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atranswomansdiary · 11 months ago

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Day 47

July 22, 2020

I am not a man… And I don’t think I ever was.

This is ridiculous and preposterous, I know, but it is not as stupid as it reads, I promise.

I was born a man because I was born with a penis. I don’t think there’s anything deeper than that. I don’t believe doctors actually examine your DNA and make sure your chromosomes match your sex—unless there are problems, of course. But, I think we can all agree, even if they did, a human being is not only whatever sexual genetic material their cells contain, aren’t they?

From then on, no one ever asked me if I wanted to be man. Of course they wouldn’t! I was too young to understand the concept, wasn’t I? So, because I was too young to process what was going on, the logical thing was just to assume I was a man. You’re born with a penis? You’re a man.

The problem, however, is that not everyone born with a penis is a man.

As far as I know, people whose gender doesn’t align with their sex—or, in the simplest words, people who have penises but aren’t men or have vaginas but aren’t women—are a minority, yes. And yet any reasonable person, I think, would agree that having that possibility alone should mean that parents, families, and society in general should be open about this and inform their children about it, right? Just to let them know that the possibility exists and that, if it is so in their case, that there are alternatives—reasonable, scientifically-proven ways—of remedying any feelings of inadequacy or general discomfort with their own bodies. After all, they’re only children. They supposedly don’t know better, but adults do. The same way we explain them every other fucking thing in the universe, from atoms to praying to an invisible bearded white man in the sky.

FUCK!

So, you grow up and, at least in my case, I never had any information about this little thing that I’ve come to know as gender dysphoria. My parents were progressive enough to talk to me about sex and relationships, but not about this. I studied in one of the most prestigious schools in the country I grew up in—and I specialized in sciences in high school, so I had the best possible education(?) on the matter—and no one ever fucking even mentioned the existence of trans people. I went to university and studied a bunch of shit, met and saw lots of people, and never in my godsdamned life had even the opportunity to learn about this. I didn’t get to have internet at home reliably until I was 24, but I was still able to teach myself a language, learn about a shit ton of things, buy books on the most diverse of topics—and in various languages—but this specific, vital knowledge was never accessible for me. And I’ve never been a slouch when it comes to research for fuck’s sake! I read (a not very good translation of) Kant’s Kritik der reinen Vernunft when I was 17 years old because I was able to borrow a copy from my school’s library. And yet, somehow, someway, I was never taught about trans people.

The closest I ever got in whole life before I was 30 were a) cross-dressers (what the people around me called "transvestites") and b) the notion of intersexual people.

How can it be possible that a decently informed human being, one who read newspapers since they were able (and could afford) to do so never learned about gender dysphoria and/or trans people?

At the top I said that human beings are not only whatever their DNA says they are. So, it follows, I think, that there must another dimension, non-biological—at least in that sense of the word—that determines them.

That is what people in the biz call “psychology”, I’m told.

So: if being born with a penis is not sufficient reason to be a man, then there must other aspects that complete this definition. Psychological, social, political, philosophical, and even ontological, perhaps? This is not something new or revolutionary and, if you don’t want this messy version of the idea that I’m putting forward, I can’t recommend you Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990) enough. Butler is orders of magnitude more intelligent than I am and writes way better than I ever could on the subject.

So, my poor (wo)man’s version of the issue of gender—as it pertains to me, at least—is as follows. Biologically I am man—AKA I have a penis—but, in almost all other areas of manhood (so to speak), I’m a total and absolute failure, both by my own and other people’s admission. But this isn’t really about “manhood performance”, no. My focus is, instead, on level of comfort/identification with it.

And this is the one area where my dysphoria has been most evident and I can actually trace it back the longest. I never identified as a man, in a manner. I knew that’s who I was supposed to be, on a very subconscious and obligatory level—similar to my reluctant acceptance that my family was my family, whether I liked it or not—but feeling like, happy about it? Nope. Never. Maybe a couple of times during my Conan-esque months, but at that point even I was able to discern that it was more of a pose or an attitude than really something deep and meaningful. It was something that came from the outside in, instead of the other way around.

So that’s why I say that I’m not a man and I probably never was. I was born a human male, that is the truth, but a man? Nope. I don’t think I ever felt comfortable nor identified with that gender label. What’s worse, I didn’t have the language to express my discomfort, anxiety, and sometimes erratic behavior. I was always a “dissident man”, internally, emotionally, psychologically, and affectively long before I discovered that I was also a dissident on a social and even political level.

The tragedy, of course, are the 34 years of my life that took me to realize this. To put these feelings and ideas into words. It’s my whole fucking life we’re talking about! And what’s worse, of course, is that I fear it may be too late. What chances do I have at 34? My body has already been deformed by years of mistreatment, male hormones, and general decay. What hopes and dreams can I foster? I’ve been researching and most people transition when they’re in their late adolescence, early adulthood. I’m ancient, in comparison.

Biologically, I can’t believe that my body will be malleable enough. Psychologically, I don’t think I have the strength of mind necessary to withstand the abuse most trans people undergo every day. Imagining losing my mother’s love, my father’s hard-earned approval, and my siblings’ affection terrifies me. And what about the rest of society? How would I deal with all the nazis that want trans people dead or worse? I don’t think I could. And what about my new job? I like it so much—it’s pretty much perfect, especially since I feel most of the people I get to work with like me well enough—but I don’t think a single one of those persons would accept me if I changed.

I’m not even sure if my lifelong friends or newlymet ones would, to be honest.

So, this is nice and all, but it doesn’t change a single damn thing. I’m still where I started. I’m trapped. No way out. I may now know “the truth about myself”—if there is such a thing—but it doesn’t change a fucking thing. Nice thoughts and feelings, but they’ll have to remain that. They must remain that.

Maybe one day I’ll find someone I feel confident enough to share this secret with. And maybe in sharing that secret I’ll be free, at least for that brief moment. An island of relief amidst a sea of sorrow.

Until then, with love,

#dear diary #journal entry #queer #trans #trans woman #transfem #transgender #transgirl #lgbtqia

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experimentalbuild · 1 year ago

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Don't let being a coward stop you from playing Alan Wake 2!

Hey there! Are you a coward? Are you a little scaredy cat? A little baby bitch boy afraid to play scary video games?

I used to be, but now I'm Brave, all thanks to Alan Wake 2!

Hi. My name’s Tommy. You may not know me, but I play video games and then write about them as Experimental Build. I'm here to tell you that even if you're a coward like me, YOU too can play Alan Wake 2!

Here’s me before I played Alan Wake 2:

Jesus Christ, look at this guy. You can just tell he's a baby when it comes to scary games. He's got that look in his eyes that says “I couldn't play Fortnite after they added zombies that one time because the jump scares were too much for my weak, little heart.”

And it's true! I’ve always been a coward when it comes to video games! I struggled through parts of Batman: Arkham Asylum because some of the areas were too dark! The morgue section nearly made me quit the game!

The moment I heard the words “Alan Wake 2 will be our first survival horror game,” from Remedy in their announcement of the game, I was out. Survival horror is an impossibility for me.

But, son of a bitch, EVERYONE wouldn't shut up about how great it was! It was endless praise! “The greatest video game moment of the last decade,” people said! I had to experience it for myself.

Reader, I'm so glad I grew the courage to play the masterpiece that is Alan Wake 2.

Here's a picture of me after playing Alan Wake 2:

Holy shit. He’s growing a beard now! He’s so fucking cool. Look at that confidence just dripping from those icy blue eyes. This dude ain't afraid of NOTHING.

So what happened? How did I go from being a tiny little baby to a confident manly man?

The secret, dear reader, is that Alan Wake 2 is NOT that scary! …If you play on the easiest difficulty mode like I did.

Alan Wake 2 doesn't have traditional survival horror chase sequences. It doesn't have those moments where you have to hide from or run away from something chasing you.

You play as two characters with guns and a flashlight. On the easiest difficulty mode, all it takes is one flashlight blast and a couple of bullets and most enemies go down! YOU HAVE THE POWER OVER THE MONSTERS.

You’re not trapped in the Dark Place with them, THEY’RE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH YOU.

But what about inventory scarcity? What about running out of ammo? HA! On the easiest difficulty you are just SWIMMING in guns, bullets, and flashlight batteries.

“But Tommy,” I hear you say in your quiet, timid voice, “What about jump scares? They make me scream and then everyone laughs at me.”

Yes, there are jump scares that take up the entire screen and make a scary sound and a few instances of enemies bursting through walls to attack you, but 95% of enemies announce their presence with a voice line from dozens of feet away! They're practically saying, “Hey Tommy! Come over here and shoot me in the face!”

The only thing I was screaming while playing Alan Wake 2 was “I’M NOT AFRAID ANYMORE!” like Kevin McCallister at the end of Home Alone.

Listen, I'm a changed man after playing Alan Wake 2, a better man. Just ask my wife.

“Tommy is a changed man since playing Alan Wake 2,” she said. “He's a better man.”

Don't let your fears ruin your dreams of playing Alan Wake 2! As long as you play on the easiest difficulty, you can be just like me! Be strong! Be Brave! I believe in you! Go forth and experience the masterpiece!

#alan wake #alan wake 2 #video games #games #remedy #remedy games #survival horror

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libidomechanica · 11 months ago

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I took him out

A limerick sequence

I took him out. While times endure to give up smoking for the iewell. And none a word. For Love may die. That a matter what you say. To me aside each other.

Is worse from God than from all high places, lived upon the swamp for a frog. With meaning to you changed yourself arriving at your lovesick land that quickly fades.

And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne at me: for pittied is mishappe, that Ill may turn beside remote Shalott. With somebody else all night not go free, ah!

The garlands fade that hour with love. With anguish in. That soothe the same. And struggle on without a toga or a scarf on a couch as dare approaching, were at all.

A pear from a tamarisk near two Proctors leapt upon us, crying: help! A honey tongue; which watch not one; a touch of all these forests, my state more be said?

As to do no thing admir’d! In another skin: I am pure onion— pure union of outside and Prejudice, in which the hungry generative error.

Or whether or not the cause of her pap and gum, rich beads of amber here. My sister and my star! Which all worn out, a man I came home, the crowd.—First look, first child?

But buried in the river among the taxing rocks. What the other’s Eyes, and almost spent, all is Venus, save unchaste. Before their bodies merely for babble.

No sun, but a shell in. With Heydeguyes, and Counter-turn, and Strokonoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of modern preacher, and then the same men of the wise, and me.

They say, into her beauties which is inseparate, discontinuous lanterns. And by their enemy is beat or beaten, if you would find some way we belong.

Goes by to tower’d Camelot. From hence immortal man, as purple pomp, nor ride a moon-white steed. Example field to follow thee. Last nights a funeral fire.

More fear’d than all the water-side, singing shreds. But dreams the final sign the cob. The hand had collapse, a small knuckles and the noon’s repose. Ears: how he’d had a wish.

Long since I see my blisse, till a morbid hate and scorn fill with tears like a woman. But if you’d express train passing hour, till thy wished smile thy mother’s pangs o’erpay.

Of thee, that nas remedie, but wilt new warre vpon thine own influence, from thee! All you what is not always face, and drank the air of her sorrow, has e’en right without.

No shape suggested this, t is truth, the ground with a hangman’s snare strangle with their caps; you are divided loves and the forests. Beard, and fruictfull flocks from straying.

No more shall if that dainty cheere thou toldst mine eyes, like glitter. To cut the tear comes to this old thorn, this pond and beauty, and up the words thou sing, and, in its snare.

Not let you grow. But for the little urn. The God of shepheards other three long years they bene hyred for thine arms, be mine; and I remain with my favorite vow.

But say there were thus honour once; she wept her true eyes blind but with some grand fight to see. The Warders strutted up and down to overtrodden transport rose and fell.

Whether from the spheres their pupils like when some one in his face was far as I could to where shepherd��s tongue, these days, and see a drunkenness. The passing hour, till then?

Not often when you are shepheards hart made bleede, that this is so much for all: and the while his brutal scorn—what if that sickening thirst for glory! Let’s contend no more.

The chiel maun be patient—all for thee. There is no thoroughfare. Alone and pale, no sun, but a simple flower, and heavily from heaven is withereth too.

Which prisoners called but half a kiss, the brave man with his learned hedde, I soone wasted: the blossom’d sloe my dear, so make the Past so sweet a sleep. That hand, with a sword!

High on a mountains; meseems I feel a noisome scent, the mortal looks at you again. To carry into Deed mine own land, ’ she said, but shortly he had forgot.

The pin at the days that are mute! But by the greene leaues, the rail has been a thing as a perfect ore limbs, its little infant thus! Thy maysters mind is changed to know.

But oh, ye goddesses of war, or, falling hot and rot, within a cannonade alone in fact, I put a chair against whole million dye. Nature’s deep being!

And landskip, have I wonne. My face in the very weel aff to be woo’d and married the fondness of noble thought, to march in ranks of better, then others glory.

His crickets stirred from her lip? Palms and fox-terriers. For he to whom none spake, half-sick at heart, remembered kisses drying up his rays from your bonny blue een.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, and did think that seeth faults, not with flutes of Fear, and binds one with his mayd. Time drives the lovers, made new, prepared fascines, and rain.

Ah deare Lord, and all thy spirit seem. I can create Ideas in the dark kept itself with her sobs, melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitie. She only warmth of loue.

Such end perdie does all hem remayne, that some good bits are in every limb, what should still reigne. All these ill- changed to long since, before and could not been Hercules his shape.

That in the noon-sun, with every prison fare, for fear that glister’d in due order. Ah, what can ail thee, when the batters after deathsong, the Lady of Shalott.

When the grueling mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes. Memory deathless tree, of blood he cleansed the shroud in which he doth these male thunder of a poet’s debt; and therefore?

I wish is understood and tear our pleasure scawled still, but the night we walked, with all alacrity: the first Man took him out. But ah false freendship bene fayne.

Who watch him night away, there is nothing could be ne’ertheless a slight substratum. And now tis buried deep her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot. ’ Skimming down the bough.

Which I new pay as if not paid before. But in her a Jonah’s gourd, up in one of those by hopelessly as I, that many a thing I know; but to my fate.

On Death and love. Lovers, forget you present poem—of—I know not whether he came to be disposed of in a way so new, although our hospitality.

Hears her ever chanting cheerly, like a nick in a knife, driven by your being crown’d with many a fine boy. Dead, long debate; but I began to thrid the muse!

And thother for the faring stars. Beauties mine did draw, and to gain her bed. Haste, little weeks in which dwell on Parnasse hight, doe make their time, till Christ came down to save.

And then not understand, simple and faithful as we are. Trapped your heart which is not here; false-flatt’ring hope, that soft incense hangs upon them his slow brow and his guide.

No leaves returning, the while the vegetable love should he haue ioyed at this shall sound my boyish dream involved and dame, to the other’s Eyes, and gold and grieve to see.

And change the law, but the steps, and thee. The invisible echo, and why he looked, the animals of your soil, that nought so deadly sweats; now an ague, then walking.

With Daffadillies dight, that he was wildly clad; her eyes I stood and I love you my nudist the new way. He deal in frolic, as tonight—the song might have guessed?

Nearly strangers, from so pure, so keen her sense, that Christmas when it is clomb on high in his body displaie, how would have been together drinking soul. He with the knife.

Painfully quivering sealed off in a tin box. Stella, whence doth fill the valorous Smiths’ whom were drawing their smell into a camp: I know of a babe you trace.

A motherly care of her face, in truth in every star, and ev’ry life but mine recall. And in their flockes fleeces, them to araye. I found, whome winter’s wreckage.

Knight and morn the flocke, so that might be undone. Sad case, as you can using giraffe stretch of mud and saw. I want to arrive this seed, this wretched a vulture throat.

She answered coldly, Good: your oath is broken heart into the hearts were mute among green leaves; Fled is that are ye? From the while thy mother’s right. If I had despise.

Will doe, as did befall, led forth her gaunt and blind the whole thing, whose pleasures doth reproue, my fancy. Is worse from God than from all others, and the griefs alike resign.

No things are blest. A faint pink-bronze glow. Life, whom you ignored for another’s guilt! Or I shall be new and nerve-twitched pose, fingering day; but I never will you serve?

Your sickness made me a grave so rough, me, that watches there is love had brought her mantle and good? Least night and known at last my work and full of weak point: my Lady.

And honey wild, and comes out, first just casually cantering water. It’s a journey … and I want to love, or how: but be glad as soon wither, soon forgotten.

But now is come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad. That I want to say too: I take it all back.

Whose power to reach my mind. As I all others, I’ve heard her character’d with mine do overflow this work, not one; a touch of all the water was freezing way.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #158 texts #limerick sequence

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ladyvlolypop · 2 years ago

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Bucky Barnes Headcanons

these are both dating and overall head canons, if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while

My Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x gn!reader; sfw

Very gentle, his touches are very soft and he tries to avoid being harsh with you, knowing he’s way stronger than you(and because he’s unsure of his metal arm).

When he passes you he gives you subtle touches, his hand on your hip or waist for a brief moment.

He used to smoke when he was a soldier. Heavy smoker and drinker but he never touched a cigarette again after he became the winter soldier, not because he didn’t want to but he just didn’t want to be addicted to anything.

He can definitely speak and understand bits of german and italian because he was stationed in Austria and Italy during the war. He speaks french as well but much better(we love a multilingual king)

He understands russian perfectly but struggles to speak or write/read it. He understands bits of other slavic/balkan languages as well(if you speak russian freshen up his skills a little pls)

He sometimes still stares in awe at modern things, he imagined the world differently in the 30's. Will sometimes tell you how certain spaces changed and how they used to look like back in the day.

He likes to tell you about his childhood, liking to compare how you two grew up

Has lots oft things to catch up to

Has a flip phone w a loud ass ringtone

Jumps a little when hearing his ringtone

He has a smartphone for work but he barely uses it

Loves fantasy shows/movies and reading

LOTR and GOT fan honestly

Likes baking and cooking but he’s not good at it, he’s thankful for microwaveable meals and your cooking

Can’t ride a bike

Can’t drive, learned it just before infinity war happened

He probably let his his metal arm get hot in the sun and cracked an egg on it with sam

It fried

You only call him 'James' if it's serious or if it's to tease him

will use nicknames like "Doll", "Babygirl", "Honey","Darlin'(g)" or "Dear" for you

Uses lotion for his scars

would fold if you did it for him, def will offer to do the same for you(he gives really good messages let him)

Has a routine for his beard when he lets it grow out, likes to keep himself groomed

Same for his hair

Has insane home remedies

Pulls out chernobyl broth when you have a feet ache(boils sprite)(He read about it on facebook)

Doesn’t trust italians

He’s such a dad

Dad jokes all the way

Enjoys shopping for home gadgets

Knows how to haggle and will show his skills when he can

Will often come home with surprise groceries or gifts, things or snacks you like or some other stuff he got on sale

Likes to go to flea markets

Sometimes comes home with large amounts of certain products

Man will come home with 3 boxes of fruit because there was a sale

Love language is definitely gift giving and acts of service

Carries your bags or groceries for you without asking, pretty good at fixing things around the house

He’s good with kids, wants his own but unsure when the right timing for it would be

He sometimes shows them tricks with his metal arm

He’s not much of a talker unless you two are alone

Often rants about work

Good listener though, very attentive listener

He sleeps like a bear, very warm and keeps close to you, his arm cools down at night though and you might wake up with the feeling of cold metal against your belly

He started sleeping better when you were with him, still you will sometimes find him sleeping on the floor in the mornings, old habits die hard.

He’s very stubborn, especially if it's about your safety but he hates arguing with you

He hates the possibility of you getting hurt in any way

You're on his mind all the time

walks around with the thoughts of "would Y/N like that? Should I buy them that?"

first thing he does when coming home after missions is give you a tight hug

if it's really bad all he wants to do is hold you closely and cuddle for hours

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if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while on a call with my bsf and she was poorly singing lana del ray songs in my ear, some of these hc were even here ideas

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes domestic hc #bucky barnes fluff #x reader #marvel #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine

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vilaspatelvlogs · 4 years ago

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आधी-अधूरी दाढ़ी से हैं परेशान, इन घरेलू नुस्खों का करें इस्तेमाल, फर्क देखकर रह जाएंगे हैरान!

नई दिल्ली: युवाओं में दाढ़ी बढ़ाने का ट्रेंड और फैशन चल रहा है, लेकिन कई लोगों को दाढ़ी बढ़ाने में दिक्कतें आती हैं. आज हम आपको कुछ ऐसे घरेलू नुस्खे बताएंगे जिनकी मदद से आपकी दाढ़ी की ग्रोथ पर असर पड़ सकता है. प्याज का रसदाढ़ी बढ़ाने में प्याज का रस काफी फायदेमंद है. एक रिपोर्ट के मुताबिक प्याज के रस में बालों के विकास और उन्हें उगाने में मदद प्रदान करने का गुण पाया जाता है. बढ़िया दाढ़ी पाने की…

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#beard growth #beard growth benefits #beard growth juice #beard growth oil #beard growth oil at home #beard growth oil how to use #beard growth tips #castor oil for beard growth #growth at home #home remedies for beard growth #how to make onion juice for beard growth #how to use onion to grow beard #ways to grow thicker beard #दाढ़ी उगाने का तेल #दाढ़ी उगाने के घरेलू उपाय #दाढ़ी के बाल कैसे उगाए #दाढ़ी मूछ उगाने का तेल

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kakusu-shipping · 3 years ago

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i read your post about leshy not realizing kaycee's fate and everything and GOD MY HEART OWCH OWIE ITS ANGST HOURS TONIGHT OWE OWE OW????

i already loved this man and now my heart is crying

how dare. oh, the only remedy that can heal this grievous wound is to hear about your headcanons on this winkly tree man u.u

(hope youre doing well by the way)

-redacted-scrybe

@redacted-scrybe Big same bestie, I think about Leshy and Kaycee every day now

Sorry for the wound, I shall patch it with softer Leshy thoughts, I have many all of the time anyway

I am in the camp of deer in headlights Leshy

Stands with his hands raptor clawed to his chest when outside his comfort zone, which is almost everywhere

He's either completely mentally checked out or hyper aware of every movement like a prey animal

VERY jumpy. A single loud noise sends him in three fit in the air. He could watch a glass fall off a shelf and the shatter would still startle him

Grimora takes extreme advantage of this, she adores bullying him with loud noises or suddenly touching him when he's not expecting it

ZOOMIES!!!!!!!!!!

Especially during big storms. Lighting!!! Thunder!! Rain!!! Mud!!!

The electric feeling he gets is uncontrollable he has to run all though the forest during storms

He'll come back when the rain stops soaking wet and covered in mud and still just a little buzzy

When not in GM mode he has a stutter when speaking, it gets worse the faster he tries to talk, he talks faster the more anxious he is

No stutter when info dumping though

You can tell by my multitude of Leshy X Readers that I fully believe he is in love with his player and this continues to stand

He loves them. Romantic, platonic, familial, or some indistinguishable mix of them all, he cannot tell, but he loves them more than anything else

He has a tail. It wags. He thinks it's embarrassing and ruins his scary villain aesthetic

He really really really wants to be the bad guy in a story let him be the villain ignore his cute little muttering he is the evil mastermind of this sick twisted game!

I think the headcanon of him slam dunking Grizzlies is common but what about him babying the shit out of Grizzlies?

Like yes he COULD suplex a 600 pound Grizzly, but he could also cradle it gently and give it head scratches and kiss it good night

He probably wouldn't do that though; I think he thinks very highly of his beasts

He does not see himself as their lord, simply their scrybe, he does not command or rule the beasts, he knows them, and tells others of them

His biggest pride and joy is his wolfs packs. There's currently 5 packs in his woods, each averaging 7-10 strong.

They are what he would consider the lords of his woods. They make the rules, and he follows

He will however brood the shit out of any orphans the Trapper brings him, if he can't find a surrogate mother

Catch him with a litter of racoon kits in his beard

On that note he's done the same thing with caterpillars

They are nesting they are eating they are sleeping and they are metamorphosing in his beard and he will not disturb them

Leshy soaks up water like a sponge he is a tree and can get very bloated and waterlogged after a rainstorm

He has to spend a full day in direct sunlight after that or he risks some of his limbs rotting

Which isn't a big deal but it can be a pain to regrow

Even more of a pain though is the new growth he'll have after absorbing so much nutrients

He looks like a taller Magnificus if he just lets it all grow out

Leshy likes to wander while thinking and doesn't really pay attention to where he's going

Luckily he's memorized every inch of his woods and never gets lost while at home

But if he's anywhere else he will wander himself away and get horribly lost

He'll also walk directly into things because he may be looking ahead but he is not seeing he is thinking

Full John Mulany "I am looking out the window. But no. I'm thinking about the Beatles."

Has just has the worst tunnel vision

You could stand right next to him and he will simply not see you he is thinking about his game and his lore

Also he purrs if you pet him but he's not use to physical affection so he panics at contact and it'll take him a moment to settle into it

#Leshy #We are back in Leshy town tonight squad #I'm doing okay thanks!!!#Thinking about Leshy thinking about Leshy thinking about Leshy #See this was actually hard for me as Leshy is one of my few F/Os I have mainly angst headcanons for #And I really like that about him dkjfskjfk #I do love soft Leshy as well though he's an old man without a brain and I love that for him #One of my favorite things about Leshy is how badly he wants to be a villain #Like idk where that obsession came from but same #He acts as your antagonist all act 1 he complaints about a 'worthy' challenger he makes his face reveal a big deal #He sits in darkness and starves all for the aesthetic of being some unknowable being at the other end of the table #He wants to be your other worldly evil mastermind and I love that for him #It's all about Aesthetic for this man and I adore him #So much #Kiss his knuckles and tell him he's cute he'll have to run out of the room to his his tail wags #Don't look at his flush he is a being of darkness and horror!!!!!#Leshy and his wolf packs and do you ever think about how he made Magnificus a wolf and why because I do #eye for an eye is the law of beasts and all that #y'all ever think about that because I sure as hell do every day #Leshy doing raptor claws my beloved he is anxious and out of place outside his cabin #He is an actor he acts all cool and controlled and together #Because he wants you his beloved to think he's all cool and controlled and together #And he is not

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phantomofagoodtime · 2 years ago

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Robert Hale

FC: Andrew Lincoln

Age : 38

Gender : Male

Sexuality : Bisexual (not as confident being with men)

Species: Human with werewolf abilities

Bio: Robert is a hardworking individual, who can be a little stubborn at times when it comes to getting the job done. The job in question is that Robert is a police officer, has been for a few years now but he will at times go past protocol if it means saving people, this is what gets him in trouble but because of his high success rate they keep him on. He is also quite charming which helps when he gets himself into trouble; when he isn’t working Robert enjoys hiking and sports. A gentleman at heart but he also won’t hesitate to tell you how he really feels about a situation either. He often comes home with a few bruises and cuts, sometimes lets his beard grow out as well but this is mainly because of how busy he gets than personal choice, he is often described as a 'raggedy old man'.

Robert moved from America to a small town in Canada, the change in weather and general societal norms was a breathe of fresh air for him, alongside that Robert had more secluded space to contain his secret. For as long as Robert could remember, he had been burdened with the ability to transform into a large wolf, usually on command. Of course, this level of control only came to him after a lot of practice. It was a miracle he was never discovered in his younger years. Other than this ability, Robert often does his best to avoid full moons as it brings out a completely uncontrollable form out of him. This is where his true 'werewolf' form is shown, once the moon's rays of light hit him then he is forced to transform into a 7ft tall anthropomorphic wolf with a first for blood. Given modern technology and medicine, he can easily keep track of the moon's phases and use a herbal remedy to surpress the transformation for a few hours if he is ever caught outside.

He has learned to live with this condition and keeps the secret very close to his heart, he does not share this with anyone for obvious reasons. He uses it to his advantage and has become the small town's personal, but unknown guard dog from all things supernatural that come lurking to prey upon the kind, innocent residents that live there.

Robert's Wolf Form

1.4 metres tall.

greyish black fur coat.

Golden eyes.

#about #OC

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author-morgan · 4 years ago

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Hi there! So I have a request for Eivor if it hasn't already been requested yet and if you have the time. Since I've started to play the game I love the Cairn stone events. I would love it if you could possibly write something with Eivor teaching his young daughter about them and teaching her how to stack them.

man, i wish i loved the cairns as much as you. i've never wanted to throw my controller through the tv more, not to mention the one i spent almost 2 hours on. but gosh if this isn't super cute, so here you go, Eivor teaches his and your daughter how to stack stones. m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SVANDÍS PROTESTS WHEN you veer from the path leading down to the wharf, instead taking to one of the benches outside the longhouse. Sitting down with a long and heavy sigh, you wipe the sweat from your brow —it is only a spring morning with a cool breeze, but the aches and sniffles from the prior evening have taken hold. Valka will tell you it is a spring fever and that rest, and a good meal is the best remedy, but you have an antsy five-year-old on the verge of tears, tugging at your skirts. “But you promised!” She pouts.

“I know” —you stroke back her blond hair, already in disarray from chasing rabbits— “I know, little one, and I am sorry.” Svandís crosses her arms and looks up at you with those clear blue eyes that are impossible to resist, yet another reflection of her father. You sigh, wiping the dirt from her cheek. Breaking promises never feels good, especially ones made to your young daughter, even if it was to stack stones. “All I need is a few days of rest, and then we can go,” you assure her. Where are you, Eivor?

As though the gods have heard your silent prayers, two long horn blasts echo around Ravensthorpe and the surrounding forests. Shortly after, the longship docks —Eivor and his crew dispersing among the settlement. “Eivor!” You call, waving to him as he nears the longhouse —a smile blossoming on his travel-worn countenance when he sees you and his daughter. Little Svandís darts to her father quick as an arrow. He scoops her up into his arms, pressing short kisses across her cheeks and forehead, laughing as she does. Her arms wrap around his neck as he balances her on his arm.

Eivor places Svandís back on the ground, frowning as he sees the pallor tinting your complexion and the sheen of sweat on your brow. “Are you ill?” He asks, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead before you can give him an answer —your skin is hot to the touch, his frown deepens.

“Spring fever,” you tell him, swatting his hand away, “nothing rest will not solve.” He knows it to be true. A few days rest would see you right as rain, but for now, he’ll take his chances and kiss his wife. Eivor bends down, his lips wind-chapped from the sea and river, but his kiss is gentle and sweet, a way to say I love you without speaking. When he pulls away, he brushes the wisps of hair clinging to your forehead aside and lays a quick kiss there too, sitting next to you.

Svandís’s excitement has already worn away —the pout on her lips is back. If she can’t get her way with you, then she knows her father won’t be able to deny her. “And what is wrong with you, my little shieldmaiden?” Eivor asks, picking Svandís up and setting her on his knee. She crosses her arms, squinting at you —still crestfallen.

“Mama promised she was gonna teach me how to stack stones,” she tells him.

Eivor’s lips curl into a smile beneath his golden beard —longer and shaggier than you are used to seeing. “She was?” Svandís nods. “Well, do you want to know who taught her to stack stones?” He inquires, raising a brow, eyes flitting to you. She looks between you and Eivor, blue eyes wide and questioning. “I did,” he tells her, boastful, smile widening as her arms uncross, already seeing the next question popping into her racing mind. “And my mother taught me when I was just a boy,” Eivor explains.

He strokes back Svandís’s messy braids and looks to you with a wide smile, grateful to have the chance to be the one to teach his daughter the art of making cairns. Eivor reaches for your hand and cranes his head down, blond whiskers tickling your skin before his lips brush against your knuckles. “Let your mother rest, Svandís,” he says, letting your hand go as he stands, shifting Svandís up onto his shoulders, “I know just the spot.”

EIVOR PULLS BACK on the reins of his chestnut horse, bringing the beast to a halt next to a bend in the River Nene. He slides from the saddle, then lifts Svandís, setting her on the riverbank. “First,” he says, freeing a woven sack from his belt, “we must gather our stones.” Crouching down, he picks up a stone, smooth and flat —like a honey cake— and places it in his daughter’s hand, letting her feel the weight and rounded edges. “Look for ones that are smooth and flat,” Eivor explains, knowing those are the ones to make for easy stacking for a young novice. It does not take long for them to fill the small sack with river stones —setting back off for the hilltop.

Cresting the hill reveals a vista to the north, overlooking the river and green rolling hills of Mercia —a calm and quiet place, good for clearing the mind, easing the soul, and stacking stones. Eivor sets Svandís to the ground, lowering the sack of stones too before dismounting —breathing in the crisp spring air, lingering with the scent of wildflowers, honeysuckle, and rain. Eivor eyes the patch of wild daisies growing beneath the shade of an ash tree, thinking they’d make a sweet gift for you to keep bedside.

Turning out the stones, he sits, first watching as Svandís eagerly begins stacking the stones. The short piles fall to shambles with her careless haste, but this is part of the learning process. “Failure is part of it, Svandís,” Eivor consoles when she lets out a frustrated groan, her wobbling tower of stone finally crumbling. He sees his younger self reflected in his daughter’s disappointment, remembering the times when his cairns would teeter and fall. He swore never to bother with them again —his mother laughed, knowing her son wouldn’t be able to stand failing at anything in life. He leans forward, resting a hand on her small shoulder. “Think of it as a test of mind,” Eivor says, tapping her noggin before picking up and reordering the felled stones. “You need patience and perseverance.”

Taking the broadest stone from their collection, he smooths over the ground before them both, knocking away small pebbles and little twigs —creating a good base on which to build. Eivor takes the largest and flattest stone, placing it first. “See?” He says, recalling how his mother first explained it to him. “You want the flattest and largest stones near the bottom to build a strong foundation.” Looking over the scattered stones, he picks another one, setting it atop the first —twisting and flipping to find the best way to place it. He nods for Svandís to try again.

Svandís places another stone atop the two already there, echoing her father’s motion of twisting and turning to find the best place to set it. She looks over her shoulder, seeking assurance and approval, Eivor nods, and the cairn grows taller. Before she places some of the last stones, Eivor stills her hand, hovering over the stack. “Don’t let go until you are certain they will not fall,” he tells her in a low breath. She nods, carefully placing the last three stones. The stack is small —not even reaching the height of his father’s bearded axe— but it stable, unmoving in the wind or Svandís’s excited outburst.

“Just like with everything, it takes practice,” Eivor reminds her, wrapping an arm around her small waist. The first cairns he stacked with his mother and father as a boy were just as unimpressive, but he lived and learned and soon could stack them higher than he was tall. He grins with pride, seeing Svandís smile. “The more you stack, the taller they’ll grow,” he tells her, lifting his hand in the air, “and one day you just might make one tall enough to see the home of the gods.”

Eivor reaches into the small pouch at his hip, pulling out two small red-green apples. “Did Uncle Sigurd ever stack stones with you?” Svandís asks, settling next to Eivor, taking the slice of apple he holds out.

“No,” Eivor laughs, recalling the times Sigurd would bother him while trying to make cairns, “he stole my stones more often than naught and called me troll-toothed.” Svandís giggles. The commotion piques Sýnin’s curiosity from where he circles above on an updraft of wind. Sýnin swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder —the raven’s head tilts this way and that as he observes the short stacks of stones, thinking one to be a good perch. The raven hops down, beats his wings once, and settles atop the last stack Svandís built —preening his blue-black feathers. “Look,” Eivor announces, merry with pride, “you’ve built a cairn sturdy enough for Sýnin to perch.” The raven croaks in agreement, bobbing his head up and down. Svandís leans forward, rubbing Sýnin’s head with one of her fingers, smiling when his croaks turn to soft gurgles.

Looking to the sky, Eivor sees the first dark clouds rolling in from a distance, shrouding part of the sun. It will rain later. “Come, little one,” he says, rising with a soft groan —a reminder he is not so young anymore— “I think it’s time we check on your mother.” He goes to the patch of daisies, taking a handful and severing them from the earth with the throwing axe at his back before whistling to his horse. It is an easy ride back to Ravensthorpe, through the forest, and across a shallow parting in the river.

Stabling the chestnut mare, Eivor kneels outside the fence where Svandís waits, bouncing on her toes. He hands her the small bouquet of daisies so that she may give them to you, though before he can stand, she leaps into his arms, squeezing tight. “Thank you for teaching me, father,” Svandís says, almost a whisper.

Eivor brushes back her hair, kissing his daughter’s forehead, eyes crinkled with his smile. “And I am thankful to have been able to teach you,” he answers, swallowing the lump of heavy emotion rising in his throat. “Now, let's tell your mother about our day,” he says, still smiling, scooping Svandís up when he rises. For a second, Eivor does not move, his gaze skyward to the setting sun, a silent prayer of gratitude on his lips, and a hope that he will live to have many more days like this with his little shieldmaiden.

[ taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @pat-talks ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #qhbr2013 #im pretty sure i exhausted every curse in the book with those rocks #ive never hated rocks more than when doing this dumb events

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plaidbooks · 4 years ago

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Cabin Life - First Date

A/N: I seriously fell in love with this AU so hard. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in a cabin with Sonny. Once again, thanks to @berniesilvas for fueling this AU and letting me scream at her about woodsman!Sonny.

Tags: injured birds, otherwise none

Words: 1529

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

After that meeting, Sonny called you, asking you on a date. You weren’t quite sure what to expect; you were still new in coming back to the woods, and you weren’t sure what a date really entailed. But, your parents were quick to mention, if it was a date with Sonny Carisi, then it would be fine.

“Everyone loves Sonny; he’s the nicest guy around, and a breath of fresh air in the community,” your mom said.

He showed up at your place that afternoon; he lived in a cabin about a mile away. Within walking distance, but not something you would particularly do on your own. He didn’t seem to mind, though; he wasn’t even out of breath.

“Hey doll. I was thinking we could go for a stroll in the woods? There’s a meadow in between our cabins that’s just breathtakin’ in the setting sunlight,” he said, smiling.

You agreed, grabbing your coat; the autumn air was starting to get a little chilly. Your parents greeted him, and he waved back, telling them he’d bring you home at a decent hour. You stifled a chuckle; you were both in your late 20s.

Your shoes crunched over the leaves covering the ground, Sonny crunching along right beside you. He was telling you about his family, about how they wanted him to visit for Thanksgiving, so he’d have to go back to Staten. As he talked, your hands brushed, and you gently took his hand in yours. He tripped over his words for a moment, then smiled and interlaced his fingers with yours before continuing on.

It had barely seemed like you had been with him before you were coming out of a copse of trees into a meadow. Soft grass to your knees swayed in the gentle breeze, and bees buzzed from flower to flower. The sunlight was dimming as the sun sunk beneath the trees.

“Wow,” you breathed, and Sonny squeezed your hand.

He took a step into the meadow, then stopped and turned to look at you. “Just wait; it gets better,” he promised. Eyes wide with awe, you let him guide you forward into the meadow, your eyes trying to take it all in. It was simply beautiful.

Rabbits hopped through the grass on the other side of the meadow, and you caught a family of deer standing just beyond the trees, watching you.

“Ohh! Lavender!” you announced, your eyes finding the purple flower swaying just to the right of you.

Sonny turned and found it. “I love lavender; it smells so good.”

“It’s a natural stress reliever! I infuse it with my oils and lotions,” you replied, smiling at him.

His eyes widened slightly. “Ya do? Do ya make lots of oils and lotions?”

“I’m trying to make more, actually, as well as soap; I only just started researching natural, herbal remedies. Now, if only I could keep my lavender alive,” you said sheepishly.

He gave you a grin. “Ya know, I grow lavender, too, fer the bees. Maybe I could take a look at yours? See if I can help?”

“Oh, would you please? I’d be so grateful!”

“Absolutely, doll. And maybe once ya have some oils, I can buy some off ya.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not giving me a cent; you didn’t charge me for that slice of apple pie, and I’m not charging you for oils. Besides, here.” You took a lavender flower between your thumb and forefinger, crushing it, then held your fingers to his nose. “Smell.”

He did as you asked, the intake of air tickling your skin. “That smells amazing,” he sighed.

“You can do that for a quick rush of stress relief; it’s for a quick fix, not long term. But it helps,” you explained.

He grinned widely at you. “Well, I’m certainly not stressed right now.”

You opened your mouth to slip out a retort when you heard a little chirping by your feet. You glanced down and Sonny must’ve heard it, too, because he also looked. He gently parted a patch of grass and uncovered a baby bird there. It looked barely old enough to leave its nest, so why was it there?

Sonny quickly ripped his plaid jacket off his shoulders—exposing the tight, white shirt and his strong arms—then swooped down. Carefully, he picked up the bird, who was chirping incessantly now.

“Poor little thing; probably didn’t succeed in his first flight,” he cooed, his expression soft as he looked at the creature. Then, he glanced up at you. “I’m sorry, doll. Do ya mind terribly if we cut our date a little short? I wanna take this little birdy home, make sure it’s okay before releasin’ him.”

You felt your respect for him grow. “Not at all. Mind if I tag along?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, smiling.

************************

You followed Sonny to his cabin, the bird chirping constantly. He brought it inside, placing it on his kitchen table and taking a seat in front of it. You sat down next to him and watched the bird while he scrolled through article after article on his phone pertaining to nursing birds back to health.

“Okay, so, this here says that the bird may just be in shock, and to put it in a cardboard box with a slightly ajar lid or towel. Then wait ta see if it flies away,” Sonny explained.

You nodded. “Should we take it back to the meadow, then?”

“Yeah; it’s a lil’ far, and I don’t think he’ll know how ta get back….”

You stood, smiling, “then let’s take it back.”

Sonny found a small box, and he put the bird—still nestled in his jacket—inside. Then he gingerly picked up the box, and you both headed back the way you came.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said after a few steps. “I’m just draggin’ ya all over the place, and fer no real reason, and we missed the sun settin’ in the meadow.” He looked to the darkening sky, and picked up the pace of his steps.

You placed your hand on his shoulder. “Sonny, you have nothing to be sorry for; you were trying to help an animal in need. If anything, that makes you more attractive.”

A pink tint appeared on his ears and the spots on his cheek that his beard didn’t cover. “You really think I’m attractive?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “One of the most attractive people I’ve met.” That dopey smile of his grew twice as wide.

**********************

You both waited in the meadow until the baby bird finally regained its senses and flew from the box. Then Sonny figured it was time to take you home. You linked your arm with his as you walked, and he walked closer to you, your body heat colliding.Once at your cabin, you searched for something to say, to keep him there; you weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.

“Oh! The lavender!” you announced, and Sonny smiled, as if he knew you were delaying. You tugged him back to your herb garden, and he took a close look at your slowly dying lavender with the light of his phone’s flashlight. He touched the crumbling leaves, then the soil, his brow furrowed.

“What kinda soil are ya usin’?” he asked, his voice serious.

You rose an eyebrow. “Just…regular, I guess?”

He nodded before looking up at the black sky covered in stars, judging what, you didn’t know. “Ya may need ta replant it elsewhere,” he finally said. “Ya need soil with good drainage; this soil is a little compacted. If ya separated it from the others, put it in soil mixed with grit, it should do wonders here.”

“Ugh, you’re a godsend, Sonny. I’ll dig it up and replant it tomorrow. Thank you so much,” you replied, giving him a hug.

He chuckled into your ear. “Don’t thank me yet; wait ta see if that fixes the problem first.”

You leaned back, nodding and smiling at him. He grinned back, and then you were kissing, his beard tickling your chin. You both still had your arms around the other, holding each other close as your lips moved against one another. He licked your lips, and you sighed, letting his tongue explore your mouth, rubbing and dancing with your own.

Slowly, he pulled his lips from yours, then snuck another small kiss, then another, and another. Finally, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in the other’s air.

“Best. First date. Ever,” you murmured, and he huffed out a laugh against your lips.

“Even with the bird?” he asked, making you laugh this time.

“Especially with the bird,” you replied, and he smirked before kissing you again. You could never tire of his lips against yours, his beard tickling your chin, leaving a slight rash. Your hands when to his soft hair, and you grabbed a handful, giving him a soft tug. Everywhere he touched sent fire through you, and with his body pressed up against yours, it felt like you were an inferno. And you knew that from this moment on, you didn’t want to be put out.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

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slasherkisss · 4 years ago

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CABIN FEVER - JASON VOORHEES X READER [CHAPTER 8]

Summary In an effort to remove yourself from your previous life in the big city, you move to Crystal Lake. The cabin you had inherited from your father makes the perfect place for a fresh start, however, there is a secret in these woods (and within yourself) that you must come to accept…and to love.

A/N I finally managed to get some muse for this again! I have an idea of where I’m going to go with it and I can’t wait to actually finish this project, I’m gonna do it if it kills me. Here’s the next chapter at least...a year later lol

——————————————————————————————

Months passed between the day of slaughter, and something inside of you felt heavy even after the deed had been said and done.

True to his word, Jason had taken care of everything. You had woken up the day after the Incident to clean sheets and the disappearance of both blood and body in your mind. It was as though the back of your head was trying desperately to push the thoughts of slaughter from you. To lock it away inside of your subconscious in a way that you would never be able to reach it again. It was something you didn’t need to remember, your brain insisted with desperation lacing the tone it usually took when it spoke to you, and you should simply accept that it would never be like that again.

The nightmares did not let you forget, though.

Each night seemed plagued with them, some more grueling than the other. More desperate in its plaintiveness each time you thought through the story that played within it. Your body in each dream pushed itself through dark, craggy forests and against the bare ground of soil. Roots curled with hunger at your legs as you chased your victim, breath heaving and weapon tight in your fist as you caught up to the terrified little thing. Your weapon always seemed to change in the time of your rest. Sometimes it was the trowel, pointed at its tip and built only for tilling the earth, and other times it was a machete with a glimmering blade and reflective steel like teeth bared for murder.

Sometimes, you were the one running from yourself. Your own form silhouetted in the darkness as you chased down who you knew you had to kill. Sometimes you tripped on the edges of roots so thick they might as well have been hands, and looked up into your own wild gaze. Your own form as you shakily held up the trowel against your fingertips. Sometimes it was you who screamed into the darkness as the weapon fell down into your skull and - oh - you could feel the pain in your body as the pressure drowned you in rivulets of dark red against soil.

You woke up more often than not during the night now, the nightmares ripping through your body in the form of a loud, shaky scream that would fill the forest late into the evening. You found yourself more than once awoken by Jason. His hands would cling to your sides and be pressing you firmly into the bed, keeping your arms away from yourself as what cuts you had given your skin due to your ragged nails blossomed over you. It was as though you were trying to write a message into your own body. If you squinted close enough, the lines you had scribbled with your keratin on the soft flesh or your inner arm were almost readable in their entirety.

Your fault. You did this. She’s dead. It was you! Always you.

As you pondered the threats of the voice inside of your head, staring idly at the slowly healing scars that littered your body now, you were pulled away by a knock at the door. It was a pounding and forceful thing that sent your already sensitive head reeling into a momentary headache. You could feel the pain behind your teeth and you could already tell it would slowly become a migraine after a few more hours of leaving it be. You were sure you had some pain killers somewhere left in your bathroom’s medicine cabinet. If not, you mused, you had willow bark and some rosemary out in your steadily growing garden. You could always whip up a remedy for it using those.

The second solid knock on the door made you more weary as you approached it, however. It was not how Jason knocked. He did so gently, afraid of breaking your doorframe if he slammed on it too hard. He never wanted to startle you with his force and, besides, as of late you’ve been allowing him to simply walk into your home without knocking. It was his home now as much as yours and the thought permeated your weariness to offer a fleeting touch of euphoria.

The third knock was accompanied by a voice.

“Hello? Is anyone home?”

You tensed, palms suddenly sweaty as you stared at the doorknob. You felt your stomach lurch in terror as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, biting down hard enough to feel the skin give into a bruising press of your molars. Jason was not due back from his daily patrol of the lake for an hour still. Likewise, he did not speak. He did not have a voice like that. Rough. Open. Unknown.

With a deep, long inhale you gripped the doorknob and slowly opened it up, the old wood creaking with every turn. You made a mental note to oil its hinges when you could.

The man standing in front of you was middle aged, the graying of the hairs littered in his beard giving it away that he was pushing closer to his 50s at the earliest. The thin lines of his wispy hair were hidden behind a dark brown Stetson rimmed with a small tassel of gold and a badge that indicated his status as a police officer from the local town station. Your mind could not read the words decorated on his tanned uniform. They floated against his skin like ancient hieroglyphs as you gripped the doorknob of your home tighter. Your knuckles turned white behind the frame.

You felt a cold rush of air hit your body and you stiffened, brows furrowing as you tried to act surprised and not as terrified as you felt beneath your skin.

“Afternoon, Ma’am,” The officer tilted his hat respectfully at you, “Sorry to bother you in… Your home. I just had a couple of questions for you regarding a few missing folks if that’s alright.”

You did not miss the pause in his tone as he looked around the forest, clearly uncomfortable in the vast outdoor space. You almost wanted to snort. Wasn’t it his job to patrol the woods? To keep hooligans and stupid hunters out of here in the first place? No, he wasn’t even doing that. Instead it was Jason who protected this forest. Who kept everything within it safe, far better than this fool who stood before you could ever do. You shifted on your feet, ignoring the damp spot of sweat growing on the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes that’s quite alright,” You managed out in a surprisingly even tone, your stutter passing as surprise for seeing an officer so suddenly, “It’s horrible to hear some people are missing, especially this time of year.”

“I know,” He sounded almost genuine in his remorse, “That’s why we’re asking around in case anyone’s seen them. Last I heard from another source, they were up camping out in the forest area around here. I figured since you lived up here, you’d be able to tell me if you’ve seen anything of ‘em around or close to your property? Have you ever walked around the forest and caught sight of some folks? Or seen any campsites set up close by, maybe?”

Your mind flashed to the images of the bodies dead on the forest floor, their red blood soaking into the mossy ground. Dead eyes stared forward at you in your mind, glossy with haze and their faces contorted into fear as their brains decorated the edges of tree trunks around you. You remembered the woman, your spade lowered into her skull and her blood warm on your hands as you watched her still pulsating organs devour themselves in an ouroboros of sin.

“Ma’am?”

You looked up with surprise, snapping yourself out of your momentary disassociation. You swallowed and sighed.

“Sorry, I was thinking if I’d seen anyone,” You were surprised how easily the lie left your lips as you shook your head, “Unfortunately, I haven’t seen anything but the deer lately. As far as I know, no one’s been around here.”

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. A quiet lapse as the officer gazed forward at you, a furrow to his brow marking his concern. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, moving its way up to your throat. He knew, you thought with terror rising in your veins, he knew that you were lying. That you had done it. He saw through your lies and into your soul. Into your sins and-

“Alright,” He nodded, “Thanks for your input. Now you don’t hesitate to call the station if you see any suspicious activity in this place, alright? It’s dangerous living alone in this forest, but rest assured we’ll keep it under control.”

“It’s been pleasant so far,” You find yourself speaking out softly, almost with a smile, “But I… appreciate the security, Officer…”

“Hughes. Darcy Hughes,” He introduced himself, his smile lines emphasizing his age as he gave you a brisk nod, “Take care of yourself and don’t get into any trouble, then.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

With another tilt of his hat and a hum to his lips, he turned away from you to file back into his police car that he had brought out, the top of it already slightly covered by fallen pine needles and leaves. He brushed them off gently before getting back in, offering one last wave to you through his windshield. You waved back, a smile plastered on your face as you watched him start up his vehicle, back out of the dirt driveway, and turn down the barely wide enough path to the town once more.

You didn’t stop waving until you were sure his car was out of sight. Slowly you turned back into your home, closing the door behind you, where you stood for a long, quiet moment.

Your legs shook the next second, trembling so hard that they gave out from underneath you. You collapsed to the floor, gasping for a breath you didn't realize you had been holding this whole time. You coughed, wincing at the pain of splinters gathering in your kneecaps, and you threw your hands out to catch yourself as you heaved. For a moment you felt like you were going to vomit onto the floor in front of you, but your throat was so dry with exhaustion that nothing dared to come up and ruin its scratchy heat.

You did it. You had made it out of that situation. Yet the weight on your shoulder burned like a brand, searing an invisible mark into your flesh as you cried out in pain, arching your back as if to escape the sensation.

Liar, your mind laughed at you, what a liar, lair, lair-

A new knock on the door startled you from your writhing episode on your floor. Your face paled in terror. Was the officer back? Maybe you could ignore his knocking. Maybe you could pretend to be in the back of your house and ignore the sound that scratched on your eardrums like a funeral march. Perhaps it was Jason? Returning early from his patrol and sensing your distress behind the door of your home? Your heart momentarily sparked with hope as you stood up on your feet again, feeling light headed as you turned and reached out, wincing at the feeling of the knob beneath your hand once again.

When you pulled it open this time, it was neither Hughes nor Jason. But someone new.

He was an older man, older than Officer Hughes certainly, with barely any hair on his wrinkled, liver-spotted forehead. The way his lip shriveled around his mouth indicated his lack of teeth, his sagging cheeks only serving to make the glare of dark brown eyes he trailed on you all the more intimidating. He stepped forward, invading your space the moment you opened the door. The scent of alcohol was radiating off of him, making you want to gag and cover your mouth as you took one step back into your home, swallowing hard.

“C...Can I help you?”

“Saw you talkin with Officer Friendly there,” He growled out with a raise of his eyebrow, “Told him you didn’t see nothin, didn’t ya?”

“Well, yes I-”

“Been a while since you been in town too, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It was true, you rarely visited the small town just outside of Crystal Lake. Since your self sustaining farm had taken off, you really only visited for canned goods to stock up on during the winter, or to sell some of your fresh produce to the local grocery store for a little extra money in your pocket here and there. When you did visit, you rarely talked to any of the locals that did not demand your immediate business. You exhaled, your fingertips drumming on the wood of your door.

“I haven’t had a need to.”

The man smiled, confirming your hypothesis on his missing teeth.

“Ya may have fooled the police, girl, but oh I know. I know just what you are, you know. Ain’t gonna pull the wool over ol’ Eddie’s eyes, oh no siree.”

He - Eddie you guessed - got closer to you, his eyes narrowing in a squint as you set your jaw in worry.

“Yer a witch, ain’t ya.” The way he said it didn’t mean it was a question, “Livin out here with yer potions and yer nature. I bet ya killed those folks, too! But oh, it don’t matter. You got em fooled, don't you?”

He was advancing more now, dangerous in his posture towards you as you swallowed hard. You stepped back into your home, moving your grip on the door to quickly shut it, but his boot clad foot blocked the entrance so it didn’t shut all the way. You gasped as he crawled through the gap, a spider with crazed eyes and gnashing jaws as he reached out for you with a glare.

“I knew you’d be trouble since ya came! Changing our town’s ways an communin out here with them spirits. Y’ain’t gonna fool me, not me! You’ll get turned right in and they’ll see ya for what ya are, ya witch! Ya daughter of Satan! Ya-”

He suddenly wasn’t there anymore. With a surprised yelp his entire form was peeled away from your door. You held your breath in surprise, your heart beating loud in your ears as you waited for another sign that he would come in. That he would break the door down and rip apart your form in search of his evidence. In search of anything to call you a witch once more. You looked at your hearth of bones and dried plants, setting your jaw as you understood the accusations, but did not want to hear them.

Instead all you heard outside was another strangled gasp of surprise. A solid snap of something fragile. A thud of body to wood.

You waited a few more seconds before gripping the frame in trembling hands, slowly peeling the door open to reveal what had happened just feet from you in your home.

Eddie’s head was bent to face his back, his eyes wide and dead in shock as his jaw hung limply, broken and bruising the tender skin of his old face. Only a small amount of blood dribbled from the dislocation of his jaw and neck, the tendons bursting against the bruising skin. His fingers curled in on themselves like a dead spider would curl its legs on itself. You stared, blank and unsure for the longest of moments as your heartbeat slowed in your chest. As you licked your suddenly too chapped lips in an effort to hold back your growing smile.

You failed, exhaling as the edges of your mouth upturned into something of a wide, relieved looking grin. You looked upwards from the crumpled body before you, a blush heating your cheeks as you admired the man standing in front of it, his breath coming in ragged gasps against his chest as he followed your gaze.

Jason reached out to you, ignoring the body on your porch. His fingertips roamed the vast expanse of your skin, feeling for any wounds or any indication that you had been hurt before he could reach out to protect you. When you gave a swift sign of ‘I’m fine’ his shoulders sagged in relief. His gaze returned momentarily to the body at his side. One hand reached up to his form, the awkwardness of signing with just a single one making it hard to read but understandable nonetheless. He refused to let go of you for even a moment.

‘What happened?’

‘Police came. Townsfolk are getting suspicious.’

The hand on your shoulder tensed, the pressure in creasing for only a moment.

‘Then I’ll kill them.’

‘No! You can’t get all of them.’

‘I want you to be safe.’

‘I’m safe with you. Always with you.’

Jason paused then, his hand finally freeing your arm as he looked away. He gazed down at the body in front of him, its tangled limbs and broken spine an homage to just what he would do for you. As if aiding in his thoughts, the wind blew gently through the trees. Fallen leaves swirled upwards in a momentary tornado. In the background, your chickens clucked in their coops and the soil housing both your plants and the dead bodies gathered for fertilizer filled Jason with a suddenly intense sort of want. He looked back at you. Through his mask you could see conviction. Surprised at the look, you tilted your head at him, brows furrowed in confusion. You reached your hand out to touch his face, rubbing along the rough edges of his hockey mask in a gentle gesture, one he leaned into as your touch grounded him.

“What’s wrong?” You spoke this time, your tone a weak whisper as you searched his gaze, “What are you thinking about?”

How he knew the next sign was beyond you, yet he moved his fingertips with such conviction that you could not help the heart stopping gasp that welled inside of you when he managed it:

‘Marry me.’

#jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagine #jason voorhees #friday the 13th #friday the thirteenth #cabin fever #cabin fever series #slasher x reader #slasher imagine

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jamespotterthefirst · 5 years ago

Text

For Lost Time (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2K Premise: They continue to make up for lost time after their encounter in his car. Set during the events of Book 2, Chapter 12

Warning: Strong Language and NSFW content. Please use discretion and caution when viewing this work. By viewing of this work, you consent that you are 18+ .

The fog clouding the glass had cleared almost entirely by the time they deemed it time to go inside. They haphazardly replaced their clothes in the small confines of his car, lightheartedly teasing each other until they shared a final kiss. Before their bodies parted, Ethan glanced down at her one more time, unable to keep a joyous smile at bay. The streetlights outside the car cast a golden glow on her as she glanced back at him, eyes alight with happiness, cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink.

He couldn't resist the urge to kiss her again. It was one that was all too familiar to Ethan, except this time, there were no obstacles that stopped his lips from moving enthusiastically against hers.

He groaned as she pushed her body closer to his.

A mere kiss was all it took for every part of his body to hum with need for her again like a live wire. Lilac must have felt it too because her eyes were darker as they pulled apart, one fingernail coiling playfully around his tie.

“You should come inside.”

The spike of sheer euphoria that coursed through him at the words almost left him speechless. Ethan, however, still had the words to lean in a whisper the filthiest turn of phrase he could think of.

It worked because in seconds, they were out of the car, rushing through the rain to go inside her building. They made it to her front door in record speed, especially considering the black high heels she wore. The sleek contraptions did wonders for her legs and he decided then that he wanted them on through every filthy act he was about to perform.

Unable to resist, his hands found her hips, fingers digging slightly into her dress as he pulled her close.

“Unlock the door fast,” he murmured hoarsely against her ear. A thrill of satisfaction buzzed through his veins when her hands fumbled with the keys, clearly affected. “Unless you want your neighbors to see me taking you against it.”

Her responding sigh made him grow even harder against her backside, his lips pressing hungry kisses along the column of her neck. Vaguely, he was aware of how desperate he appeared, hands urgently roaming her body, but he found that he didn't care.

Lilac didn't seem to mind either because as soon as she opened the door, she took his hand without ceremony and guided him straight to her room.

“Miss my body already?” she teased when he pushed her against the door as soon as it clicked shut.

Ethan almost didn't hear the taunt, busy as he was tugging off her dress and kissing every inch of exposed skin. “Can you blame me? I've been missing it for months.”

As if to drive that point across, she rolled her body against his just like she had in the car less than an hour ago. And just like in his car, their bodies crammed and quivering with need, Ethan groaned.

“I've been missing yours,” she confessed in a sinful whisper. “You're all I thought about when I touched myself at night.”

A low, guttural curse escaped him, lost against the tops of her breasts.

“Shhh. My roommates are home so you'll have to be quiet.” There was amusement in her breathless voice. “Think you can manage it, Doctor?”

Ethan raised his head from where he tugged at her bra with his teeth to raise a quizzical eyebrow. “That sounds more of a challenge for you. I'm not the screamer out of the two of us.”

The heady way in which he whispered it made her hips rock against his involuntarily.

“I seem to remember otherwise.” The coquettish glint in her eye made him harder still.

“Then let me refresh your memory.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“One you'll lose, yes.”

What promised to be a signature witty reply was lost in a moan as Ethan moved his lips to her ear and all but growled, “Turn around.”

Despite the bravado, she obeyed at once.

Wasting no time, Ethan firmly took her hips and steered her towards the dresser at the other end of the room, the scent of her hair as intoxicating as the curve of her ass pressing tightly against him.

Their eyes met through the mirror before them, a questioning look on her pretty face. She no doubt wondered why Ethan had chosen to pin her against a dresser, roughly bending her over to balance on shaking arms. The truth was, he had spent too much time fantasizing about having her on every imaginable surface and he planned to make good on those ideas.

A bed was decidedly at the bottom of his list of surfaces.

“Ethan,” she moaned when he all but tore her dress off the remainder of the way.

“Shhh,” he said hotly against her ear, parroting her earlier warning. “It's already not looking good for you and that challenge.”

Before she could reply, he took her knee and hoisted it onto the surface of the dresser, exposing her body to him. The sharp stiletto of one of her black heels dug into his thigh. Lilac let out a small gasp that quickly turned into a soft, wanton cry as his fingers pushed the thin lace of her thong aside and teased at her folds.

“Fuck,” he groaned, realizing how wet she already was.

“Only for you.”

A primal satisfaction overtook him at those words. His fingers slid and tapped with expert precision, drawing out the most maddening noises from her. When he used two fingers to tease her entrance, her supporting arms quivered, her body arching deliciously against him.

“Ethan, please,” she said in a ragged plea. Their previous banter forgotten, he steadied her with one hand and slid two fingers inside her.

He moved slowly at first, intending to savor the way he could still make her body sing, even after months of being apart. Soon, however, the speed and pressure of his movements increased, mostly at her urging.

“Fuck, Lilac. You're so—”

He couldn't finish the husky, senseless thought because Lilac demonstrated exactly what he meant by pulsing tightly around his fingers. Despite foolishly thinking he could exert control over her, Ethan allowed himself to fall at her mercy.

As her pleasure peaked, she doubled over, her dark hair falling in curtains over her face. With one last cry, she quivered against his movements until she rode out the high. It was lucky the rain slashed loudly against the windows or her roommates would have undoubtedly heard her.

He gave her a smug smile through the mirror. Lilac, looking flushed and blissful, rolled her eyes lovingly. “I still didn't scream,” she pointed out.

Ethan took that as another challenge because five minutes later, she was on the verge of doing just that. He had her perched on the dresser, her thighs open to him, her back arching up from the surface. Ethan, on his knees like some kind of supplicant, met her gaze as his devilish tongue lapped at her folds.

“Ethan,” she cried, her hand delving into his hair. The light tug inspired his tongue to enter her, lavishing every hot inch of her body with the attention it deserved. Lilac cursed, writhing her hips desperately against his face.

“Never get—” She moaned but tried again. “Never get rid of the beard,” she implored in a broken whisper. Ethan almost grinned and replied by taking the swollen nub in between his lips and sucking briefly.

It was all she needed to climax again.

“It's not fair.” Lilac hopped off the dresser moments later, legs trembling.

Ethan steadied her with ease, arching a brow. “Not fair? I thought I was being rather generous.”

Lilac pulled at his tie, shaking her head. “It's not fair that you're still fully clothed.”

Ethan laughed, leaning in to kiss her, his lips taunting her in a way that made her groan. Without further preamble, she made quick work of his shirt and tie, both falling in a heap to the floor. A smirk that was all wickedness pulled at her lips when she divested him of the rest of his clothing, the evidence of his arousal smacking against her hip.

It was Ethan who was at a disadvantage now, fully naked while Lilac was still clad in her bra and panties. In one swift movement, he remedied that problem, using his teeth to slide off the straps of her bra. It was far more than she could take.

“Fuck me, Ethan,” she pleaded in a heady whisper.

He complied by swiveling her body around yet again, their eyes finding each other through the mirror . They started at one another with such intensity that Ethan felt his hands tremble against her hip bones. As soon as she bit her lip enticingly, however, he took himself in his hand and teased her entrance until she trembled.

Soon, every ounce of his self-control had been spent, his body pulsing as desperately as hers. Unable to wait another moment, Ethan pushed himself inside her inch by glorious inch. Buried to the hilt, he pressed his forehead against Lilac's shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he said hotly against the curve of her shoulder.

Lilac moaned as he began to move in measure strokes.

She gripped the edges of the dresser as his movements increased speed. With every thrust, the mirror rattled dangerously against the wall. If their mingled cries and moans were not enough to alert her roommates, perhaps the smacking of their bodies would.

Lilac's body gripped him firmly from all sides, eliciting a dark curse from Ethan. The erotic little way she moaned his name was proving detrimental to his plan of lasting as long as he could.

“Faster,” she cried.

His thrusts became shallow and pointed as he obeyed. Ethan watched through the mirror as her body bounced to the rhythm of his movements, her eyes closed blissfully as she raced to her release.

“God, Ethan,” she cried. “You're so—” Her voice broke off as he drove into her with invigorated zeal, his lustful hand taking a firm grip of her right breast.

“Finish the thought,” he murmured hotly in her ear.

“You're—”

Another calculated thrust and another cry.

“I’m what?”

“You're so big,” she finally managed.

Ethan cursed.

“I’m so close,” she breathed.

“Good,” he growled.

“Ethan, you’re going to make me—” the last words broke into a series of moans as she finished around him.

The sounds she made were the last push to his own release. With a guttural groan, he gripped her tightly against him until they both rode off the high.

When they pulled apart, Lilac dropped into the mattress with a content sigh. Ethan laughed, joining her.

“I missed that,” she admitted with a grin.

He watched her expression closely, relieved to see genuine joy there. “Me too,” he said, leaning in to kiss her nose.

Before either of them could say anything else, her stomach growled loudly.

“Hungry?”

She laughed, looking slightly embarrassed. It was almost comical to Ethan as she was currently naked in front of him.

“Starving. We skipped dinner with all of our…” she trailed off, smiling slightly. “...catching up.”

He chuckled, rather liking the term. If they were making up for lost time they still had a long way to go. “Let's go out and get something.”

“Okay,” she said, perking up. At a brief pause, she wrinkled her nose. “But please, no more bland foods. I can't eat plain white rice again. I will scream.”

At this, he laughed fully, shaking his head. “What are you in the mood then?”

“Tacos,” she said without a thought. Ethan nodded and made to stand up. She reached for his arm, a serious expression on her face. “Real tacos. If you give me this hard-shell, ground-beef nonsense I won't make it, Ethan.”

He scoffed though the effect might have been ruined by the way he grinned. “Of course. Who the hell do you take me for?”

“A white guy from the east coast?” she said innocently.

Ethan laughed, having lost count of how many times he had done that in his brief time with her that evening. As his laughter subsided, however, he could feel the tendrils of dread that still lingered starting to take root again. The events of the past few days, seeming a distant memory only moments ago, began to fog his consciousness once more, despite his every effort.

Lilac met his eye, perhaps sensing the serious edge in his demeanor. Without saying anything, she took his hand in hers and kissed it tenderly.

“We…we will be okay.” The words were directed at him but Ethan suspected she meant them for herself too.

Ethan glanced at their joined hands and nodded, believing it for the first time in months.

_______

Author’s Note: I don’t know.

Thank you for reading this!

Thank you @aestheticartsx for your help with this one!

_______

@lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite | @titaniaangel | @adamsdumortain

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #my writing #ns*fw

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pagingdoctorcarter · 4 years ago

Note

"You’re burning up” for Obitine BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TO! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

FOR YOU? ANYTHING!!! But only if you like it. If you don’t like it, please immediately erase this from your memory so we can still be friends. Anyway, there’s meant to be some stuff in here about the fever of first love, and like passion and fire and stuff, but it’s also just them bitching at each other so....I TRIED.

I love you!

IT CANNOT HAPPEN TWICE

“You’re burning up.”

“Remove your hand from my face before I remove it from your person.”

“I only meant to say that we can rest,” he explains, watching as Master Jinn forges on ahead, clearing a path through thick brush. “If you need to.”

It is safer here, out in the wilds, than on the road, the stretch between Mircine and Kar’Marev known for kidnappings, hunters, and corpses, but Satine will not be bowed.

“We may if you need to,” she spits. “I am perfectly capable of continuing without breaking, though I would not begrudge any weakness of yours.”

He grits his teeth, and she holds his gaze, steady and fever bright, the heat of her presence grinding him into deference out of respect for her position, for his master, and for the basic tenets of the Code - a Code which he seems to remind himself of continuously these days. Certainly, he has become more familiar with the first precept than ever before. He is intimate friends with it, having meditated on it for hours with no great success. There is no emotion.

“Of course, your Grace,” he says. His bow is shallow and poorly done, the curve of his lips equally false, but she says nothing. “I was only trying to help.”

“Thank you, padawan,” she says, then turns and marches on.

He catches up with her at sundown, hours later, and her condition is not improved. She stumbles along behind Qui-Gon, head bent, eyes on every next step. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps, and Obi-Wan can’t help the worried glances he keeps throwing at Qui-Gon’s broad back. He frets at the strand of shared consciousness between them, like he frets at the hem of his sleeve, and when it’s finally gone dark, he approaches his master where she cannot hear them.

“She’s ill,” he says, with no attempt at a conciliatory preamble.

“I know,” says his master. “I had hoped we might reach Kar’Marev tonight, but it is later than I thought. And I dare not brave the open plains past dusk. Not like this.”

“Then we’ll rest for the night?”

“We will,” Qui-Gon says. “Though I fear it will not help us much.”

“Master?” He shuffles nearer, and Qui-Gon speaks even lower to be certain of their confidence.

“The duchess is ill,” he says. “And if her fever persists she shall not be able to continue tomorrow. If it breaks, she shall be too exhausted to proceed. Either way, our efforts will be in vain, and worse - foolish. We gain nothing by gaining ground on foot only to lose it in body.”

Obi-Wan glances behind him as the duchess stokes the embers of their fire, banked low so as not to draw attention. She coughs, and it sounds as though it catches on every ribs, rattling and severe.

“Is it so serious?” he asks. “We are at least a day’s walk from help in any direction. What if she gets worse?”

Qui-Gon huddles close, scratching at the edge of his beard. “There is a plant,” he says. “A weed, really, and so it should be in no short supply. If I can find it, we may make a tea of its leaves.”

“A local remedy,” says Obi-Wan, looking skeptical. “Will it cure her?”

“It might alleviate the worst of her symptoms.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Show it to me, master,” he says, closing his eyes to search out the gossamer impression of light and colour in the Force. But his master frowns, and holds him at arm’s length.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says. “I shall search. You must stay here, and care for Satine.”

“What? But master, surely it is better that I go!”

“I know what I’m looking for, where to find it, and how much we need.”

“There are hunters on the prowl -”

“- And the only company worse than yours, should one find her here. Stay, padawan, and watch over her.”

She coughs again, and he throws a doubtful glance over his shoulder before applying to Qui-Gon once more.

“Master -?”

“Be kind,” he says. “And patient. Trust in the Force, and I shall be back soon.”

But Qui-Gon is not back soon, and the night grows cold and dark around them. The creakers in the grass go to bed, and the home world Mandalore hangs heavy in the sky until the clouds come in and shroud it from view. Obi-Wan smothers the fire with sand, the red heat of it glowing bright in the absence of planetlight. He worries it might draw the eye of any unsavory observers, and trusts that Qui-Gon will be able to navigate without it. He can feel him, far afield, illuminating the shadows like starlight falling softly over leaves, and moving father still.

“Do you think Master Jinn will return before dawn?”

Satine sounds miserable, her voice crackling in place of tinder. She clears her throat, and clutches her thin cloak more closely about her.

“I hope so,” he replies. “Maybe sooner.”

“I had not thought reconnaissance something so eagerly done at night.”

They had decided between them it would be best to keep Qui-Gon’s purpose from the duchess. Qui-Gon had said that she was already struggling under the weight of so many expectations of infallibility that one breach might be enough to topple her. Obi-Wan had simply desired an evening free of insufferable debate. If Satine suspected either reason, she would be offended, so Obi-Wan shrugs, and unrolls his bedkit.

“Master Jinn felt it would be better if he used the cover of night to clear our path than simply hope we don’t stumble across some hive of villainy in the daylight.”

“And you agreed with him?” she says.

“I trust him,” he says, unflinching. “Master Jinn is very experienced in matters of this nature, and I trust him to lead us safely.”

“So long as the Force wills it,” she mutters. It is not his imagination that some bitterness sours the air, then, and he feels it twist against his spine, drawing him stiffly upright to counter her.

“Yes,” he says. “But you seem to be labouring under the presumption that trust in the Force is tantamount to resignation to our fate.”

“Isn’t it?” she demands. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks flushed pink and raw.

“Isn’t pacifism?” he retorts. “Or would you contend that laying down arms in the face of violence and oppression a brave choice?”

A twig snaps in the distance, but Obi-Wan feels no danger stir in the Force. Foolish - for she scowls at him, baring her teeth like a feral strill on the hunt.

“What do you know of bravery, padawan? You have always been at heel, always in the shelter of your Order, and your Temple, and your Master Jinn. You know nothing of fear.”

“And you know nothing of me,” he snaps. “But I would fight. I would sacrifice everything for what I believe is right. I would die for it.”

“And so would I.”

“I would kill for it,” he says, and she is silent. He feels his victory at hand, and her silence. his reward. Finally. “Don’t speak to me of bravery. You have fine ideals, and beautiful dreams, but I have seen the galaxy, and I know what it is to face villains who would destroy everything you love simply for the sake of seeing you suffer. I would not wish that on you, but your pacifism will not save you from it. I’m sorry, but I cannot see peace for your warrior kind.”

Satine sniffs. She coughs. He feels a sharp tug in his chest, looking at her already so weak and downtrodden by illness, and now battered by his own unruly emotions. But then she throws back her head. Her hair is lank, the lily-white gold of its strands turned dusty with neglect, but she is somehow regal still.

“We are not violent by nature,” she declares. “Our cultures, our traditions - there is more to Mandalore than bloodshed. And there is bravery in standing bared and open with nothing but peace, our shield between life and death. A blossom is just as noble as a blaster. More, for it thrives in harmony and gentleness. It lives, it grows, it seeds, and grows again. A blaster can only destroy. Would you have me wish that for my people?”

“I do not know your people.”

“Then do not speak for us,” she says. “I may not have seen the galaxy as you have, but I know Mandalore. Pacifism is not passivity. It is still the warrior’s way.”

Obi-Wan kicks out the end of his coarse bushcover, straightening the edges, and smoothing away bumps that rise up beneath the narrow mat. He says nothing as she coughs, not even when the next fit lasts for more than a minute. He only folds his rucksack so that his spare stockings and pants may act as a pillow, and cushion the edges of rations and various other instruments of use. He sits. He pulls off his boots, and aligns them neatly beside his bed. His stockings are next, and he lays them flat to dry in the open air of the forest. At last, the choking and sputtering behind him fade, and he lies down with his back to Satine.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Master Jinn?”

“No,” he says, closing his eyes. “And I wouldn’t advise you to, either, though I know nothing I say has any weight with you.”

“But what if he needs help?”

“Then I don’t suppose your being awake will have particular value there, seeing as you won’t lift a finger to defend him.”

He can hear as she surges to her feet, and kicks at the little rise of buried fire. Bits of sand and ash scatter at his back, but it is only a bluff.

“You’re insufferable,” she says.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he assures her, pulling his coverlet up high, and nuzzling against his pack until it cradles his head just so. It is a warm night, and the earth still holds the heat of the day. The insects of Harswee have been until now a mannerly bunch, and Obi-Wan hopes that this resolution will last the night. He has already suffered enough.

He waits until he hears Satine unroll her own kit, kick off her shoes, and lie down before he releases a deep breath, and relaxes into the Force.

When he wakes, it is still dark. The air has turned cold, and Qui-Gon has not returned. Instinctively, as though still a child in the creche, he reaches out to his master, first, worried that it is some disturbance there which has stirred him from his rest. But no. Qui-Gon still burns, an effulgent flicker of light somewhere out on the plains, and Obi-Wan feels a sense of comfort and reassurance pass over him like a zephyr of thought. The problem does not lie there.

Instead, he finds it lying six feet away on the other side of the smothered campfire.

Satine’s fever has gotten worse. She shivers on the ground so loudly her teeth chatter, and her shoulders shake. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her, the thin coverlet strained with the desperate desire to provide some heat. Obi-Wan kneels to press his hand to her brow, only to find her skin slick with sweat.

“Oh, Force, Satine,” he says, shaking her awake. She looks at him with glazed eyes, but her frown seems instinctive, for it falls into place immediately upon recognition.

“I thought I said don’t touch me,” she says. There may be fire in her, but it is raging through her blood and her skin, and her words come out as thin as smoke.

“Your fever is worse,” he says.

“I know,” she replies.

“You should have said.”

He hurries back to his kit, throwing aside the cover and tripping over his boots in his haste to reach his rucksack. The careful work of folding and primping forgotten as he pulls it apart to find a small canteen of water and a packet of electrolytes. He tears the packet with his teeth, and dumps its contents into the liquid, shaking it, before returning to Satine’s side. With all the gentleness of newborn things, he slips his hand beneath her neck and raises her to rest against his chest. She protests feebly, but she cannot fight him, and when he brings the water to her lips she drinks as bidden.

“Small sips,” he says, one arm wrapped around her back to brace her, the other steadying her hand on the canteen. “You must stay hydrated.”

She nods, but pushes the drink away.

“Satine -”

“I can’t,” she whispers. She wilts against him, her head tucking itself into the crook of his neck beneath his chin. Her breath is hot against his throat, her body hotter still where he can feel the warmth of her fever radiating through the thin layer of her clothes where they touch. He puts the canister on the ground, propped up in the dirt but still within reach.

“Obi-Wan,” she murmurs. “I’m so cold.”

“Alright,” he says, and he reaches forward to drag her coverlet from where it lies crumpled at her feet. “You’re alright.”

He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, and wraps her in his arms. She responds to his touch in a manner so differently than usual he can feel his heart stutter and stop in confusion. Burrowing deeper, she nuzzles her cheek against his chest, and folds her arms between them.

“Hush,” he says, rubbing wide circles over her back, the friction of his palm against the cover doing little to soothe her tremors, but doing much to calm his own uncertainty.

“Is Master Jinn returned yet?”

“He will soon,” he says, though Master Jinn is still distant and cool.

“Do you promise?” she asks. She has never asked for his word before, never solicited his opinion, or sought his comfort. He pulls back to look at her face, certain he is being mocked somehow. But her eyes are closed, and her face slack with exhaustion. She tilts her chin, until her throat is bared, and she waits for him to speak.

“I promise,” he says.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I trust you. Will you wake me when he does?”

“I promise,” he repeats, staggered by this turn she so easily concedes to.

“And will you stay with me til then?”

He tightens his arms around her, cradling her head, and holding her close so that she might be warmed by the heat of his own body.

“I promise,” he vows.

And in the dark, he waits, and he watches, and he holds her until the sun comes up.

#obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #qui-gon jinn #year on the run #my fic #please #nobody look at how many of my fics end with someone promising to stay until someone else wakes up #i don't know what's wrong with me #i swear i sleep alone just fine #and i don't think i ever made anyone promise this when i was a kid #idk #NO JUDGING #star wars #prompt fill

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ficsnroses · 5 years ago

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Motorcycle Sex - Keanu Reeves x Reader

summary : your boyfriend, keanu, shows you his brand new motorcycle...then fucks you on it. hard.

warnings : nsfw, smut. cum heheh. lots of fluff too though! x f! reader.

words : 3.1k

❧ Requested!

notes : well...here ya go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I know you didn’t ask for smut, wonderful anon friend, but my brain did it anyway. hope you enjoy! please consider leaving comments and feedback, means a ton. xox

“I think you’ll like this one,” an enthusiastic Keanu spills, excited mocha eyes ecstatic, a gentle hold to your hand as he leads you to the garage of your home. A new model of an Arch had been released today, the first piece of its kind reserved for the man behind copious of the creative process. “I really like this one.” He chuckles, the bulk of his hand placed to the small of your back as he allows you into the garage doors first, holding the door open.

The piece stands bold, black, colossal; sharp Michelin tires, a sheened glaze of shined fresh charcoal black paint, stood stout on its carbon wheels. Gasping, your thumb rubs a soothe to the palm of your boyfriend’s hand that holds yours, comforting the rougher skin. “Is that the one, Ke?” You shine, holding back a cheeky grin.

This; spark in his voice, passion of craft coursing inside his flowing blood was your happy place. Him; this way, would always be your happy place.

Beautiful, radiant, his smile burns you piece by piece, the joy exhilarating off his skin is warm; something so au fait. Something special grows inside him, something special the crowds don’t understand.

Ambling up to the bike, you stand hand in hand with your love, his eyes glossing over the fine piece of machinery, before to a lock of eyes with you. There’s an inquisitive twinkle to his gaze, a gentle wonder of assurance brewing on his lips. Your opinion matters to him, you matter to him. “Well?” He asks, brining your bundle of interlocked hands up to his lips for a soft kiss to your fingers. “Neat, right?”

“It’s beautiful, baby.” You beam, soft skin of your dancing fingers velveting over the leather seat. His embrace is inviting, the curve of his neck a safe haven for your arms to loom around. Smiling into his lips, your hand cups his beard embroidered cheek, smiling a warm symphony his way. “Hey, I’m really proud of you.” Whispering, your sprightly fingers rest a squeeze to his skin. “You made something so, so beautiful.” Assuring, a kind kiss daubes to his cheek off your rose stained lips, in awe with the way his eyes décor over your features; stay lost in the embodiment of you. “Almost makes me want to ride one.” You roll a chuckle, feeling his warm hands embed around your waist.

“We could.” Keanu smiles, heavy palms gently moving along your back, soothing, comforting. His smile hardly contains, and the faint freckles speckled to his cheeks warm around a blushy peach hue.

Each day with him, as this, you fall further. Further into this sanctuary, this paradise he’s built with you.

You giggle, gaze downcast slight as your fingers smooth to his nape, twirling the ends of his dark chocolate locks. A nervous admission bubbles in your throat, and his eyes furrow ever so slight to your dropping gaze. “I’m just a little scared though,” Confessing, a thick sigh laces your tone, Keanu’s hands removing off your waist in a hearty chuckle, just before his hands hold to your arms, bringing them off his shoulders, in exchange for a loom around his waist. “Well,” He starts, drawing your body closer, flush against his chest. As your arms wrap around his larger body, Keanu’s own circle around you once again, cheeky smile plastered to his lips. “All you have to do is hold on to me.” He muses a deep, throaty chortle, features warmed the way of his love. “I know you can do that.”

Grounded, spellbound in his sincere hold, you absorb a moment to solely,

relish. To sink into the feel of his arms holding you, reminding you that all you have to do, to be alright,

is hold him.

“No,” Giggling, you add. “I meant like, I kind of want to learn how to ride. By myself.” You clear, toying a smooth to a wrinkle that cultivates on the fabric of his black shirt. Engaged, a knit of brows tints to Keanu’s dark, crisp features, a gentle smile twisting his lips to your admitting words. “I’d love to learn, actually; but I’m just…”

Keanu’s ears perk, awaiting the completion of your sentence; yet, as it dies half hearted in your throat, his fingers firm into the skin of your hips, thumbs circling a coax to your figure as he waits. “What, sweetheart?” He wonders, and the crumble of his engaged voice melts in your ears, smiling to the way he listens to each word, each vowel, each syllable that falls your lips. With a gentle bite to your lip, your heavy sigh punctuates with spoken confession, fingers raking a soft run through the dark mane of your boyfriend’s hair.

“I’m scared.” You frown, holding a locked gaze with him for a mere few seconds longer. Rich, Keanu’s chuckle flows through you, the sound of his amuse so delightfully, your beloved remedy. You blush, peachy pastel hues sputtered on curled cheekbones, a roll of eyes his way as he draws in closer, kissing a soft peck to your forehead.

“I was scared too, first. I could teach you, yenno, just how to sit on it, how to control it?” He offers, and his hold around you tightens. “And then, if you want to, maybe you could take a class?” Downcast, his eyes linger for a moment, fishing the right words. “I am a little wary because it can be dangerous, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart.” The joy in his tone rings in ripples. “But, It’s amazing, Y/N, the sights, the sounds, the views. It’s a heaven of it’s own.” Your gushing boyfriend praises, bulky hand finding yours below. “Is it really something you want to do?” He asks again, fingers interlacing a tender thread with yours.

And with a hopeful grin, you nod, hand coupled to his stubble ridden cheek, gently scratching. “I wouldn’t mind you showing me the controls.” Feverishly grinning, your hand trails suggestively low, groping his ass. “Hot teacher? Sign me up.” You wink, letting go of his frame to move towards the bike.

“How do I sit correctly on this one? It’s a little bigger than your other ones.” You wonder, touching the seat with a trace of your finger. With his hand on the small of your back, Keanu taps your thigh, urging it over.

“Bring this leg over,” He instructs, holding your waist, helping you on. “Alright, how does it feel?” He asks, once you’ve positioned on the leather seat. “Comfortable?’’ He probes, stroking your back in a gentle assure.

“Yeah, feels okay.” You declare, squinting your inquisitive gaze. “Gosh, Ke. How do you control this thing? It feels so heavy.” And with a rich giggle, your helpful boyfriend grasps your forearms, gently guiding them to the sturdy handles. “Hands on here, sweetheart. Annnnnd, rest your feet on the footrests.” He encourages, positioning your hands exactly where they need to be. “Alright, now lean forward a little bit, it helps with the balance.” Detailed with proper instruction, his hands hold your arms. Coincidentally, despite the bike being on its stand; stationary, and there being minimal risk of any harm protruding your way, Keanu still kept a hold on you, perhaps unconsciously; unknowingly.

For Keanu, your safety; you being alright, would always cast his thoughts.

You follow as instructed, leaning forward in optimal stance, smiling when you catch his whiskey gaze gloss over your figure, a knowing grin spread to his own cheeks.

Keanu breathes in a sharp inhale, drinking in the way your delicious figure displays on the bike. Spellbound, his earthy twinned pupils glaze over the curve of your breasts that purse together, hanging lower off your chest, in beautiful definition as you lean forward. To the hike of your hips, your ass looks beautifully plump, peachy from this angle, and he swallows tight; his hands smoothing their way down your arms, finding rest to a hold above yours on the bike handles.

“Wow,” He sighs, deep and gruff. “You look so sexy, baby. On my bike.” In his pants, a rush of warmth floods to his cock, and he attempts to quell the lust that cascades through his mind, the sinful thoughts of how he could ruin his deliciously beautiful girlfriend, right then, right there. He attempts greatly to shun the immoral depths, yet his efforts prove fruitless when you bite your lip, leaning further, pursing your breasts tighter together in allowance of your cleavage to bloom in front of him, the valley of your breasts on display for his prying eyes to see.

You understood the effect you’d had on him; a prominent tent slowly swelling to the seams of his manhood. Keanu watches you, simpering, smiling a smirk when you climb off the bike to the sight of his heavy hand palming his clothed cock, stroking his jean clad region, murals of your body painting his thoughts.

“You know, baby,” you whisper, suggestive. “You can touch me.” And with a nipped kiss to his jaw, you drip. “Nothing is off limits to you. Only to you.” And to the ring of your tone, Keanu groans a husky exhale, inquisitive palms finding the swell of your breasts, soothing over, gently kneading the soft flesh in his hands, thumbs circling your perked nipples that ache for him.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he moans, low, feeling the weight of your smaller hand travel to his pulsing length, palming over the clothed erection that bulges inside. His lips catch yours in a domineering kiss, before you travel lower, peppering small, mindless kisses across his chests, to his stomach, kneeling in front of him as your fingers work the buckle of his jeans, mouth watering.

Peeling the fabric of his boxers down, you admire his glorious cock in its entirety, beautifully erect, monstrous, rosy tip swollen to a blushy hue. It surrounds in bush of thick hair, similar to the drapes that flow off his head. Peering up, you feel his hand rake in your hair, locking the strands in a hold when your lips find his member, wrapping sinfully around in a warm, wet hold, slowly taking him in inch by inch.

He tastes of salty precum, with a tinge of something sweet, a faint trace of his delicious, creamy release a delicacy to your tongue. “That’s…that’s it baby,” He groans, gently pushing your head further down on him, yet cautious of making sure he doesn’t offer you more than you can manage.

Someday, you want to be able to fit his entire cock; tight, throbbing down your throat.

You’ll get there, someday. You’ll just have to keep practicing…

With an abrupt pop, you allow him to fall out your mouth, raising off your knees as you travel higher, hands resting to the broad of his chest, and his lips capture yours once again, sighing to the feel of your petite hand wrapping around his aching cock, slowly, leisurely pumping, jerking, twisting the sensitive skin that sends coils of shock building inside him. Your breath is hot against his lips, two of his fingers hooking to the waistband of your bottoms, slowly peeling.

“I want to fuck you.” He whispers, deep, gravelly, sending a bubble of want throbbing within your empty cunt walls that soaked, preparing for his taking. Nodding, your chest heaves breathy exhales, taking his hand in a firm lace, quick to lead the way inside, ready for his body to work you so fucking well within the silky sheets of your shared bed, similar to the way he often does, on frequent nights.

Nevertheless, Keanu’s body doesn’t move an inch, his hand gripping your waist before he stops your move, rejecting. “No, darling,” his hand moves to your mound, palming the fabric that shields your modesty from him. “I want to fuck you here, on my bike.” He gruffs, need flooding each inch of his body, the throb of his cock almost painful to how hard it swells for you, sore; tender; desperate to be buried inside your welcoming, warm haven.

Nodding, you feel the heat building inside, realizing this must have been one of your boyfriends sinful, envisaging fantasies.

He adores you, and he adores his bikes. Seeing you on one? It was a recipe for his sex starving thoughts and corruptly swelling desire. Nonetheless; you don’t mind.

Sex with Keanu is irresistible; his expertise, his skill, the girth of his cock and how perfectly it fits inside you,

Your body welcomes him, each and every time, slick arousal and frustrated whines far too frequent when he undresses your body slowly, delicately peeling the fabric off your figure for his eyes to devour. Once fully nude and exposed, Keanu’s lips trail to your breast, swirling a nipple with his warm and wet tongue as you continue to pump his member, slicking smears of dewy pre cum over his thick shaft.

“Here baby, sit on my bike.” He drools, heavy hands planting firm to your bare ass as he lifts you gently, positioning your weary, sex craving frame on the opaque seat of his brand new bike. You abide, trusting him full, devoutly as he tears off the texile of his shirt, exposing his bare chest for you; peppered with flushy patches of rosy pink, impending with need. For release.

“Bring your legs around my waist, sweetheart.” Keanu huffs, grabbing hold of your silken skin as it curls around his waist, and you blush. Despite being with him hundreds of times before, being on display for him, this way, your pussy completely vulnerable and exposed; you still feel your breath hitch when he sees you like this. Once sure that the bike is stable, and won’t collapse when he drills into you, Keanu drinks in the sight of your voluptuous body; stroking his cock in preparation, before gripping his length firm, tapping his shaft to your cunt a couple of times in anticipation.

“I got you, sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asks, holding your body tight in position, and you nod for him, a gentle smile his way. “Are you ready for me, baby?” He probes, lined up with your heated entrance, enhanced by his primitive desire and the weight of his cock resting on your cunt lips. You nod, swallowing tight before taking hold of his biceps for balance, feeling the pads of his callous thumbs sink into your waist. Keanu’s lips kiss you soft, quick, before slowly pushing his entire length into your cushy walls, feeling you tighten around him to the point that it burned, feeling his weight inside your small, fitted entrance.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He snarls gruffly, wasting no time before his needy cock beings pounding your core with an aggressive roll of hips, sweaty palms holding tight to your waist, sure to keep you safe on the limited space of the bike seat. Keanu is fucking you so hard, so well, so rough that you swore you could feel him in your stomach; lewd moans and breathy gasps bouncing off the cold walls of the garage. The raunchy sounds of his thick balls slapping against your pussy echo the walls, and he shivers, throaty growls released as his hands roam the bulk of your breasts, praising the feel.

“Fuck, baby,” He moans, rough and profound. Your walls feel delectably tender, warm, and he loses himself within you, the sounds of your whimpers and cries turning him on tenfold. “Ke, faster, faster,” You yelp, encouraging, feeling your cunt sore to his imperative pace and enticing whispers. “Make me cum, Ke, please make me cum,” You beg, sensitive, feeling him shudder as his thumb moves to circle your clit, toying harsh with the bundle of nerves.

His pace quickens, and he pounds into your body, piercing moans and stifled whimpers only encouraging him before you feel the bubble of ache within you intensify, your orgasm spilling in a tender, excruciating wash over each inch of your body, feeling his member stretch deep, deep inside your pussy as he chases his own nirvana. “Fuck!” You gasp, becoming oversensitive, yet still deliciously full of your boyfriend’s massive cock imploring inside, the baritone moans and breathy heaves of his chests, paired with the way his biceps look delectably toned and bulked as he holds tight to your hips; its all far too gorgeous, and you fall far too deeply within the entirety of him in this moment.

“You gonna cum for me, Ke?” You encourage, soft hand travelling below to massage the fullness of his balls, stimulating a delicate, tender wave of pleasure to his manhood.

“You’re so…so wet,” His breath hitches in his throat, and he slams into you harder, and harder, praises of your name, reciting acclaim for your heavenly pussy sashaying off his love drunk lips before channling a rhythem of fast, profound, hard, almost animalistic thrusts into you, his thick voice warning. “Where do you want it, baby?” In reference to bursting strings of creamy cum that would seep out his cock soon.

“On me.” Dark, lustful, in love, your eyes lock to his, and with a wave of absolute pleasure stinging each of his veins, Keanu’s moans roll deep in his throat as he spills your name, laced with satisfied groans,

His cock pulling out quick, spurting streams of his sticky, glossed white cum all over your bare belly, and you sigh, you moan and lose yourself in the way he looks, a heavy hand firmly wrapped to his relieved erection as he pumps himself, emptying his seed onto your body.

Lowering his head, he sighs, so content, holding your hips as he hovers over you on his bike. “Fuck,” Keanu sighs, breathes rugged as he catches his breath, his forehead connecting against yours as you both relish, floating in a paradise of joint euphoria after your orgasms.

His hair falls, draping, curtaining his eyes, a few tousled strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Brushing it aside, you kiss his lips soft, brushing your tongue over the sensitive skin before planting your hand to his chest. Neither of you speak, collecting your breaths, smiling goofy grins at each other, thoughts hazed by what just happened.

Quiet, yet thoughtful, Keanu holds you to his chest, arms circled around your frame still positioned on his bike. “You okay babe?” A kiss from his lips to your temple. “Was I too rough?”

“Perfect.” You assure, smoothing your hands over his bulked biceps, sighing content. Below, however, you feel a mixture of your releases coat your thighs; trickles of your mess coating his bike seat. Lip bitten, you connect your eyes to his, concerned. “Shit, Ke, your bike is a little…dirty…” You frown, heart warming to the sound of his generous chuckle, and the weight of his cock still resting heavy on your thigh. Again, as a hundred times before, he’d quenched that satisfying long inside you. Fulfilled you so fucking well, even when you had no idea you’d needed it.

“Well,” He smiles, warm and contagious; a wet kiss to the silky dip of your neck. “At least we broke in the new bike.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

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#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves x you #Keanu Reeves

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clevercxs · 5 years ago

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Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 1]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.2k *Ongoing series*

_______________________________________________

The Outskirts of Lunden

An unusually frigid night had fallen upon the land. Such darkness was disorienting as woodland creatures and wandering shadows seemed to play tricks on the young warrior’s eyes. Though her ears had become sharper, her mind was weary and riddled with paranoia. Every snap of a twig was perceived as a threat, even if it was only a deer or raccoon waking from its slumber to watch the Western-Saxons pass by.

The full moon, in all its glory, shined through the trees and cast an ethereal light upon the worn path she and her men travelled along; one interlaced with overgrown roots, decaying wildflowers, and fallen leaves that crunched beneath her steed’s hooves.

The descending blackness stirred a sense of claustrophobia within her, even though the forest stretched for miles and those traveling with her were not far behind. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel alone; vulnerable, even, though not without the reminder of the heavy blade draped across her back.

A chilling breeze tore through her layers of cloth and chainmail armor, causing her core to contract and stiffen. Her tousled, unruly hair fell loose around her shoulders, whipping back in accordance to the harsh wind she faced head on. It was the type of coldness that seeped through her bones as if her skin were a door left wide open during a snowstorm. She knew, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, that they had to keep moving; keep pushing onwards and upwards north where her destination and the comforting thought of fire surely awaited her.

Her travels had not been easy thus far; even with torch light and enough supplies it was a journey only made under the greatest of needs. She knew the risks it posed not only for her, but for her kingdom back home. She was grateful for those brave enough to accompany her into the depths of the woods and beyond, unaware of the dangers lurking around every corner, and behind every tree.

The surrounding woods on either side of the path seemed unusually quiet; ominous, even.

An anxious feeling gnawed at her stomach yet she continued on until she reached a clearing suitable enough to set up camp for the night, seeing as they’d overstayed their warm welcome in Lunden and had travelled too far to return home.

Upon entering the clearing she felt compelled to stop in her tracks, tugging at the reins for her anxious steed to halt; he paced uneasily in a tight circle and refused to stand still. Her breath, in white plumes before her chapped lips, hung low the atmosphere before evaporating into the damp air.

“Easy, now. Easy.”

She cooed and leaned forward to rub its arched neck. With her eyes squeezed shut she exhaled slowly. Her hands began to tremble just as she swore she felt the heat of a thousand eyes burning into her.

Ever so methodically, with utmost caution, she reached over her left shoulder and withdrew her sword, now grasping it tightly in front of her. The hilt was bound with soft, black leather; the pommel decorated with a beautiful red stone similar to that of Uhtred Ragnarsson’s sword.

She paused and waited. Each breath she drew was slow and deliberate as she tried to remain calm and steady her heartbeat.

The sound of her men’s footfalls fell silent; not a single voice was to be heard. Alas, she could no longer see the orange flames of their torches from beyond the trees. It was as if they were never there at all, causing her to fear the worst.

How could they have fallen so far behind without me knowing?

Surely they would be fine without me if something were to happen...

All that could be heard was the sudden rustling of bushes and swirling of leaves overhead. A outcry of crows fleeing from the trees and soaring in to the night startled her upright as she watched them black out the moon.

Chills erupted from beneath her skin, traveling along the lengths of her arms and down her spine. She could hear the pulsing thud of her heart once more in her ears and feel every individual hair on her body prickle. Her breathing started to hitch and her chest tightened. She slowly turned her horse on its heels, panning around the area for any signs of life.

Something was off.

The air was still; heavy. She knew in that moment something had gone terribly wrong - and she wasn’t alone. She called out the names of her men - one by one - and when an unfamiliar voice replied she knew what fate had in store for them.

Out sprang a dozen or so Danes from beyond the bushes, wielding swords, axes, shields and other harsh weaponry. Her horse began to spook, rearing on its hind legs as the Danes drew nearer.

She was completely surrounded.

Their faces seemed to blur as she searched for a way out; a possible gap in the tight-knit circle of heathens closing in. Everywhere she looked she was staring into the tips of sharpened arrows ready for fire - all steadily aimed at her head in case she tried to flee.

There were flashes of metal swords reflecting the moonlight and burning torches all around; ferocious voices shouted threats and profanities at her as she began to lose control of her horse completely.

You’ll be alright. Breathe. Focus.

She swung her sword down at any Danes who dared come too close, though often met blades of their own and withdrew when she saw the chance.

“What do you want with me?” She cried out, as her horse reared once more towards a handful of gnarly Danes, striking one square in the chest and nearly kicking another in his stomach.

Others were laughing and cracking jokes amongst themselves, marveling in the joy of capturing someone - let alone a woman.

Seeing as no one was ready to talk, she pressed firmly, “We mean you no harm, I swear it.” She then found herself in a rushed panic, glancing all around her for some way out; some remedy to her troubles.

There were still no signs of her men.

“We were simply passing by on our travels. Nothing more.”

There was an uproar of hearty laughter. A short, rounded Dane came forward, wielding a worn axe in one hand that he gripped so tightly his knuckles had peaked white not unlike some snowy mountaintops. His hair, twisted and knotted into rows of golden braids upon his head draped down his back and swayed against his leather armor with each step. His curly beard was a wiry, unkempt bush showcasing two small horns woven into strands of silver growing from his chin. His eyes - a striking hue of emerald green - widened with bewilderment at the sight of the valiant Saxon woman riding before him.

“Your men…” he paused, “they will not survive their journey.” A subtle grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he slowly drew out his words; his eyes seemed to glow eerily in contrast to the smudges of kohl around his lids.

Before she could react, a series of blood curdling screams rang out from beyond the tree line. She craned her neck to face the darkness behind her, imagining the gruesome horrors occurring in her absence though she wasn’t sure if there was anything she could have done. Their cries of terror echoed throughout the night and pained every inch of her being knowing she could’ve prevented their deaths had she led them down another path.

Her entire body shuttered as she fought a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. “I led good men to a slaughter.” She gasped, feeling tears strain in the back of her throat and guilt burning a hole into her conscience. “No… no t-this can’t be.”

“Where are you headed, woman?” The blonde Dane grumbled, the stylized mustache upon his lip dancing with each word.

“Mercia.” She croaked dryly. “We were to set up camp for the night, here in this clearing, and be on our way by sunrise. I had not realized we were in Daneland, I should have known better.” She cursed herself and lowered her sword as a sign of good faith, though the surrounding Danes took that as a sign of weakness and exchanged sly glances with each other.

They realized that things were heading in the right direction and according to plan.

“Now that we have cleared things up, I shall be on my way-“

Hæsten wasted no time in silencing the woman with the subtle raise of his hand. “When our scouts spotted a lady warrior in sparse company, well… I had to see for myself.” Hæsten took a step closer to get a better look. “…and I like what I see.”

“You’re a damned pig of a man-“

“-Hæsten.” He interrupted with a satirical bow and a glint of mischief in his eyes which caught her timid gaze. “You may call me Hæsten.”

“I shall not.” She spat bitterly.

“You know...” The blonde Dane began, “it’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in the woods….” He cocked his head to the side and smirked at a fellow Dane, before circling around her like a hungry lion stalking its prey; enjoying the game and anticipating victory. Once again her steed began to snort and pace uneasily. It anxiously pulled the reins through her fingers and stomped at the dirt.

Danes began to close in and the realization hit that she wasn’t going anywhere freely - or at all.

“I wasn’t alone until you ambushed my-“ She fumed, only to be startled mid sentence, “H-hey!”

Hæsten, losing all patience, had taken firm hold of her reins from the ground and another Dane had grabbed onto her ankle in an attempt to pull her off. Kicking him away in his jaw, she ceded all control over her horse which repeatedly tried to rear or flip over backwards as a way to escape Hæsten’s grip. It raised its head violently in the air - tearing not only the leather reins but the entire bridle free from its head.

A banshee’s shriek erupted from within her steed as if to signal her demise; the beginning of the end. Hot clouds of steam engulfed her body as she was completely thrown off balance.

Before she knew it she was airborne, suddenly feeling a sense of calm and weightlessness despite the chaos breaking out around her. Time slowed to a halt before reality struck - and it struck rather painfully. She was thrown onto the ground, a sharp pain scorching throughout her back as she groaned and writhed in agony.

She watched as the underbelly of her steed passed her over and revealed a distorted version of the night sky. She fought to keep her eyes open out of fear they may never reopen. For a moment she forgot where she was and what had happened, until she found the strength to sit upright and shake it off. She had no choice but to blink away the dizziness and subside the ringing in her ears.

Then she remembered everything.

She scrambled for her sword which had fallen mere inches away from where she landed and gripped it tightly as a form of reassurance.

“Enough!” She shouted windedly, struggling for a moment to rise to her feet. Adrenaline coursed through her veins thus numbing the pain from her fall. Despite the female warrior’s fury and sudden outcry, Hæsten continued towards her.

He was caught off guard by the feeling of a sharp, metal tip pressed into his throat. “I said that’s enough.” She growled, feeling a cold droplet of sweat run down the side of her face. “Don’t move.”

The world fell silent at her feet. No one moved as instructed; all voices ceased as the Danes found themselves holding onto their weapons a bit tighter than before. They hadn’t expected that of her and were apprehensive towards her capabilities.

They readied themselves to intervene at any moment.

“Here is how we will settle this.” She announced warily, not wanting to overstep any fragile boundaries. “If I defeat you,” She narrowed her eyes at the round Dane, “Hæsten, I go free.” A low murmur rumbled throughout the clearing. Hæsten shook his head with a chuckle of amusement, wholeheartedly believing such a thing couldn’t possibly happen. “But if I lose,” the lady warrior continued with a nervous gulp and stabbed her sword straight down into the dirt, “Then I shall go with you, willingly, as a hostage.” With both hands now raised, a spark ignited within the barbaric Danes who cried for the battle to begin.

There shall be bloodshed.

She could hear Hæsten’s name being chanted melodiously as if he’d already won; as if she absolutely stood no chance against him. Little did they know that she had been trained by the best in all of Wessex.

The sound of swords banging into shields and the stomping of heavy boots against the ground made it clear that the time to act was now. Hæsten raised his axe to the mighty gods above and roared at the top of his lungs, swearing victory and riches for all after she is defeated, captured, and ultimately sold for ransom or to a slaver.

This was her only chance of survival. She’d ran out of options and seeing as she was outnumbered and frankly, already in their possession, she had nothing to lose.

The Saxon warrior hastily retrieved her sword from the barren earth as Hæsten traded his axe for a blade alike hers.

“Have we reached an agreement?” Now finding her voice and inner strength, she readjusted her grip and whispered a quiet prayer.

Hæseten nodded once with a primal grunt, showing off for his fellow Danes before turning to face the courageous Saxon once more. “We have.”

“Okay Steapa.” She whispered beneath her breath and quickly braced herself for impact. “Let’s see how much I’ve learned.”

In a matter of moments the two lunged forth, the sound of metal upon metal clashing seemed to rattle every surrounding tree, and every Dane to their core. Haesten showed no signs of going easy on the lady warrior after realizing she was far stronger than she looked.

“We can stop this now,” she panted only a few minutes in, ducking below Hæsten’s swinging blade. Her eyes widened at the loud whoosh that barely grazed the top of her head.

That was too close for her liking.

“Unless… you plan to kill me?” She teased lightly with a grunt, deflecting Hæsten’s sword once more, and using her upper body strength to push him back; his blade had come within inches of her nose before she’d done so.

Again, that was way too close for her liking.

“Saxon bitch!” Hæsten roared out of frustration after seeing she’d managed to counter all of his attacks and hold her own against him. He began to question whether or not he’d grown weaker, or perhaps he’d met his match once and for all.

The two danced around the circle as if it had been a choreographed performance. Periodically she was able to slice his forearm or lower leg while remaining unscathed herself. Her blows were swift and calculated like a venomous snake striking its next meal.

She moved swiftly; light on her toes and agile with each move. As time progressed she felt herself slowing down from fatigue and hunger. Hæsten, on the other hand, was fully rested and fed - as well as increasingly hostile by the minute. He had more to prove than she; for only her life was on the line, not family honor, pride, or reputation.

There was no way he was losing to a woman.

In a moment of weakness Hæsten knocked the sword from her grasp with his own and the woods erupted into fits of hysteria. As she stumbled backwards, he strode towards her and kicked her square in the stomach which sent her back a few feet until she landed in the dirt. She could feel rocks and twigs clawing into her skin but forced herself to ignore the pain.

With a heavy groan she laid there for a moment, wheezing and applying pressure to her aching ribs. She then began to gurgle on blood which she coughed up to the side. Hæsten appeared in her peripheral vision, causing her to scramble backwards on her elbows until her back bumped into the legs of a snaggle-toothed Dane. He lifted her from behind by her armpits and threw her back into the circle where she fell to her hands and knees.

Her arms began to quiver and threaten to give beneath her weight. She gagged and heaved over streams of crimson blood oozing from her mouth, slowly dripping down the length of her chin and into the puddles already soaking into the ground.

“You’re a si-“ she choked, “sick bastard!”

“You do not know when to give up, do you?” Hæsten shook his head with a scoff of disbelief, showing off by twirling his sword between his fingers and around his wrist.

He practically skipped over to her like a jolly elf of sorts, making a show out of his conquest, and delivered a swift kick to her stomach once more, causing her to flip onto her back like a fish out of water.

Crack!

The sound of her ribs breaking made even the toughest of Danes there visibly cringe.

She cried in agony, pleading for the blonde to show mercy and accept his victory. Fighting for air as blood consumed her entirety, she managed to dispel most of it over shoulder and in between uncomfortable groans.

“Where is your God now?” Hæsten mocked, kicking her in the side of her head as he strutted past her form lying in the dirt.

“Slit her throat!” An older Dane demanded, causing Hæsten to grin from ear to ear. He’d already planned to do so, though after he was completely finished with her. Killing her now would be too soon for his liking. Besides, where’s the fun in that? “Kill that Saxon bitch!”

“N-no… don’t.” She choked on her words, fighting back not only blood but a distraught sob brewing in her throat.

The shouting of triumphant Danes all around her faded into a muffled silence. Exhaustion had taken firm hold her conscience. Her body felt as if it had been dragged to Hell and back. Her pounding head was a cloudy mess, and her spirit had been greatly damaged though not beyond repair.

He’s trying to kill me.

Summoning all of her remaining strength, ever so gradually, she rolled onto her hands and knees and picked up her sword. Once on her feet she swayed unsteadily on her heels. Her left hand remained a constant upon her tender ribs.

She could hear various gasps from Danes gaping in bewilderment at the sight before them. “No! Impossible!” Hæsten shouted, fuming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Why won’t you just give up?!”

“Well,” She panted with a weak puff to blow strands of hair from her eyes. She found herself resting upon her sword for balance as her wobbly knees began to buckle, “Glory or Valhalla, right?” As she raised her sword towards his chest one last time, shaking, she couldn’t help but hiss in pain.

Then her arm fell limp to her side as she felt the ground beneath her boots rumble with the sound of thundering hoofbeats nearby.

Hæsten quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “Have you-“

It was as if the earth had come alive at the right time and began to shift beneath the weight of their swords.

Saxons? She wondered. Please let it be Saxons.

Where light met dark, Danes parted ways to reveal a monstrous figure emerging from beyond the shadows like an angel of death. A sleek black steed clad in heavy armor gave a deafening neigh, seeming to have emerged from the fiery depths of Hell, thus leading her to wonder who so valiantly rode upon its back.

Soon the lady warrior would come to learn that he was the living embodiment of the heathen spirit. Fearless. Brutal. Driven.

Glancing around her, not a single Dane dared to move or speak. Some even opted to take a knee out of respect for their presumed leader. He seemed to strike fear of the gods within their damned souls with his mere presence alone - and that frightened her.

“Dear god.” She gasped, making out the man before her to be the bane of all evils.

Hæsten’s chest rose and fell drastically with each breath he took. He seemed to sheepishly back away from the circle as if he feared being caught for doing something wrong. The unknown Dane immediately dismounted his steed, landing with a heavy thud. He then strode towards the Saxon before him.

When he stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight she audibly gasped at his primitive ferocity. Never before had she seen a man of his nature. He was the epitome of childhood nightmares; the type of monster mothers told their children about at night to scare them out of their bad behavior.

In stark contrast to Hæsten he was a tall, brawny Dane who willed the strength and courage of the gods. His jet black hair was as sleek as a raven’s feathers, though shaved at the sides and bound by a single braid wrapped in coils of leather down the middle of his head. His beard was far shorter than Hæsten’s. It was black as night and drawn into two parts with a silver ring on each like the devil’s own beard. Below furrowed, stern brows were a pair of brown eyes encompassed by dark smudges of kohl. Upon his forehead was a deep scar to remind him of a past victory, she was sure of it. His teeth, sharp and dagger-like, were made visible as he drew his lips into a wicked grin.

His broad chest displayed layers of leather and metal armor, and around his waist hung a sword that nearly reached the ground. Though the most startling thing she noticed, after granting herself permission to stare, was the fact that his right hand had been entirely replaced by a small sword.

Her mind had a funny way of imagining things; potential scenarios as to how he could have lost it. The fearsome warmonger had a tendency of acting first and thinking later… which ultimately resulted in the loss of his hand not long before tonight.

“What do you know of Valhalla, woman?” His deep, powerful voice thundered throughout the entire woods.

“I know that if you come any closer, I shall send you there myself.” She cautioned with her sword held out painstakingly in front of her. She then peered over her shoulder towards the blonde Dane who’d caused her such discomfort, “Right after Hæsten.”

The dark haired Dane chuckled lowly, shortly followed by his loyal followers who did the same.

“You are broken… yet you refuse to surrender?” A puzzled look had bestowed upon his face, replacing his once menacing expression. He struggled to understand the disarrayed woman stained in red. “Why?”

“You may break every last bone in my body, but you shall never break my spirit.”

He quirked a dark brow and recalled hearing a Dane recite similar words before.

“I am a warrior at heart. I will keep fighting until my last dying breath.” She shuffled closer, now aiming her blade at his stomach. Her voice had dissipated to a faint whisper only loud enough for him to hear. “…which may be sooner than I’d hoped.”

For a brief moment their eyes met and she watched his expression soften ever so slightly. It was almost as if he understood, or perhaps respected to some degree, her will to live though it went against everything he stood for.

“I fear Hæsten has already killed me… though there is something I must do.”

The Dane’s full attention fell low to her blood stained hand pressed against her ribs. He doubted her ability to continue though was eager, in a selfish way, to see her in action once more… even if it resulted in her death. In battle she was mesmerizing to watch - like a seductive flame dancing in the breeze - that he couldn’t pry his eyes away from. How strange a sight, he thought, to see a Saxon woman wield the strength of a Dane.

His face was tinged with discomfort. He seemed to feel a bit uneasy, though would never admit it, at the alluring woman mangled and broken before him. She was the enemy, yes, but she was different. He couldn’t wrap his mind around her and that bothered him greatly.

Who was she?

Aside from her exceptional swordsmanship it baffled the Dane leader how little she feared him, or how well she was able to mask said fear.

A woman who is fearless is a woman capable of anything. That alone was enough for him to be weary of her intentions, especially after everything she’d been through. With a forced, throaty grunt he nodded, dismissing the lady warrior to fulfill her last quest. “Very well.” He pursed his lips and stepped aside. A small part of him dreaded what was to inevitably become of her. One thing was for certain: he would never allow himself to forget her fortitude and undeniable bravery. Images of her fighting Hæsten would forever be ingrained in his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman - neither Saxon nor Dane - had impressed him as much as she had. The grace in which she wielded her sword, and the eloquence of her movements captivated him in a way he’d longed to feel for ages.

There was something about her he couldn’t let go of; something he wouldn’t dare let slip away at the hands of Hæsten. She was everything he’d dreamt of finding in a woman - her only flaw being the Saxon blood running through her veins. Distracted, he became lost in his head at the thought of running his fingers through her dark, cascading ringlets of hair. He imagined what it would have felt like to caress the fair skin upon her cheeks, or plant a kiss upon her soft, plump lips - and to have her reciprocate his feelings. He could imagine them fighting side by side; warriors by day, lovers by night.

Sure, Sigefrid has his choice of any woman back at Beamfleot - whores, slaves - but they were all the same to him. He wanted her.

No; Sigefrid needed her.

But as soon as that realization hit he feared he was too late. By the time he looked up to see the damage that had been done, to his utter surprise, Hæsten had been pinned by his wrists - one appearing to be broken - and with a knee pressed into his stomach. His bloodied clothes were tattered and shredded to pieces.

Sigefrid let out a breathy laugh of relief; his eyes lighting up and dazzling beneath the night sky. He grinned from ear to ear and pushed his way through the Danes that stood before him. A rush of hope and giddiness surged through his body as he realized she wasn’t done for.

From atop of Hæsten she reached into his pocket and withdrew a knife. Before she could use it on his throat, as she’d planned to, something pierced through her right shoulder causing her to drop the knife and yelp like a wounded animal caught in a trap. A hot, thick stream of blood began to pour down her arm as her entire body trembled.

She could feel herself going into shock.

She could hardly breathe let alone react properly. There, as clear as day, was a crooked arrow protruding from her shoulder.

“Y-you cheating bastard!”

“NO!” Sigefrid roared and rushed towards her, stopping briefly to slit the throat of the archer who fired the arrow with his hand-blade.

Everyone gasped at Sigefrid’s sudden outburst though it was nothing new or unusual - just unexpected.

“You knew this was coming.” Hæsten sneered, lifting his head from the ground and crawling out from beneath her. He rose to his feet and lifted her chin with his dirty fingers to look her in the eyes though her gaze fell elsewhere. She was a bloody, filthy, sobbing mess being held together by his hand. “Such a shame.” He frowned, “You were a pretty one.”

“Please don’t…..kill me.” She croaked, slowly wrapping her fingers around the splintering arrow. “P-please.” She gurgled on blood which erupted from the corners of her lips like a volcano. “Please!” She sobbed. “You cheating pig!” She shrieked though Hæsten’s fingers slipped from beneath her chin. He had disappeared behind Sigefrid’s towering form. She’d hardly blinked before Sigefrid’s fist pummeled into the side of Hæsten’s face. As the round Dane fell to the ground she noticed he was out cold - if not dead - and all it took was one hit.

Why would Sigefrid punish him so? How could he chose her over his own man?

“No one is to lie a hand upon this woman.” Sigefrid pointed down at her with his hand-blade. “No one. Not a hand, or I will personally cut it off and beat you with it.”

She was starting to dissociate from reality as everything began to fade into black. She fought her hardest to stay awake to hear what was going on but it was no use. Sigefrid slid down on one knee and caught her before she toppled over. He cupped her face with his rough, calloused hand and frantically shook her awake, resting the back of her neck in the crook of his other elbow - minding his blade.

“No! Damn you!” He growled, seeing as his attempt to bring her back had failed. “Damn you woman! Open your eyes!”

Her breathing grew fainter and fainter. The sound of his voice had muffled and her eyes were sealed shut. Sigefrid, frightened by the idea of losing her, took a firm hold of the arrow in her shoulder. With a swift tugging motion he jerked it free from her shoulder and tossed it aside, frowning when her body didn’t reacted in the slightest from the pain it should have caused her. She still didn’t wake up.

He felt himself running out of options as he watched her head roll around his arm. Her chest ever so faintly rose and fell, giving him hope the hope he needed to keep trying.

Everyone watched in awe as their Lord fought to save her life. Never before has he shown such empathy towards another - perhaps not even towards his own brother Erik. There was something about the fair skinned woman that beckoned for him to save her. It was almost as if the gods themselves had began to root for her survival, acting through Sigefrid to ensure it happened.

Hæsten, regaining consciousness, stumbled his way over towards his Lord. Her body fell completely limp in Sigefrid’s arms as he held her close, looking down upon what could have been his future; and a glorious future at that.

“She’s dying, Sigefrid.” Hæsten muttered, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest for what he’d done, especially after seeing how deeply it affected him. “She is a Saxon, Lord.”

“I…don’t…care.” Sigefrid snarled, craning his neck to glare at the blonde Dane before turning to face her again. “Who is she?”

“Lord, she-“

“I will not ask again.” Sidefrid shouted impatiently and rested the back of her head upon his knee. “Tell me. Now.”

“She is King Alfred’s eldest daughter - Blædswith - Lord. She serves Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Such a name was poison upon his tongue.

Sigefrid scowled bitterly and felt his stump of a hand ache beneath its barbaric contraption of wood and weaponry.

“Uhtred Ragnarrson.” His words were low and drawn out as he recalled the man behind the name whose face repeatedly haunted him at night. “That explains it.”

Allowing for his head to drop between his shoulders, dangerously close to her face though his eyes were closed, Sigefrid sighed heavily and realized what he had to do. He felt defeated; deflated, even.

He should have known that she was simply too good to be true. A mere trick from the gods above dangled before him; unattainable. Perhaps was a test of his loyalty — and he nearly failed.

Alfred’s daughter was the physical embodiment of his deepest, darkest desires - yet the thought of her now sickened him; pained him. He couldn’t keep her name out of his head even if he’d tried.

“She is a princess.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Sigefrid’s eyes shot open after feeling her stir in his arms and regain consciousness. When her crystal blue eyes reopened they immediately met his, which seemed to be mixed with loathing, sadness, and genuine worry. She didn’t scream nor try to push him away; she didn’t feel in any imminent danger despite who he was.

Dazed and disoriented, Alfred’s daughter was like a newborn baby seeing the world for the first time.

“Sigefrid?” She moaned ever so faintly, reciting the last thing she heard before everything went black. The name was familiar to her; she’d heard her father discussing matters regarding the bloodthirsty Thurgilson brothers - Erik and Sigefrid - and how big of a threat they were to the crown. Erik was known to the the more thoughtful, less violent one of the two. Sigefrid - the one holding her in his arms - was infamous for being a brutal terror of villages and ravanger of women.

Yet, she wasn’t afraid.

For reasons unknown to her, Lady Blædswith had become an exception to his cruel ways... at least for now.

Her hand steadily crawled towards her arrow wound and stopped in disbelief. “It’s gone? You… saved my life? M-my father will… he will hear of this. Of you, Sigefrid.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Hæsten teased and Sigefrid brushed him off. “And when he does he is sure to pay rather handsomely.”

Sigefrid stood tall and lifted the princess with him. Taking her left hand firmly in his, he raised it to the skies evoking his fellow Danes to cheer.

“This here,” He began, “Is the daughter of King Alfred! Defeated; weakened. Ours for the taking!” In one swift movement Sigefrid swept her off her feet and hoisted her onto his valorous steed. Once situated behind her, he wrapped an around around her waist from behind and held on tightly to her slender frame. He would ensure there was no way she was escaping his grasp, for she was far too valuable.

“That hurts.” Lady Blædswith winced, “Sigefrid.”

He repositioned his blade-clad arm so they were both comfortable. As their bodies molded together beneath the stars she couldn’t help but feel safe for the time being. Surely nothing bad could happen to her whilst on horseback.

Sigefrid had done her no harm though she feared what he intended to do with her once they arrived at their destination.

Once all of the Danes were mounted and ready, Sigefrid led the way into the unknown territory of Daneland.

“Lady Blædswith, you will be our path to glory!”

____________________ ➴ ____________________

“Where are you taking me?” The princess questioned softly whilst leaning into his chest. The two swayed back and forth, left and right, with the rhythm in which his steed walked, occasionally passing through creeks or rounding steep corners.

She could feel the warmth of his breath down the back of her neck though it didn’t bother her in the slightest; she had bigger things to worry about. If anything, it was as if it comforted her and served as a reminder that she wasn’t alone against Hæsten.

Sigefrid pressed his lips into the back of her hair and replied, “Beamfleot. Have you heard of it?” She nodded her head against his lips and he grinned. “What have you heard of my brother and I?” Though his eyes rested on the trail ahead of him, his full attention had fallen elsewhere.

“Terrible things.” She replied shyly and felt Sigefrid’s chest rumble with laughter. “I’m serious.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You are power hungry. You thrive o-on chaos and war, and leave a trail of bodies behind wherever you go.”

Sigefrid chuckled darkly, “Well, that is all true.”

“Even women and children.” Lady Blædswith added. “Is that true?”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “If it was... would you then fear me, princess?”

“No.” She could feel her body surrendering to the sound of his voice and the heat of his touch. “I do not believe you to be as they say.”

Lady Blædswith turned in the saddle as far as she could to look at him, and hadn’t realized how close their faces were until their noses almost brushed against each other. Her cheeks burned a bright pink from their shared moment of near intimacy. For fear of giving him the wrong impression she turned back around and clutched the horse’s mane, twisting it between her fingers.

“After everything that has happened… you still think greatly of me.” He became fixated on the Saxon princess, no longer watching where he travelled.

“Greatly is a stretch, however you did spare my life. That must count for something?”

Sigefrid rolled his eyes. “You believe me to be good.” A hint of amusement tugged at his words at the mere thought of being the man she’d hoped for. “Do you not?” He hummed

“I-I would like to. Make me a believer.”

And so he would.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This was so much fun to write, I look forward to the next chapters ;) I’m new to writing on tumblr so all reblogs and shared are appreciated!

Inspired by: @finantheagile and @inforapound, you two are such talented writers!

TLK fans who may be interested:

@cheapcakeripper @wildwren @metall-and-dust @onesaltyhunter xx

Special thank you to @wessexcrown for helping me with ideas for this fanfic along the way!! Feel free to ask to be added to my tag list xx

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