. I'm still learning how I can live with the knowledge."

Indra bit her cheek. "They don't want to. They have to. There is a difference. And I wish you would stop talking about us like that. You may forget but I am a Viking too."

"Would you kill children?"

"Not by my hand but I would leave them to their fate," Indra said sternly. "Don't judge me, Avery."

"I'm not."

"You know nothing of the land, aside from what happened to your village and Benedict. You walked alone for a while but fell into luck, then luck again with us."

"I shall say no more." Avery scoffed in disbelief, turning onto her side to lay down, away from her.

"Forgive me. Everything is perspective," Indra said as Avery stared at the skin of the tent. "I'm not feeling all too well, I'm sorry." A shadow moved from outside, forcing Avery to quirk up. "It was not my intention to be offensive…" While Indra spouted her long list of apologies, Avery scrambled across to their single candle and blew it out, moving to Indra who'd already clocked on. With both their eyes wide, watching the entrance, Indra pulled a small blade from her ankle.

"Give me that, quick," Avery held her hand out, went to the side and slit the skin enough to see out. She watched as shadowy figures crept across the land - a lot of them. They didn't speak a word, only signals. Avery almost gasped in shock as a man walked directly in front of her hand-made eye hole, his hands covered in blood. She guessed it was from the guards watching over the camp Ubbe had left behind.

She turned to Indra, considerably paled and grimaced. "Churchmen."

It only made Indra fiercer, her features scrunching up viciously as she got in front of Avery and took the knife. "They won't take us." Avery didn't want to know exactly what she meant, and didn't ask. "I will do us both if I need to," she whispered.

Someone must have woke and spotted the invaders. A roar went up and the rush of noise erupted around them. Avery put a hand on Indra's shoulder.

"Where is he!?" Ubbe shouted across the courtyard. Many had stopped, wiping their dirtied faces while Hvitserk stood close, spitting onto the land. Ubbe took off his helm, peered quickly around. "Where is the Earl and where is his men?!" Nobody answered. He strode past Hvitserk, landed a heavy hand on the shoulder of one of his men and whispered, "Go to Hendrick and get word." The man nodded once and raced off for a horse.

"What shall we do?" Hvitserk said.

Ubbe was frowning. "Something's wrong… We've missed something. They have averted us." A surge of anxiety swirled in his gut. "We need to head back. We need to go. We need to go now!"

Thick gloved fingers slipped over the edge of the entrance, peeling it back slowly. Indra made a feral sound in her throat, pushing Avery back, guarding in front of her.

The churchman must have suspected they were asleep or the tent empty, only to be caught with the sight of them huddled together, a glint in his eye.

"Get back!" Indra warned him, waving her small blade.

He merely whistled, another face emerging after a few short seconds, and they grunted a laugh between them. He almost knocked the stakes from the ground with his shoulders as he busted his way inside. That's when Indra launched herself at him in such a way, which Avery could only describe as cat like; her feet planted firmly on the ground in a wary crouch, and then jumping towards him effortlessly.

Outside rang the calls of death, and suddenly, the fear of the past cast over Avery, the fire she saw in her mind's eye, the cries, freezing her on the spot. Wherever she went there was death, continuously affecting the ones she loved. When she thought she couldn't breathe from fright no more, Indra was caught in one hand around her throat like it was child's play, and Avery went after her with a new cause.

She grabbed Indra, trying to pull her back. The other soldier barged forward and lifted her completely off the ground, flinged her to the other side of the tent. Indra swung her knife in a flimsy hand, nicking his cheek and finally freed herself. However, between the man's arms she could only watch as the churchmen pinned Indra by her hair in sheer spite and rained down blow after savage blow onto the small woman.

Unable to bear Indra's screams anymore, she thought quickly and yelled, "I'm from Benedict's Keep! Stop! What are you doing!" She felt the heat and pain, tasted the blood before realising she'd been slapped and bit her cheek in the process.

A fierce yell from outside remenated until Asger burst into the tent and tackled the churchmen who held Avery, sending them to the floor. Dazed, Avery stumbled up, crawling towards Indra, seeing the knife on the ground. She wasn't going to hide anymore. She couldn't.

She wasn't anything like a trained man, nor someone who had attacked in such a way before, but she jumped onto the churchman's back before he could straighten. Indra lifted her head and stuck a leg out regardless of the pain radiating throughout her face, and he tripped, both women using their weight on his arms as he thrashed helplessly on his back. Avery held up the knife, but Indra took it from her, panting, and slit his throat while screeching in triumph. When she fell back, Avery went and scooped her up, looking to Asger still struggling. He shouted something thickly towards them, and Indra tugged her in urgency. "He says 'run'."

Both of her eyes were almost swollen shut and Avery didn't even know if she was focussed on her as her eyes rolled. She was bleeding from multiple places, staining the cloth they wore. And for a moment Avery disassociated, turning her hands over to look at the blood on them.

"Avery!"

"Yes, I heard… Let's get you up. Come on…" She began pulling Indra, got an arm over her shoulder, stumbling out of the tent while Indra held her ribs and whimpered with every step.

It was like walking out into Hell itself. Man against man, a horse running straight through the middle of the temporary camp, carts on fire. She saw it for what it was. That they were no different. There was no such thing as negotiating, surrender, or peace. Both sides, with a plan or idea in mind were demons on either side of the ocean. It was a reverse image of her village, though this time she sat on the side of the Vikings.

"We have to hide…" Indra wheezed.

"Yes, but where?" Avery frantically looked around, the treeline wasn't far but wandering out towards it could make them a target. There was nothing else to try. A howl came from the tent behind them, something smashing as Asger battled inside, and Avery took off towards the trees.

Every step was effort with Indra hanging off her, their pace too slow for the urgency inside her chest. She almost dropped her multiple times. "Come on, Indra! We are almost there!" Their skirts caught their legs and tripped them up, crashing into the dirt. "Indra!"

"Just go, Avery!"

"I'm not leaving you." With new strength, Avery managed to get them to their feet, turning towards the woods.

Hitting the treeline safely was beyond relief.

How long they had walked - or more stumbled through the woods, she didn't know. They could have even gone in circles, and Indra was near collapse. All that she knew was that it was dawn, morning burning through the tops of the trees. It could have been even later than she thought as the darkness was obscured through the overhang above their heads, the forest cloaking them from time.

It was also quiet. Too quiet.

Indra gave out suddenly and tumbled to the ground, eyes closed, and Avery joined her. They laid in silence, just breathing, looking up to the trees, covered in dirt and blood while sharp stones and branches stuck into their backs.

Avery found she was trembling when she sat up. "Indra, we have to find somewhere to rest…" With no reply, she checked Indra, to find she had passed out, exhausted, and probably in a lot of pain. It was cold too, making her hands feel raw and feet numb. "Indra, wake up." Avery shook her, only for her to groan in response. "Indra, please! Please! Don't leave me…" she trailed off, looking out to a wooded wilderness where everything looked the same. A weird call from an animal pricked her ears, the howl of the wind filling her with horror. "Indra!" She shook her more violently, to receive nothing this time.

In fright she scrambled away from Indra on her hands and knees. A realisation - a probing, dreaded thought washed over that perhaps Indra was dying and she could do nothing about it. Perhaps she would get lost and end up dying from the cold or fright herself. Touching her face, she only just now became aware of the sting on her cheek. It burned and felt wet, but she was unable to see what real damage the churchmen had done.

Her thoughts went to Asger and she wondered whether he had gotten away. But did any of it matter if the both of them now died in this wood? At least Indra knew some hunting skills whereas she did not. If she started a fire, would someone she didn't want see the smoke? Could she even start a fire? She needed the right tools, something to spark, rocks, twirling dry sticks against each other. But in the morning dew how would that be possible?

Her mind raced with every thought possible. Figuring that they were going to die anyway.

So, this time she wouldn't run. She wouldn't leave Indra. She'd learnt from her mistakes.

Avery crawled back over to Indra until she could snuggle up to her and push her chest to her back, hugging her as close as possible.

Through bad dreams and terrors, Avery had dreamt of some strange things. At one point she'd floated up through the trees, lightweight like a breeze and could see the two of them huddled together, cocooned, like potential butterflies.

Avery began to giggle. The only sound in the vast darkness that surrounded them. She wondered if she'd be a blood red butterfly between the cream coloured rags of her dress. If she'd have torn or long floaty wings. Lifting a hand up to the sky, she opened and clasped it, pretending she was flying up and away.

"My wings are broken…" she heard herself say.

She laughed harder, snorting and coughing at the morbid thought. "I'd be a butterfly with broken wings! Indra, what type would you be?" Of course, Indra didn't reply and hadn't for a while. "I'll choose for you. I think yellow… with green flecks, possibly owl like eyes on each wing. You could fly me around because mine are broken…" She dwelled on that thought a long moment. "I know you would. We could fly together-"

"Avery…" a voice drifted into her thoughts.

"But you would be a bigger butterfly…" she trailed off, unable to connect the voice to a person.

"Are you hurt?" She felt warm hands against her ice cold skin and only now did she notice that her eyes hadn't even been open. "Avery?"

Ubbe had heard her laugh while scouring the forest, an off-chance as he'd already walked through most of this side of the wood. And now that he had finally found her, he worried for her sanity, she didn't make any sense at all. She blinked her eyes open but didn't even see him, and was floppy when he pulled her from Indra. The two women had been out for over a day.

He grabbed her face to steady her. "Avery, look at me!" His voice was tight, laced with panic. He hadn't rested since the battle, since he returned to the camp, since Hendrick had come back with news of lies the Earl had spread. He owned and ruled both Keeps single handedly, and set up a ploy to split and weaken the northmen. But he had underestimated their strength in such small numbers.

Where the Earl was, was unknown for now. He'd misjudged the courage of those left at homecamp. It was a desperate move made by a desperate man in utter fear.

Ubbe looked up when Hendrick rushed over and clattered to the ground. "Indra... Indra, open your eyes, my sweet girl." He put his ear to her chest, relief washing over his features as he glanced at Ubbe. "She is alive!" And in one strong scoop, picked Indra up from the floor, the woman looking small and feeble against him.

Sighing, he slowly looked down to Avery. This time her eyes were wide with recognition, staring back so deeply, so calmly up at him.

"You would be a blue butterfly."

"What… Wha..." He smiled as he shook his head, cradling her against him. "You want to go home?"

She clung to him rawly. "What?! No! You can't send me back… There is no where… My home is here-"

"With me."

Avery calmed at once. "With you."

The colour was lost on her face. Shrouded with a hood, Avery kept her head turned to the wind, letting it sting her cheeks, the large bruise having formed over one and a slightly puffy eye while the cart she sat on bumped and groaned over the landscape. Every now and then Asger would catch her eye from next to her and smile as he drove the cart.

They were moving to the Keep, continuing on their journey. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Indra among two others resting behind them. Indra said it hurt when she held her head up; her face and head was severely bruised, including a split lip and a black eye. The other women had used elixirs Avery didn't know of to aid her, helping minutely, looking shiny on the skin. They'd smeared her cheek with the same oily substance too, but she didn't specifically find any relief, and Indra faired worse than her, so she could only imagine the pain.

Trailing behind them was Hendrick, keeping his eyes solely on Indra. And behind him rode Hvitserk, drinking from a skin.

Ubbe trotted back down the line on his horse, and Avery moved the material of the hood to cover her face. "How are you feeling?"

Avery was aching from every muscle, with barely the energy to keep her spine straight. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to lie."

"Sore," she settled for. "I've had worse though."

He didn't speak for a long moment. "I don't doubt it." Then he breathed in and out like he was about to say something but didn't know how to word it. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"I'm getting used to fearing for my life that now it isn't even fear…" she spoke quietly. "It will never end so why fear it?"

"This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I didn't know-"

"It's not your fault, ooh bear," Avery interrupted him. "It was a good plan. It ended well regardless of what we were confronted with-"

"We?" he questioned, his turn to interrupt her.

Avery kept the material drawn over her face as she looked to him. He seemed more handsome than before; strong, alert, even through the expression of concern. "I don't see my home as a land anymore, but as the people around me. Wherever I've been it's always been the people. The land is immortal but the people are not. It will thrive far beyond us. It should be the people around that we love that we should hold close. Without them, what is there?"

"Darkness," he said, frowning. "A lot of darkness." He rubbed a thumb over his lower lip and exhaled. "Avery, I must tell you of what happened in my past so you can put your own judgment on me. So that you know what you are getting into." She shook her head to refuse. "Avery, it wasn't an option." His voice changed; deeper, one of authority.

"I want you to know that I knew my last wife would be killed and I did nothing to stop it," he blurted. "I didn't want to stop it because she went behind my back, many a time. I also fancied another that I shouldn't who brought me much trouble."

Avery was speechless, trying to process the new information.

"I haven't found an easy way to tell you, so this is me trying…" he said with an air of aggravation.

"It's fine. Then please tell me what I need to know," she said calmly. "Because you don't seem to be that man anymore. So tell me... Tell me what I need to know."

The earnesty in her voice stumped him a little, so he managed to find a place to start. "My brother Ivar punished me for not taking his side. Every night I dreamt of carving my name into conquering lands, that my own ambitions or wants did not control me, to find a seat back at my brothers table as family. It only took me the days to ride with you alone to know that I am not that type of man either. I was not the old me, nor the new one they'd created or viewed me as. And I don't want to be either of them. It does not make me happy. But you..." He then struggled, taking another deep breath.

"...I don't want anything from you."

"No."

"That is all there is to know." She still hid her face, an idea forming, though she tried to fight it. "When I lie with you will you still want me after? When I'm no longer young, when I'm old and tired. Will the longing for battle when you're finished change you? Will you take another - become bored with me?"

"Avery, I am not that kind of man." He rubbed the back of his neck quickly. "Though I can only offer you words, not actions of proof. But that is not me."

"No," she said, almost mimicking him from earlier. "Then there is nothing you need to tell me."

"When did you become so wise?" He tilted his head at her, smiling enticingly in that certain way that she had to look away, because it made her forget about her God, even if only momentarily.

He reached out to her hand in her lap. "And don't ever hide your face from me."

Hesitantly, she let the hood drop, revealing the discolouration, the redness under her eye. When she looked at him, she could see that he was trying to hide his worry behind an encouraging smile.

As if to ensure her that she was safe now, he tugged at her hand. "Do you want to ride with me, stulka?"

The words she wanted to say in reply were too suggestive, too unordinary for her. But one thing she'd realised was that life was unpredictable, and she didn't know how long she'd be granted to stay. So, already full with regrets, the last thing she wanted was adding yet another. "I want to lie with you, ooh bear."

#vikings #the dog #ubbe #ubbe vikings #ubbe fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #chapter 11 #beautifulramblingbrains #hvitserk #slowburn #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #ubbexoc #ubbe x oc #avery

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thereluctantinquisitor · 7 years ago

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OC Kiss Week - The Moments Between

So it is OC Kiss Week, and I wanted to write a piece for Hanin Lavellan and @lavellanlove‘s wonderful Avira Lavellan, who have gone on a solid novel’s worth of adventures together over the course of the past year or so!

I only hope I did the lovely lady justice, and thank you for letting me borrow her for this event.

Hanin Lavellan x Avira Lavellan (hanavira), approx. 2300 words, most under the cut <3

Most soldiers had rituals they performed after a fight, and Hanin Lavellan was no exception. Coming down from that heady battle-rush was a difficult, at times painful process. It was a time when old wounds mingled with the new, the physical with the emotional, and they all made themselves known at once with bright and startling clarity.

Sitting by the fire, watching the rest of his squad and a few scouting parties drift like wraiths through the camp, it felt alarmingly selfish for Hanin not to be among them. Tending to whatever he could, comforting others with his presence. He would use words, as many good captains did, but too often he just didn’t have them at the ready. It was an art he had yet to master, and a part of him was convinced he never would. But his squad had yet to think him less of a leader for it. In truth, Hanin wasn’t quite sure what he had done to deserve them.

You don’t give yourself enough credit, vhenan.

He smiled to himself, Avira’s voice so clear in his head that she might as well be standing behind him, murmuring the words in his ear. But, of course, she wasn’t. Hanin’s smile wavered before fading entirely, his usual scowl moving to fill the void it left behind. Their duties often saw them separated; it was something they both knew would happen time and time again. But still, in those quiet moments between the sliding of steel and the cracking of burning logs, there was an emptiness. A new emptiness; one he had never felt before. And no matter what Hanin did, he couldn’t seem to fill it.

Not the way she could.

Letting out a tired breath, Hanin allowed his eyes to close for the briefest time, forearms on his knees, his head bowed. For a moment, he could feel her hands on his shoulders. A light touch, at first, growing more confident as he leaned into it, knowing that he selfishly sought contact despite being covered in filth and blood and Mythal knows what else. It seemed a small, fanciful thing, but whenever he imagined her hands on him, he was never wearing plate. The limitations of hard metal were no longer worth consideration, so it felt as though it was not there even though his body recognised the familiar weight bearing down on him. Perhaps it was because he did not feel he needed it when he was around her. It was armour in more ways than one. Piece by piece, she had taught him how to shed it without even realising. Or perhaps she had known all along. A smirk tugged up the corner of his lips. Avira always seemed to know more than she let on.

Those imaginary hands shifted, brushing across his shoulders, and in his mind’s eye Hanin saw her face, that brow creased in an expression of concern he hated himself for placing there. But at the same time, he knew his own often mirrored it when she arrived late in the night, cloak tattered, eyes heavy from lack of sleep and too many cards at play. As it turned out, a part of loving someone meant worrying about them. Despite insistence. Despite assurance. It had taken him time to learn that the sensation would always be there, eating away at the inside of his chest, ignoring all rationality, all confidence, all careful consideration.

It had taken significantly less time for him to learn that he could live with it.

Ir abelas, he thought, imagining reaching out to brush the side of her face with his fingertips. To tuck back a stray strand of hair; trace one of the faint lines of her vallaslin as it glided up her temple. It has been too long, this time. Far too long.

Their separations came often, that was true, but for the first time since realising that this was a dance they desired to do in pairs, over a month had kept them apart. Not just apart, but at what might as well be separate sides of Thedas. Her mission was a vague mist; a fog of secrets that could not be shared, and that Hanin did not demand to know. The Nightingale made use of her agents, just as Commander Cullen relied on his soldiers to be where they were needed. For the most part, it was manageable. Fine.

It was always the quiet moments.

Moments alone in his tent. Moments like this, after battle, after hours spend in a frantic blur of steel and dread and orders shouted to the wind. Moments where he could count every old wound like nails driven into his skin. Moments where the new ones seemed to pile on top, driving them deeper.

He needed to distract himself. Hanin stood, ignoring the protest of legs that had carried him through a field of demons and men alike, and made his way around the camp. Checking in on his squad let him forget for a moment as their problems surpassed his own. A head wound here. A broken strap there. Scrapes and gashes and a thousand little injuries that he hoped they would never have to feel again once the scars arrived. It was good, for a time. It kept him busy.

But before long, Hanin found himself by the horses, tethered at the side of the campsite. They snorted and huffed, and Elgar was waiting for him, her ears flicking in absent greeting as she recognised his footsteps. Reaching out, Hanin trailed a hand down the side of her neck, feeling the muscle ripple and twitch beneath his palm. She was strong. He could be, too. He had to be.

“So... when was the last time you pulled a brush through that mane of hers?”

At first, Hanin just snorted, shaking his head, thinking it was just another trick of his mind. That he was making up her voice, so clear and crisp, out of some delusional need to see her again. But when he heard footsteps, he paused, hand freezing on Elgar’s snout. Then, sharply, he turned.

She was… there. Riding boots that reached her thighs, leather half-gloves designed for gripping reins, thick brown hair bundled into a practical pile at the back of her head. A half-smile was the crown of her features, regarding him with a kind of fond amusement. A part of him wondered if she knew what he had been thinking. A part of him wondered why she was there; how she had arrived without him noticing.

A part of him was just hopelessly, unashamedly happy to see her.

Hanin’s hand lingered on Elgar as he turned; slipped off as he crossed the distance between himself and Avira in a few purposeful strides. He did not even hesitate to fold her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her as close as he dared. “Vhenan,” he murmured, lips brushing against her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Closed his eyes. Breathed. “I… did not expect to see you here.”

She sighed gently. Tiredly. He felt it in the slight rise and fall of her back. “Nor did I expect to come here,” she confessed, and then shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. Those green eyes seemed to search his own. That brow creased ever so slightly. “Are you well? Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I... am fine. More than fine.” Hanin couldn’t believe the first thing he had done was cause her to worry, but then again, of course it was the first thing he had done. He let himself relax into a faint smile, arms loosening slightly around her form, giving her more room to move but still not quite willing to let go. Not entirely. Not yet. “This is just a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope.”

Hanin’s expression warmed. “On’ala sa.” The best one.

This time, they both smiled, something soft and genuine passing between them before they drifted closer and their lips touched. Exhausted, filthy, bruised and aching, it probably would have made sense for it to be a short affair. Something simple; a greeting long overdue. But Hanin couldn’t seem to bring himself to break the kiss, leaning into it, deepening it, wanting it. One hand wrapped around the small of her back, drawing her closer as his other hand glided up to cup the back of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the quickening of her pulse as it rose to match his own. Creators… he had missed her.

They broke apart for a moment, breathing as though they had ran the length of the kiss, foreheads touching, the tips of their noses brushing ever so slightly. Hanin swallowed, eyes closed, fingers absently lingering at the back of her neck, playing with the stray strands of hair that had escaped her bun during the ride. He had no idea what machinations of fate saw her brought to their forward camp. Creators knew the Nightingale had no intention of doing Hanin any favours, so the idea that she had organised this with any intention seemed absurd.

Then again, as he opened his eyes and caught Avira’s slightly parted lips, her cheeks a dust-flushed hue, perhaps it would not have solely been a favour for him. After all, say what you like about Leliana, she cared for her best agents.

“How long?” he breathed, voice tightening slightly with the question, fearing the answer.

“A few days,” she replied, a note of apology tinging her voice despite both of them knowing it could not be helped. “My target is further north. I am only staying here to resupply and await further orders from Nightingale.” Her lips pursed slightly. “Things are… prone to changing, in my line of work. Often far too quickly.”

Hanin nodded, his heart sinking for a moment before he chided himself for the emotion. A few days. Perhaps only a few hours on each of those days, with all the fighting, but Creators, he intended to use them well. However, Avira was quick to read his initial response, and she reached up, her hand cupping the side of Hanin’s face, drawing his gaze back to her. “Ir abelas, ma lath.” I’m sorry, my love.

No. All Hanin did was shake his head slightly, meaningfully, meeting and holding her gaze, wanting nothing more than to convince her she had nothing to be sorry for. So he leaned in again, slowly, almost tentatively, their breath mingling in the cool night air. He closed the distance between them, mouths hovering as close as they could without actually touching. An apology of his own; a request. “No apologies, vhenan,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “We... take what we can, when we are lucky enough to have it.”

Then he kissed her again, and she kissed back, and the memories of the day, the fight, the blood, the fear, the rush of battle, all seemed to flood out of him now that he was certain she was there and he was hers. He could touch her, feel her, and she could touch him too, her fingers laced at the back of his head, pulling him close, insistent but gentle. There was almost a giddiness to the realisation, and he found himself smiling against her lips. She must have felt the expression and drew away, one brow arched curiously, her head tilting to the side as she inspected his sudden shift in mood.

“Something amusing, vhenan?”

“Not amusing, no.” Hanin took a deep, slow breath, simply regarding her through its duration. Even the moments spent blinking felt like wasting time they did not have. “Just… right. Good.”

It was a simple answer, but Hanin’s answers often were. Thankfully, they didn’t have to be more complex; Avira always seemed to understand what he meant. It was yet another thing he loved about her. Where she spun stanzas of poetry, he slapped down prose in single lines. And she never treated him as lesser for it.

“Well… good.” Avira smiled, and Hanin watched the expression rise to meet her eyes as she stood on her toes and stole another chaste kiss from his all too willing lips. “We have… much to catch up on,” she murmured, and then her gaze flicked down and up again. “Is it safe to say that blood is not your own?”

It was at that precise moment that Hanin realised a few things. Firstly, that he was still wearing his plate. Secondly, that it was covered in blood and filth and other grime he had picked up throughout the course of the day. And thirdly, that he had just pulled her against him and kissed her as though neither of the first two things were true. “I… no, it isn’t,” he said, then cleared his throat uncomfortably, releasing her and moving to step back. “Sorry, I—”

He snagged his wrist before he even managed to move away, tugging him back in close with a playful shake of her head. ”No apologies, remember?” Then, she slipped her fingers between his and turned back towards the camp, tugging softly for him to follow her. “But I think we could both use a bit of rest and relaxation. At least for tonight. I for one would like to wash off some of the road I have collected over the past few days.”

Falling into step beside her, all Hanin could do was watch her for a moment, her eyes determined, filled with the promise of a washcloth and shared warmth for the night to come. She would have everything she needed seconds after setting foot in that camp; of that, Hanin was certain. After all, how could anyone deny such an expression?

A low chuckle rose from Hanin’s chest, and he let it find life on his lips. “It is… good to have you back, vhenan.”

Avira glanced across at that, squeezing his hand in silent affirmation of the same. “It is good to be back. Even if it is never for quite as long as I might hope.”

“It will be long enough,” Hanin said, voice soft but certain as they neared camp. “Until next time. And that time will be long enough, too.” In truth, a single moment would be long enough, if that was all he could have. But Hanin could not find the words to express it, so he let it linger in his tone, his eyes, the press of his palm to hers.

And without another word, without another sound, Avira understood.

#dragon age fanfiction #ockiss18 #hanin lavellan #avira lavellan #hanavira #thank you for letting me ramble into the sunset with Avi #that was MEANT to be a drabble but then again I am hopeless #so... >.>#MY BAD #<3 i hope you like it and thank you for all the RPing fun #lavellanlove

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thelookingglassalice · 8 years ago

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Flawed (Part 5)

Chapters

Characters: Bucky Barnes x OC (Sofia)

Synopsis: Bucky meets a woman outside of Avengers Tower one day. Her skin is flawed down one side of her body and it draws his attention in. Future angst

Word Count: 1469

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares

@lillianfromaccounting @mumbles411 @musicalninja @emilyevanston @mewsiex @smoothdogsgirl @chrisevans-imagines @shadyskit @lexie-mo @tinaferraldo @mizzzpink @whatmakesmebeme-tblr

If you’d like to be tagged just ask.

Sofia’s eyes opened. It was dark, it took a moment to remember where she was and what woke her up. She felt the bed shift and heard Vali whimper.

“Hmm, what’s wrong?” She rolled to look and saw Vali crouched over Bucky.

They had fallen asleep with Bucky on his back and Sofia lying half across his chest. Now he was facing away, crunched into a ball. There was a low moaning coming from Bucky’s chest. Vali whimpered again and nudged Bucky, trying to get under his curled arms. Bucky suddenly lurched to his back. His hands gripping the sheets. He was panting and covered in sweat. He muttered some words in what Sofia thought were Russian.

“Murderer.” He then muttered in English.

“No, no.” Sofia whispered and ran her fingers through Bucky’s hair. Vali tucked himself into Bucky’s side and nosed his cheek. Sofia did the same on the opposite side. Bucky’s breathing started to slow. His arms came around Vali and Sofia. His fingers curled into Vali’s fur and into Sofia’s t-shirt.

“Shhh.” Sofia touched Bucky’s face and a small tremor ran through him. “I think I’m falling for you. Okay? So keep it together.”

“Um-hum.” Bucky sighed in his sleep.

Sofia smiled and tucked her head back into his shoulder, falling back asleep.

The next morning Bucky woke up before his bedmates. Vali was on his back, tongue lolling. Sofia was in much the same position, no tongue though. He slid out from between them and Vali rolled towards Sofia. The dog gave a small grumble but didn’t wake up.

“Hey, no nightmares?” Steve greeted Bucky in the kitchen.

“Why do you say that?” Bucky asked, getting juice from the fridge.

“You didn’t wake up the compound. Maybe that dog is trained.” Steve smirked and continued to eat his breakfast.

“I was sort of wedged between him and Sofia. Between the two of them I actually slept.” Bucky shook his head and went back to his room.

He took Vali out and came across Clint who showed him a stockpile of dog toys.

“You’re really looking forward to your own dog, huh?” Bucky tossed a ball and Vali ran after it.

“This close.” Clint put his thumb and forefinger close together again.

“I gotta go wake Sofia up, can he hang out here with you? He’s having a good time.” Bucky watched Vali snap at a butterfly.

“Sure. He’ll find you if he needs to. He’s a smart one.” Clint picked up a frisbee as Bucky made his way back to the main building.

Sofia was on her side, his pillow clutched to her chest. She had sprawled out, taking up the whole bed. He sat next to her and pushed her hair off her face. She groaned but didn’t open her eyes.

“I’m gonna just stay in your bed all day.” She mumbled.

“Jesus, I wish you could. But do you want Tony to come looking for you? He has that tracker on your phone.” Bucky laid down so they were facing each other.

"You seem eager to get it over with." Sofia opened her eyes.

"I am. Charge headfirst, take what's thrown at you." Bucky smiled.

"Oh, I'm sure things will be thrown at you."

“They’re almost here.” Sofia chewed on the inside of her cheek as she paced the penthouse.

Bucky grabbed her as she passed him for the hundredth time.

“Before they get here...do you know why he hates me?” Bucky asked.

“The Soldier...killed Howard and Maria.” Sofia nodded.

“I killed a lot of people. And if Tony says something or shows you something that makes you not want to be around me anymore-”

“He’s not going to. I am able to think for myself.” Sofia narrowed her eyes. Bucky continued to hold her hands.

“IF, it happens.” He gave a sad smile. “I had the best time with you. Probably the best in 100 years.”

Sofia frowned and raised up on her toes to kiss Bucky. They broke apart just as the elevator doors opened. They shoved away from each other as Tony and Pepper entered.

“A welcome home party?” Tony removed his sunglasses, smiling at Sofia and frowning at Bucky. “The guest list is for shit but a nice thought.”

“Tony.” Pepper warned.

“Jesus Sofia, if I didn’t know we weren’t related I’d want a blood test.” Tony sighed and sat on one of the bar stools. “Someone tells you no and it makes you want it more.”

“Is that a compliment?” Sofia was twisting her fingers together. Bucky was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

“James. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Pepper. Have you seen something on a different floor so we can get away from this tense situation?” Pepper escorted Bucky to the elevator. He shot a look back at Sofia who nodded.

“It’s not a compliment. I told you he was trouble.” Tony rubbed his forehead.

“I know-”

“No you don’t. This isn’t all about what he did. It’s what he may do. This life is dangerous and hard. What happens if he doesn’t come back? How fast will you get over that?” Tony looked at her. Trying to make her understand.

“There’s something about him that I need. I don’t know what it is.” Sofia said softly, moving forward and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I do. It’s whatever is in Pepper's head that made her give me another chance.” Tony steeled himself. “I won’t stop you, but I also won’t be inviting him to Christmas. You can come still.”

“Thank you.” Sofia hugged Tony, he patted her arm.

“So, Pepper said you had a peace offering. Give it.”

“I’ll stay in New York.” Sofia pulled back and sat on a stool next to him.

“No more ‘finding yourself’?” Tony smirked.

“I was working with children, not making my way through orgies in Amsterdam.” Sofia rolled her eyes.

“I’ve done that. Not as fun as it sounds.” Tony shook his head. “What about working for me?”

“I thought about it and I can’t. You know I was never able to concentrate on science stuff.” Sofia propped her chin on one hand.

“You’re a shitty teacher then.” Tony frowned.

“Shut up Stank.”

“Stop talking to Rhodey. Okay, so you can manage the September Foundation.”

“Really? I would really love that. I could go to schools and colleges to scout.” Sofia lit up.

“Maybe do some guest lectures, Professor.” Tony suggested.

“Don’t call me that. It feels pretentious.”

“That’s why I make most people call me doctor. Start calling me doctor.” Tony stood up and stretched. “You know what he did. So it’s on you now. Have you discussed the crash?”

“No, he just knows I was in an accident. The relationship is still very on the surface. I know he was controlled by HYDRA, he was made to kill, he’s been damaged but he’s trying.” Sofia turned on her stool. “He knows my parents died in an accident that almost killed me and that the Starks became my guardians.”

“Do you still get nightmares?”

“Rarely, when it rains.”

“Well, I can only hope he gets tired of your baggage and dumps you. Because that glint in your eye is too familiar. You got something you want and you plan on keeping it.” Tony shook his head.

“I must say you’re interest in engineering is refreshing. It’s nice to have a conversation about it without the other person claiming they had the idea first.” Pepper was talking to Bucky as they stepped back into the living area.

“I did. I had all the ideas first. Come on. Let’s get back to our place before I fall asleep standing up.” Tony put an arm around Pepper and kissed her temple.

“Good idea. Sofia you need to come to dinner sometime and see the house. It’s beautiful and serene. Tony hates it.” Pepper laughed.

“It needs more lights and chrome. That’s all I’m saying." Tony started to lead Pepper to the elevator.

"I must say you took this better than I thought. That guy a few years ago who cheated on me is still missing." Sofia called after him.

"Oh. One last stipulation. I want you moved into the compound." Tony spun with Pepper and they entered the elevator. "It’s more secure and Vision makes an excellent informant. I knew you were dating a week and a half ago.” Tony replaced his sunglasses as the doors closed.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #bucky and sofia #flawed story

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muses-by-z · 8 years ago

Text

Awake || Noelle & Octavian

Where: The Institute Infirmary When: Tonight, June 10 What: Noelle awakens from her coma, though her memory has been effected.

The room was getting clearer. Noelle could hear more than just floating voices, there was shuffling, beeping, small talk. She could feel herself laying on a bed, the mattress underneath her, the sheet laying lightly on top of her. Everything smelled...clean, and stale. There was a vague smell of flowers wafting towards her as well. Her fingers twitched, and she felt herself crashing back into her body, finally able to move again. Her hand closed again, tightening weakly around the larger hand that held it.

Octavian had let some of the flowers stick around, longer than they should have. A few of the vases had dead petals pooling around the bases of them. Octavian had been on his phone, before he had started to fall asleep in his chair. His sleep schedule was so off, it was only 6 PM, but he felt as though it was the middle of the night. The tightening of his hand forced him to slowly awaken. He was cautious about what to expect. He had dreamt that she had gripped his hand harder. But as OC opened his eyes and saw Noelles own eyes blinking open, he flinched. "N-Noelle?" he asked, wondering if this was a dream.

Noelle couldn't believe she was back, pulled out of the endless nothingness and in the real world again. Slowly her eyes started to flutter open and she grimaced at the harsh flourescent light greeting her. She was in a hospital, in a room she didn't recognize but it was definitely a hospital. Hearing a voice she jumped slightly, her eyes moving to the person holding her hand, sitting next to her. He looked like he had been sitting there a long time, like she had woken him up with her movement. "H-how long...was I...?" she tried to ask, her voice raspy. "Where am I?"

The sound of her voice lit Octavian's eyes up. He had almost forgotten it after all that time. He ran his hand over his face in disbelief, as if checking to make sure he was awake. "It's been... a while," he admitted as he thought about how long it had been. Had it been over a month already? The days had just blended together for him. He was certain he'd need to retake all his classes this semester. "It's been like, a month. And then some. You were out for a long time," he told her, still gripping her hand. "You're at the hospital, still at school," he added.

Noelle's face fell when he said how much time had passed. She was trapped in there for over a month? What life had passed around her while she was stuck like that? "Oh." she said quietly. She furrowed her brow at what he said, trying to think of what school she could remember past high school. "...school?" she repeated in confusion. Her eyes moved down to where he was still holding her hand, and the way he did and seemed so happy she was awake, he had to be someone who cared about her. But she was drawing a blank, and she felt horrible for it. "I don't, um," she stammered weakly, not sure how to say it. "but...who are you?"

Octavian wanted to cheer her up. He had played out her waking up in his mind over and over. She was happier in his dreams, and wanted to try and fix that. "Uh yeah, school. The institute? You know, college," he said while he gave her a confused look. Octavians own joy was dashed when she asked who he was. He was fearful of that, of being forgotten. "I'm OC... your... friend," he said unsure of how to explain it. "You don't remember me at all?" He asked.

Noelle looked around, trying to spark a memory from the room or just her mind. "The Institute...college." she repeated quietly. She gave his hand a tiny squeeze and her face creased with concern at the look on his face when she asked him. "OC...I, um, well you must be someone I know..." she reasoned, because he was here with her and knew her name. "I don't remember anything else though." she admitted. "I - I'm really sorry. I might if you try and remind me?"

Octavian held back his tears. This was his worst fear. Everything he has worked for with her was gone. He wasn't perfect, but the last thing he wanted was to start all over with her. The cambion nodded to her. "Yeah. I am. We're close. We live and work together, actually," he told her. How could he remind her? There had to be someone to prove how close they were. He looked down, eying Roscoe laying next to his chair to comfort OC. He reached down and placed it on Noelles bed. Seeing her awake, he got very excited, sniffing her, running around on her bed and licking her face. "I got you him," he added.

Noelle watched his face and it nearly broke her heart, "I'm so sorry." she apologized quickly. "We live together, like...roommates? Where do we work?" she asked, wanting as many details as possible to try and jog her memory. "What am I studying here?" When he picked up a little dog she gasped lightly as he set him on her bed. The puppy's excitement made her let out a tiny laugh, starting to smile as he ran around and licked at her. "Hey buddy," she said softly. "aren't you cute?" she said carefully petting him with her free hand, her movements still slow. Noelle looked back up at him, "OC...is that short for something?"

Octavian shook his head. "No, it's alright," he tried to tell her. It of course wasn't, but what else could he say. "Yeah, sort of. We sometimes sleep in the same bed," he said, unsure of how to tell her he had claimed her, like an object. Watching her with Ros comforted him a little. "Well my whole name is Octavian. But OC will will work," the student told her. There didn't seem to be a reason to remind her his middle name was Courtney.

Noelle gave him a confused look, they sometimes shared a bed. "Oh are we um, like, together, then?" she asked hesitantly. That could explain why he seemed so upset and had waited here with her all this time. She scratched behind the ears of the puppy, listening to him. "Octavian." she repeated. "I think I like Octavian better - if that's okay? Is that what I called you?" she asked. She looked around the room, seeing the remains of sweets and meals he had eaten while waiting for her. Suddenly she gasped lightly, "Octavian - you're a cook. Right? A chef?"

Octavian shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, something like that," he started. It wasn't clear what they were, the fact he has to feed a lot only complicated things. While she was in her coma, he thought about them. It was time to better define what they were, he sort of liked the idea of her being his girlfriend. She deserved a lot better than him. "Yeah, you called me that. And yes I like to cook, it's what I'm here for. You're here for art history. You may only like me because I make things for you to eat," he joked. "Well, that and the fact I go shirtless a lot."

Noelle nodded in understanding. He seemed like a nice guy who really cared about her, like he would be a good boyfriend. Her lips pulled into a small smile, "I did? And you are? I remembered that by myself." she pointed out, kind of proud. "Art history..." she mused to herself. "that makes sense, I've always liked art." The little dog curled up next to her and buried his nose in her sheets, making her smile again. "I wanna see if I can remember his name...he looks like maybe a Scout, or Buddy, or something?" she asked, searching her mind for something as simple as a dog name.

"Well you call him buddy a lot. But that's not his name," he told her as he looked over at the dog. He wanted to help her remember, so the two of them could move on, together. "You don't like, remember me at all? Like memories of us?" He asked her as he scratched his head. Would that mean starting completely over with her? "We've sort of been through a lot together," he added.

Noelle bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with something. She hated this feeling of fog in her mind, and she could only imagine how it felt for him. "I'm trying, but...I can barely remember anything about being here." she admitted. "Being in school, where this school is, any classes, people I've met. It's all fuzzy. But...I don't think it's like, gone?" she offered, trying to explain. "It feels like I could remember things if someone helped, it's all just really cloudy."

"It's in the Caribbean," he told her, hoping to spark anything in her memory. Octavian reached out and ran his hand through her dark hair. "I'm here to help. I want you to remember. I had a birthday, last month. You gave me this," he told her as he showed her the bracelet she had gotten him. It was right before his birthday she had went into a coma. "You didn't have a chance to give it to me yourself. You went into your coma first," he explained.

"A college in the caribbean, we're on an island then right? Do we live right by the beach?" she asked, an image of the beach right outside a window coming back to her. Noelle liked the feeling of his hand through her hair, she closed her eyes for just a moment as he did it, and another image came flooding back. "You used to do that sometimes, with my hair...when we watched movies?" she asked, vaguely remembering their sitting on a couch together. Noelle's face fell a little, "I missed your birthday?" She took the bracelet, carefully turning it in her hands and reading the message. "I gave this to you? I...knew that I wouldn't remember? Was I sick or something that I thought you might need this?" she asked, wondering what happeded before she went into the coma.

Octavian smiled, and gave her a nod. "Yeah, we do, we live right on the beach" he said softly. It gave him a small bit of hope, that maybe she'd remember him at some point. "Hallmark channel movies especially. I hate them, but they're your favorite. And you're cute enough where I can deal," he flirted. Despite the situation, he couldn't help himself. Octavian shook his head at her question. "I -- I don't know why you gave it to me. Maybe you knew something was going to happen. I'm not sure. You're pretty smart, so probably you were just thinking ahead, like worst case scenario. You were... compelled. A vampire here, he put it on you. It sort of made you do anything, anyone wanted," he informed her.

"That sounds nice, living on the beach." she mused. Noelle giggled a little at what he said, trying to picture him watching Hallmark with her. His comment sounded so natural, "Do you say stuff like that a lot?" she asked, feeling her ears blush a little. "So I must've thought we would need it." she said, still confused. When he kept talking though, she stared at him, her eyes growing wide. "Compelled? A what, a vampire ?" she asked. "That's not, vampires aren't real though." she said, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. The machine next to her started to beep louder and faster as she tried to remember and terrifying images of blood and fangs and monsters sprung to her memory. They were real, and they were here, all kinds of creatures, and they had hurt her.

Octavian nodded. "I mean, yeah. I'm honest. And, I guess I sort of think you're really pretty," he admitted. Although, even in this state, she had to know how attractive she was. "They are real. And you worked for one. I know, it sounds fucking crazy. Trust me, I think so too. But I'm being real with you," he informed her. Even he thought this shit was straight out of some shitty CW or ABC Family show. But it was true, they existed. "You worked for one... and I, I tried to get you out of that situation. And your boss got mad, so he put a compulsion on you. Making you do whatever anyone commanded," he said, having a hard time looking at her as he spoke. The cambion still felt awful about it. "I'm really sorry for it. For my part in getting you here, in a coma," he added.

Noelle's breathing had picked up, and she was still shaking her head. "How..." she breathed. "Why would I work for a v-vampire?" she asked, having trouble even saying the name now that she was remembering they were real. She squeezed her eyes closed again as a pain hit her head, awful flashes running through her head. "I don't - I don't know if I'm remembering things or they're nightmares from the coma." she admitted, her chin quivering a little in fear. There was more blood, and chains, whips, sex, pain, fear. It couldn't all be real. She pulled herself from her thoughts long enough to hear him explain and apologize, and shook her head. "Hey, it doesn't sound like it was your fault." she assured, squeezing his hand lightly again.

Octavian shook his head. "I... don't know. It happened before we became friends. He can be convincing. And intimidating," he explained to her as he nodded his head. He wasn't sure how she got involved with him, but if he had a say in it when it first happened, he would have warned her not to get involved with a vampire. "That could be either. You've been through a lot since you've been here. Where you worked, and even just because of your compulsion. It's been really hard for you, I've seen how it changed you. It was really sad to watch," he told her, eyes welling up a little. "I'll always feel bad about it. Like I could have done more to protect you," he added.

"He sounds scary." she admitted, looking down at the dog next to her. She was embarrassed that she had gotten herself into such a mess, working for a vampire and letting him basically ruin her life from the sounds of it. "If I...tell you something I remember, can you help to tell me if it happened or not? Or tell me more about it?" she asked, wanting to make sense of all the clouds in her head. Noelle bit her lip, hearing the sadness in his voice as he explained. "How did I change? I hope it didn't make me mean or anything?" she asked. She shook her head again, "You're here now, I can't imagine how scared I would be if you weren't." she admitted, trying to assure him.

Xavier was scary. But honestly, it seemed so long ago. He was certain they wouldn't need to deal with him again. "Look, as soon as you get out of here, you won't have to worry about him, I promise. It's in the past. You beat him," he told her. Finally, she was out from working under him, and now able to make her own decisions. "Yeah, sure. I can do that. If it will help," he told her as he nodded his head. Octavian wondered what she'd ask, making him a little nervous. "Oh just... you weren't happy. You weren't as optimistic. Usually everyone at the school could count on your enthusiasm. But you sort of lost it. Which I mean, it's understandable. You went through some pretty messed up shit. Octavian pulled her hand up and kissed it. "I hardly left. Just to like shower basically. I wanted to be here when you woke up."

Noelle nodded, smiling lightly. "Thank you. Even if I don't remember everything...I feel safe, with you." she offered. "I remember, or, I think I remember...a pink house? And...being tied up, and, stretched? Like I was being pulled, and it hurt. Did that happen?" she asked hesitantly. Noelle felt bad that she had changed the way he said, like she had let everyone down because she couldn't handle whatever the compulsion had done to her. "So, I had to do whatever I was told? Like, automatically? Even if I didn't want to?" That sounded horrible, and scary, no wonder it wore on her if that was what she had to live with. Noelle watched him, thinking he really was a sweet guy to do all this for her, to treat her with so much kindness. "I'm really glad you were, thank you." she said again. The puppy next to her perked his head up at the sound of a nurse walking by the room and she breathed a small laugh before gasping. "Roscoe - his name is Roscoe, right?"

"Yeah... the place we live in has a lot of pink," he confirmed. It was better than living in the dorms, it was safe for Noelle being secluded. Tiff's house was also gorgeous, which made the decision a lot easier, to find someplace else to live. It was nice to hear she felt safe with him, despite her lack of memory. "Yeah... people did some awful shit to you. Because of your compulsion or otherwise. It's just sort of how this place is. But I'm here for you. So are your other friends. To make sure you're alright. You've dealt with a lot, but you got through it. You're really strong," he assured her. He didn't want to go into much more detail about her compulsion. The sooner it was in the past, the better. "Yeah! You named him. I got him for you for your birthday, to try and help you deal with shit."

Noelle laughed a little, "Did I make you decorate it pink? Why pink?" she asked. Her favorite color was purple, she would've chosen that if anything. When he confirmed what she remembered, she shuddered a little that it was true. What kind of place was this, with mythical creatures walking around, and people hurting each other like that? "Who are some of my friends? Will you help tell me who is nice here?" she asked, worried she might end up in another bad situation. She preferred to trust people and be optimistic, but after this she wondered if she should be more careful. Noelle smiled wider that she had gotten something right, the puppy starting to jump excitedly when he heard his name from her. "Hey Roscoe! Oh I bet you were so good waiting here." she said, hugging him. "And you brought him here," she said, looking at Octavian. "you're a good guy."

Octavian shook his head. "Oh hell no," he started with a smile. "I wouldn't stand for that if I had a choice. It's our roommate, she owns it. It's her place, her decorations," he explained to her. The house was beautiful, despite the color choice. "But don't worry, she's totally cool, you're friends with her. Um, Violet is your friend, you should probably see her soon. That might help you remember," he said. That made Octavian a little nervous, about what she would tell Noelle about him. How she could tell her how much of a jerk he sometimes was to her. "You have a lot of friends though. The list of people who are mean to you are shorter," he added. OC flashed her a smile when she mentioned he must be a good guy. He shook his head at the notion. "I -- I don't know about that. I've made a lot of mistakes. Don't some things I shouldn't," he admitted.

Noelle blinked in surprise, "We have a roommate? So it's us two and we like rent from this girl? I'm glad she's a good one." she mused. "It sounds good to live with anyone...I was so alone in there, in the coma." she admitted softly. "Violet, that's a pretty name. Was she here a lot too?" she asked, seeing other stuff strewn around the room that didn't look like it was from him. She breathed in relief at what he said though, glad that she had made friends and didn't have to worry quite so much. Noelle wondered why he talked about himself like that, if he was always so down on himself or if it was about everything that had happened. "I think everyone has...that doesn't make you so bad." she offered.

"Yeah, she is. I wouldn't have moved in if I didn't trust her. Or if you didn't. It's safe to go to, whenever you're ready," he assured her. Octavian didn't want to know much about what it was like in her coma. He felt bad about feeling that way, but it just saddened him. He wanted to forget about it. "Yeah, she has been. She's sort of got a master..." he started. He wanted to avoid that dynamic of the island. But he didn't know how else to explain why Violet had to leave here more than him. "So she has responsibilities to him. She can't be here as much as me," the cambion told her, his face growing a little hot. "I guess. We've known each other a long time. We went home to Chicago last year. And we met each other's families. They're good, I promise. They miss you," he told her to try and lighten her mood.

"Good." she said, kind of excited to be back living in the pink house again. "I'm not sure they'll let me leave here right away though..." she admitted, looking at the machines around her. "Is our roommate a uh, one of the supernatural ones? Are...you?" she asked, realizing she hadn't. Noelle was confused again at what he said, "She has a master?" she repeated. "What does that mean?" she was surprised to hear they had gone back home together, "So you're from Chicago too? You met my family?" She must have trusted him to bring him home to meet them. "You're sure they're good? You've talked to them? Do they know about...this?" she asked a little quieter, hoping her family wasn't at home scared for her.

"Yeah, probably not. We can ask Qhuinn when she comes to check on you. But they'll want to observe you I bet," he said with a shake of his head. Octavian had asked what would be the process, once she woke up. And every time he was told they'd want to watch her, to make sure she was okay. And clearly, with her memory issue they'd want to observe for a while. "Tiff? Yeah, she's a Siren. Which is like, a mermaid, but can sing. And like, control you. But don't worry, she's totally chill. She'd never hurt you or anything. I trust her. And I... yeah I am. My father was an incubus. So I'm a half one of those," he admitted, trying to skirt past that subject if he could. Octavian didn't want to scare her. "A master... here, if you're a grant student, you can be like, owned or claimed by someone. It's not a great dynamic. And yeah, they're great. We spent a week there with them. I slept on your couch, to make sure their favorite daughter stayed saintly," he joked. That was his least favorite part of the trip. "And they can't know everything about here. I haven't told them about you in a coma. I didn't know how to tell them. They're probably worried about you," he added.

Noelle nodded, she would probably be in the hospital a while still but at least she could be aware of it and talk to people again. Her stomach growled loudly and she giggled a little, setting her hand on it. "I guess I'm kinda hungry." she mused shyly. "So we live with a siren and I'm dating a...half incubus? So you like, feed on...humans, right? You both do? I don't remember a lot about mythical people." she admitted, trying to hide her nervousness but the beeping machine gave it away. "Wait, you can be - owned? Like, belong to someone?" the beeping only got louder, enough to call a nurse in who got very excited and concerned and bustled around her to check on her, only making it worse really. She blushed when he mentioned her family though, talking despite the nurse doing tests. "Yeah I could see them wanting that...I hope they're okay. Maybe I can call them soon?" she asked, looking to the nurse who for some reason gave her a sad look and reverted her back to Octavian.

Octavian looked around him. There were some wrappers, take out boxes from the pub, and a few pizza boxes, courtesy of Sage around him. But nothing left to offer Noelle. Plus he wasn't sure if giving her solid food right away was the best thing to do. Octavian got up and looked around, finding the remote connected to her bed. If a nurse wasn't on the way yet, they would be soon. "Let's get a nurse in here to see if was can feed you or something," he said softly. He clicked the button, a small ring buzzing. "Look I know it sounds crazy. I get it. It's not the easiest thing to wake up to. But it's true. I don't like that people here can be owned. But that's just how it is. And yeah, I feed in a weird way. I didn't ask for it, it's just how I am. Same with Tiff, But we're both have like, good hearts. We don't abuse people for it. We can call as soon as you're out of here, once you're back home and safe," he told her.

"Have I had a feeding tube the whole time then?" she asked hesitantly. "Or an IV?" Noelle was definitely overwhelmed, finding out this school had supers and you could own people. "So, um...do you own people? Do I?" she paused a moment. "Do you...own me?" she asked, shrinking into her bed a little. Noelle was glad neither him nor his roommate were mean about it though. "That's...this is, a lot." She admitted, glad when the nurse offered to get her some pudding and she nodded. When she left, Noelle looked at Octavian. "But thanks for explaining things to me."

He nodded his head at her. "You've had both. I'm not sure why they didn't stick with one, you'd need to ask a nurse," OC told her. They had explained it to Octavian before, but he couldn't remember it. It was best not to tell her that. "I -- yeah I do. You're a slave, which means you go here for free. You can't own people, just be owned. You're sort of my slave. I did it to protect you. And because, I also sort of like you," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. The cambion hoped she wouldn't judge him for it, and believe that his intentions were good.

Noelle looked down at her arm with an IV in it, tracing the tube back to the machine. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent time in a hospital, but hopefully this time would mean she wouldn't need to again soon. Her lips parted in surprise at the word, "S-slave?" she repeated, her stomach feeling sick at the thought. All the awful flashes of memories she was getting, it was because they were free to what they wanted to her here, including whatever sex they wanted. "I'm your...so you - " she stammered, looking down at her hands and unable to finish. "I thought...we were dating? Or do you um, own me? Or both, somehow?" she asked, and let out a defeated breath, covering her face with her hands. "Do I even want to remember things about this place?" she asked, her voice cracking and she felt like she was going to cry. "So far I've learned more bad than good...I'm scared." she admitted, curling up on the bed.

"Well I mean, we sort of are. Not officially. We like, live together. But like, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend," he admitted. He felt like a douche for it, for not treating her like how she deserved. "But like, I want to date you," he started. He had thought about it while she slept. It was time to finally put his money where his mouth was. "Look you don't need to be scared. Things will be better now. Better than when you went into your coma. I promise. It might not feel like it, but it will," he tried to explain.

Noelle supposed she could see where it would be hard to explain things simply, why he couldn't just answer with yes or no they were dating. "You do?" she asked quietly when he said he wanted to though. She could barely remember her life, she probably wasn't the best person to date right now. But he was really sweet for staying with her, and helping her now, and he was handsome..."I just, it's so much." she said again, shaking her head. "I hope it's better though, so I don't risk something like this again." she mused. "Did I...tell you I was doing this? Or was it a surprise? If you didn't know...I'm sorry for scaring you." she offered. "As long as I can stay with you and other nice people who help me remember, I'll feel better."

"I know it is," he told her, running his hand through her hair again. They weren't dating because of her compulsion. It wasn't her fault, at all. He just didn't think he would be a good boyfriend. "Don't like think it was because of you, why we aren't dating. It's not. You're great. And anyone would be lucky to be dating you," he tried to assure her. Octavian knew Noelle long enough to know what she must be thinking when he explained these things to her. The cambion shook his head at her. "Naw... you didn't. We had talked about it, but I only found out after you were already in the hospital," he told her, not wanting to relive it any longer.

Noelle smiled a little and blushed, nodding to show she was trying to understand. Dating probably wasn't so easy when one person 'owned' the other, who had to do whatever she was told..."I mean, I know I don't remember everything yet, but I don't see why I wouldn't want to date you too." she offered honestly. "You've been so nice to me, you're-um, you're handsome, and, you said we've known each other a long time." she reasoned, but knew it probably didn't mean as much at the moment. She frowned, "I'm sorry." she said again, knowing how much it must have scared him. "But...thank you for being here, and helping me."

Octavian shrugged his shoulders. "Well, when you get to know me again, you might realize it," he told her. He couldn't help but feed, even if he wasn't terribly hungry, how could he turn down someone like Tiff, or Sage? He felt a little bad about it, but in the moment, he didn't feel remorse. Noelle deserved better than that. "Ha, yeah, I know," he said about her compliment. "You're hella cute. I mean, obviously you are. I don't think I'd be as eager to hang out with you if that wasn't the case," he joked. Octavian looked back as the nurse entered the room. "You'd do the same for me. Of course I would do the same for you. I'm going to make sure you're back to 100%," he assured her.

Noelle wished he didn't talk about himself like that, even if she didn't know everything about him she didn't like hearing people be down on themselves. "No matter what I remember about you again, there has to be a reason we were together, why you stayed here," she offered. "why I feel safe and like I can trust you." she pointed out. His willingness to be insecure and vulnerable around her right now was a good thing to her, she probably wanted to date him too before she forgot everything. When he started complimenting her again she shook her head lightly, "I'm not that - not really." she insisted with a nervous laugh, touching her hospital gown. She took a deep breath and let it out to relax herself when the nurse returned, thanking her for the food and starting to eat small bites. She tried to be optimistic, "I'll remember more, I know it. I have to."

#awake #skype thread #p: octavian #She's awake!!

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queen-scribbles · 8 years ago

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Better Than Nothing

Happy birthday, Alex! :D

(Sorry this turned out more hurt/comfort(emphasis on hurt) than fluff, but the muses weren’t talking, so I wound up using OC Kiss Week prompts as inspiration, and, well... like I said, my brain decided the best way to set up an emotional kiss was for (at least)one of them to almost die.)

"Trinne." She mumbled in her sleep, trying to shift to a more comfortable position. Something was digging into her back. "Trinne, come on, it's time to get up."

She mumbled again and tried to push away from the intrusion. This resulted in a falling sensation that jolted her wide awake, even as a hand settled on her arm. "Wha-" "Shh. He's still asleep," Harvey whispered as Trinne blinked owlishly in the foggy morning light, nodding toward the crib. It came to her as the rocking chair settled back flat, her fingers digging into the arms. "I fell asleep in here again last night, didn't I?" "Uh-huh," Harvey confirmed, leaning in for a kiss. "Good morning, by the way." He offered her a hand up, which she accepted, stretching to get the kinks out of her back. "Morning. You mean I didn't drop him? He just... stayed in my lap all night long?" "Until I came looking for you and moved him to the crib, yes." Harvey rubbed her shoulder and it was all she could do not to groan loudly at how good it felt. But that would wake Jamie, and neither of them wanted that. "Come on, they're waiting for us." "Hang on, Cousland," Trinne giggled softly, pulling the door closed behind her as they stepped into the hall. "Let me get my gear. Unless you want me fighting darkspawn like this." She held out her arms and looked down at her outfit, simple tunic, trousers, and socks that didn't even match. "You can go, tell 'em I'll be right down. I'm sure Nate's getting antsy." Harvey nodded. "Alright, see you in a few minutes." Trinne tugged him back for one more quick peck on the cheek. "Be right there," she promised, and the two of them went their separate ways. As she pulled on the silver and blue armor, shoved her feet in her boots, and went searching for her gauntlets(apparently Dane and Frida had been playing Seek and Find with them again), she fought very hard to ignore the small voice that wished she could stay here. Spend the morning cuddling a sleepy ten month old instead of tramping through the rain to find lingering darkspawn. But it was the first time in months she and Harvey were getting to go together, and life had kept them busy enough recently, she didn't feel like that was a chance she could pass up. So she found her gauntlets, wiped dog slobber off the plating, and pulled them on as she headed down to join the others. >>|<< The rain tapered off to a drizzle before they were even a third of the way into the patrol, making things slightly better. But only slightly. And the ground was still muddy. But this was better than rain, and it wasn't cold, and she was getting to spend time with her husband, even if said time wasn't alone and they were on the lookout for nightmarish monsters. She'd take what she could get. After another hour tramping through drizzle, they felt it. All of them. "Does... that feel like as many darkspawn to you guys as it does to me?" Trinne asked grimly. "If it feels like a minimum of ten, led by either an emissary or an alpha, then oui," Gabriel nodded, shaking water out of his hair. "Damn. Harvey, Nate, I guess this means you two get to scout things out so me an' Clanks here don't tip 'em off." She gestured toward Gabriel, who shrugged--even that simple motion making his armor rattle. "You do remember they can sense us as we sense them?" Nathaniel pointed out, tugging the hood of his cloak forward. "Yeah, I know. But maybe it'll take 'em longer if we're split up," Trinne said, shrinking further back into her own cloak as the tree above them swayed and sent down an extra shower. "'Specially if you two are bein' stealthy." "We might as well try to scout it out a little," Harvey said in agreement. "Know what we're getting ourselves into so we can plan before charging in." "Hey, charging in is a valid combat style!" Trinne protested, grinning nonetheless as she looked to Gabriel for support. "Andras, back me up." "Oh, no, no, no. I'm not getting in the middle of that," the redhead laughed, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Traitor," she huffed, then turned back to Harvey, who was smirking just a little. "You... go scout." Without further comment, he and Nathaniel did exactly that. They weren't gone long--ten minutes at most--before Harvey came back to fill her and Gabriel in on what they found. It wasn't pretty; a half dozen hurlocks and genlocks, a shriek, two alphas, and an emissary that looked to be the leader, and thus the most powerful of the group. Their armor made it seem they had served the Mother before her defeat. "Well, shit," Trinne sighed, biting her lip. "Work our way up from weakest to strongest? That's the most plan you're getting out of me." Harvey nodded. "That's what Nathaniel and I were thinking, too. He's already figuring out which ones he'll pick off first." "What kind of alphas?" Gabriel asked, fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword. "Both hurlocks, one's a sniper and the other has a maul about twice the size of my head." The elf swore in Orlesian. "You lot can start with crowd control if you want, I'm taking out the sniper first. It seems the wisest course of action, no?" "No, you're right," Trinne nodded, glancing at Harvey as she tightened her grip on her staff. "You can tell Nate to start pickin' 'em off; we're on our way." She grinned darkly, lightning crackling around her fingers. "And we'll all do what we do best." >>|<< By the time Trinne and Gabriel stormed the darkspawn, doing their level best to draw attention to themselves and off the rogues, Nathaniel had already picked off two genlocks and hobbled the hurlock sniper. Gabriel took full advantage of the wounded target, charging in with a yell as berserker fire rose in his eyes. Trinne and Harvey set about the planned crowd control, dodging the alpha's maul and spells from the emissary. The remaining weaker darkspawn were dealt with quickly enough; the Wardens knew what they were doing and worked well as a team. Once they had the lesser 'spawn out of the way--including the shriek, and Maker had it felt good to take that thing down--Trinne paralyzed the emissary so they could focus on tag-teaming the alphas. The sniper went down first, of course. Gabriel and Nathaniel had weakened it enough that one good dagger to the ribs finished it off. "Hurry up!" Trinne hollered, flinging a lightning spell at the remaining alpha as she backpedaled and slipped in the mud. Aside from the more immediate threat of the alpha bearing down on her, the emissary was going to be big trouble once the paralysis wore off. It was the only one that had figured out where Nate was hiding, and definitely looked powerful enough to hurt more than one of them at the same time. She rolled out of the way, spitting mud, as the alpha swung at her. It missed, and the ground shook as the maul's head slammed into the mud, where it stuck. Just long enough for Gabriel to take advantage and slice open the back of its knee. The darkspawn bellowed in rage as it freed its weapon, attention now firmly on the blood-splattered elven warrior, rather than the muddy and exhausted mage. Harvey hauled her to her feet and Trinne nodded breathless thanks before pulling our her last lyrium potion. She downed it, still feeling the buzz of low mana gnawing at the base of her skull, as she glanced down at her armor. "Andraste's ass, Bridget's gonna kill me..." "Or you could clean your own gear this time," Harvey countered as they sized up the battlefield. "I want her to feel useful," Trinne retorted playfully, before both of them winced as the alpha landed a hit that sent Gabriel sprawling. "Guess it's your turn to distract, darling." Harvey nodded and darted behind the alpha, one dagger cutting hard against its uninjured knee. Trinne took advantage of the brief reprieve to reach Gabriel, just as he pushed up to kneel in the mud. A spike from the maul had torn open his right cheek, and he swiped away blood as he worked his jaw. "Son of a bitch," he muttered as Trinne laid a hand against his injured cheek to channel a healing spell. "That thing packs a wallop." "Well, then, go keep it from hitting my husband, whose armor isn't as heavy as yours, please," Trinne shot back, giving the spell a little extra juice. "That's the best I can do right now." Maker, my head hurts.... "Good enough." Gabriel gave her a feral grin before rushing the alpha once more. Trinne cast one last weakness spell on the alpha before turning her attention to the emissary. The paralysis would be wearing off soon, and someone needed to keep it occupied. With her mana running low and no more lyrium potions, she wasn't sure what she could do, but anything was better than nothing. Her timing was perfect, forcing the disoriented darkspawn to dodge an arcane bolt almost immediately. Her attack was followed swiftly by an arrow that lodged in the thing's pauldron, and Trinne realized Nathaniel must have been watching it, too. The emissary hissed angrily and drove Nathaniel out of his hiding place with two rapid stonefist spells. Once the archer was out in the open, it trapped him in a crushing cage of telekinetic energy. Trinne swore viciously, pushing herself to the limits in order to summon a lifeward and keep him alive. It sent spots dancing across her vision and made the headache worse, but she could worry about that later. Right now, she had a very, very angry darkspawn that had decided she was its biggest current threat. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, she begged mentally, as if she could will her mana to replenish faster. Behind her, she heard the alpha fall with a final gurgled howl, but her eyes stayed on the emissary's hands, watched lightning crackle and build. "Two can play that game," she whispered, plumbing the depths of her reserves for a spell of her own. "Trinne!!" She wasn't sure who the cry came from, because it was uttered in the same moment she and the emissary both unleashed their spells. The lightning bolts collided with a thunderous crash and blinding burst of white. And then the pain registered. Fingertips to shoulder, her entire left arm felt like it was on fire. She dropped to her knees with a whimper, fighting her way through the pain and the ringing in her ears. No way she'd managed to kill it, she had to help, she had to finish it, she had- She had nothing left, Trinne admitted to herself, sucking in ragged breaths between clenched teeth. She was tapped out, lyrium and mana gone, fighting just to stay conscious. "Trinne!" It was echoey and distant, but definitely Gabriel's voice. She tried to flex her fingers and very nearly threw up from the pain, doubling over til her forehead rested against the muddy ground. Don't pass out, don't pass out... "Trinne!" Nathaniel's voice was clearer, more urgent, as she clawed her way back from the edge. The first thing that registered was the welcome sight of the emissary's head snapping backwards, an arrow embedded deep in its eye socket. It collapsed in an unmoving heap. The second was that Harvey lay in a very similar unmoving heap. Several memories she'd hoped never to revisit flashed through her mind's eye in the space of her skipped heartbeats, before adrenaline flooded through her. It numbed the pain in her arm even when she forgot herself and used that hand to push off the ground--twice, her knees gave out the first time--as she scrambled toward him. Nononononono....... "Make sure they're all dead," was the only thing to come out when she found her voice. She neither heard nor saw whatever assent was offered. She couldn't feel her headache or the pain throbbing through her arm anymore, either, her focus solely on reaching Harvey and assuring herself the unthinkable hadn't happened. You are not allowed to be dead, Cousland. I am not running an arling, I am not explaining to Jamie why he doesn't have a father, I am not doing this alone. Even if I have to drag you back through sheer stubbornness, you aren't allowed to be dead. The few seconds it took to reach him felt like an eternity, tears tracking through the grime when she saw the black-edged hole charred through his armor, high on his shoulder but terrifyingly close to his heart given the power of the spell. "Harv... Harvey?" It came out as a whisper, almost a prayer, as her good hand tentatively rested on his chest. Please.... He was breathing. Barely. She could work with barely, had worked with barely. Barely was better than nothing. But she was still tapped out. And she'd used all her lyrium potions during the fight... His shallow breathing too loud in her ears, Trinne started going through Harvey's belt pouches, shifting past lockpicks and throwing knives and interesting pebbles. Sometimes--usually--he was prepared in case she ran out. She was clumsy with just one hand, driven frantic by fear, but finally, tucked under a raven's feather and his back-up lockpicks, her fingers closed around one small vial of lyrium. She tugged it free, yanked out the cork with her teeth, and drank it in one hard swallow, gasping at the heady rush of restored power. It wasn't much, but it was something. Hopefully enough. Trinne rested her hand over the charred hole in Harvey's armor and reached out for the Fade spirits who usually assisted her, struggling a little through her own exhaustion. The spell she was summoning sputtered, flickered, grew a little, then died. Her only evidence it had even done anything was the steadied rise and fall of Harvey's chest under her hand. So, then, not enough, but still better than nothing. "Here." Nathaniel crouched next to her, just as she was about to start panicking, and handed her a much larger vial of lyrium. "Emissary," he said by way of explanation. She didn't care. He could've found it on a broodmother and she wouldn't have cared at that moment. Lyrium was lyrum. She didn't care where it came from. She drank it and tried again. This time, the spell flickered but grew steadily, culminating in a flash that hurt her eyes. But it worked. "Ow," Harvey groaned, slowly pushing himself upright and rolling the previously injured shoulder. "D'you hate chain lightning as much as I do-" She hugged him hard, clinging with her good hand, her head tucked close so she could hear his heartbeat. The tears finally came as she kissed him(twice), but they were tears of relief. "More, she whispered fervently, mustering a wobbly smile as she tried to regain equilibrium. "I hate it more. I thought I lost you for a minute there, Cousland..." "Hey," he said softly, cupping her face with his hands, understanding in his eyes. He of all people knew how much that prospect terrified her. "Trinne, look at me. You didn't, okay? No matter how close it came, I'm still here." She nodded, letting go briefly to swipe at her tears, and then kissed him again, fiercely, her fingers digging into his hair. "Stupid darkspawn should know I'm the only one allowed to nearly kill you with lightning..." Harvey chuckled, moving to hug her reassuringly, but she felt him stiffen instead. "Trinne, what...?" The pain rushed back as he gingerly cradled her bad hand in one of his, but she tried to downplay it. "You know how chain lightning works, Harv." "But..." He eyed the gash burned through the shoulder of her armor, raw red skin visible in the gap. Why didn't you heal yourself? "I was out of mana, love, and when I got some back, you being on the verge of death was-ah-slightly more im-important to fix." Severe burns from lightning were apparently a hard thing to downplay. "All the darkspawn are dead, gimme twenty minutes to half an hour of rest-" she sucked in another harsh breath- "and I'll fix myself right up. Promise." Harvey still looked distinctly unhappy about leaving her in pain, but helped her to her feet. And supported her when the world wobbled for a minute. "I almost forgot." He leaned in and kissed her forehead(somehow finding a clean spot). "Thank you." "For what, savin' your life? I just didn't want to inherit all the Commander-y paperwork," Trinne teased. "So you've claimed," he deadpanned. "Harvey, I don't know what I'd do..." she admitted softly, letting it trail off, still leaning hard against him for support as she tamped down the memory of him pale and still and barely breathing. "I know," Harvey said, squeezing her hand comfortingly as he guided her to a rock big enough for them both to sit on. "Hopefully neither of us will have to answer that for a very long time." "Hopefully," Trinne agreed, resting her head against his chest so his heartbeat echoed in her ears once more, letting it distract her. Hope was enough for now. Hope and heartbeats.

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For the record, even if Harv’s the one who wound up unconscious(and I nearly did it the other way round), Trinne has, like, two hit points left. Chain lightning is nasty. Especially when it only hits two targets.

(Day five of oc kiss week is fluffy kiss, and I’m using it to write them an apology for this. Don’t worry :3 When I say fluffy, I mean fluffy. It will likely cause cavities.)

#queens fic #ockiss17 #harvey cousland #trinne amell #otp: shadows & sparks #i feel like the ending could be a little better but i've been trying to fix it for three days with no luck #so i give up

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