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bungajurang · 1 year ago

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Two Acorns for Abel

So, I asked ChatGPT to provide me with a short story prompt, and here's what it recommended:

"Write a short story about a person who discovers a hidden, magical door in their house that leads to a different time period. What adventures await them as they step through this mysterious doorway?"

Here's my attempt. A short story titled Two Acorns for Abel.

It was in late December that Abel visited her grandmother. The weather was chilly. Abel has just arrived when the heavens opened. She drove all the way from her apartment in the heart of Ember to her grandmother’s house in the suburb by herself. She parked her car as close as possible to the house, as her grandmother did not have a garage and the carport had been occupied by her uncle’s car. Her little run splashed water onto her long white skirt. She opened the door. Her aunt, wearing an apricot coloured apron, greeted her and hugged her tightly.

“Oh, look at you! You look so…mature!”

“Well, she’s 25 years old, Esther. Welcome, my favourite niece!” Uncle Jack hugged her too

“You two are so sweet. Here, I brought you something.” Abel handed a little basket to Aunt Esther

“Aw, yarns!”

“Oh, great. Now your aunt would ignore me for hours. You know how much she loves crocheting.”

“Haha. But I brought you something too, Uncle Jack.” She took a box wrapped in pastel green paper.

“A harmonica?! This is amazing! Thank you, Abel!” Uncle Jack hugged her again.

“Aw, come here. A family hug!”

“Let’s get you settled up there. I’ve cleaned your room.” Aunt Esther guided Abel to the second floor. There are three rooms on the second floor. The closest room to the stair belongs to Tera, Abel’s cousin. The second room will be Abel’s for the next 3 months. The third room was her grandmother’s bedroom.

Aunt Esther opened the second room.

“I think we’ll move your luggage once the rain stops. I’ll leave you to rest now, honey. Dinner will be ready at 7, okay?”

“Thanks, Esther.”

The room exuded a comforting warmth. The walls were adorned with rich, earthy tones–deep browns and warm reds that seemed to resonate with the scent that filled the air. The fragrance was an inviting musk, like a blend of aged oak and soft leather. Abel feels cocooned in a cosy embrace. The room was softly lit, with warm, amber-hued lights casting a gentle glow. I’m home, said Abel.

She approached a large window where she used to spend most of her time there–gazing at her grandmother’s garden while reading a book. Nana, as Abel usually called her grandmother, used to wear an apron everyday, a symbol of her nurturing nature and the delicious meals she lovingly prepared. Nana loved gardening too. In Nana’s presence, Abel feels accepted and cherished for who she is. Nana took the time to listen, to understand, and to offer guidance without judgement–although there were things that did not align with Nana's principles, she never forced Abel to do something. Her laughter was infectious, and Nana’s love formed Abel into an empathetic soul and gentle spirited individual.

Abel missed Nana so much. Nana died of old age. She lived for 98 years, and closed her eyes doing what she loves and surrounded by the fruit of her labour–she died in her garden, sitting on a bench her husband made for her. Her husband, Abel’s grandfather, died 9 years ago at the age of 98. Nana and her husband were married for 63 years. They were probably married to each other again in their next life.

Suddenly Abel heard something from the third room. It was the sound of a falling object, probably something glassy. She knew that in two months, the third room will be used by Oxa, Tera’s brother and Abel’s oldest cousin. But that room was supposed to be empty still. Maybe that was a sign from Nana, Abel said to herself. Abel didn’t believe in ghosts as something scary, but she believed that spirits exist along with us humans. Nana! Abel rushed to the third room. It was locked. Nana! She called her name again. Thud. She heard that sound again.

Abel went downstairs.

“Hey, where were you going?” Uncle Jack sat on a sofa under the stairs.

“Uncle, do you have the key to the third room? May I borrow it?”

“Oh, it's on the key rack near the entrance. What do you need it for?”

“Oh, I just missed the view from Nana’s room. You know her window was my favourite daydreaming spot.”

“Haha. Yeah, you used to spend hours there looking out to the lake behind our house. Go on, honey.”

“Thanks, Uncle!”

Abel took the key and ran back to the second floor. She was standing in front of Nana’s room when she heard another sound. Thud. She heard it again. She inserted the key, and opened the door. The room was empty. But the window opened a little. Enough for two squirrels to jump in and throw an acorn party. As crazy as it might sound, these squirrels looked like they were playing together. They jumped from the oak’s branches to this room, playing catch with acorns.

One squirrel looked at Abel with curious eyes. It has dark brown fur with a bushy tail, nearly as long as its body. Its eyes, small and alert, are dark and gleaming. Meanwhile the other squirrel looked at Abel with its dark brown but bright eyes. This squirrel is visibly smaller than the first one. Its fur is a softer shade of brown with a hint of grey, and its tail, while not as bushy as the first one's, is still beautifully tufted.

The rain has stopped. The scent of earth and cool breeze wafted through the window in Nana's room. Bright light illuminates Nana's room, from somewhere, causing Abel to reflexively close her eyes. When she felt her eyes could adapt to the brightness, she opened them. She found herself in Nana's garden. Nana was there, sitting on her bench. There was a small table near the bench, where Nana would place her favourite afternoon drink: tea.

“Nana…” Nana looked at Abel with her dark brown eyes.

“Nana!” Abel approached Nana slowly.

“Come, my Abel.” Nana opened her arms.

“Nana…” Abel sat beside Nana and hugged her. She missed Nana so much. Her warm embrace, her soft caress on her back, and her voice. Abel cried for some time.

“Nana, I am sorry for not coming to your funeral. I was… I can’t… I just couldn't believe you’re gone. Forever. I am sorry Nana.”

“Don’t be sorry, my child.” Nana cares for her hair. “I also didn’t know I’d be dead that day. Haha. I was just doing my chores like usual, and suddenly I felt so sleepy. When I woke up, I was in my old bedroom where I used to share it with my sister. But it was one strange bedroom. I felt strangely familiar. How do I describe it… my stuff and my sister’s were all there, but when I looked outside the window, I saw my garden. This garden. It’s strange because my old bedroom was in my parents house, very far from here. And that’s when I realised, I have moved to eternity.”

“No need to worry, dear. Although we can no longer do fun things together, like we used to during your long holidays, I will always be in your heart. I am not going anywhere. You could find me in the flowers and plants that bloom here–please tell Esther and Jack to take care of my garden. Haha. You would find me in the wind that gently caresses your hair. Abel, you have a beautiful soul. You’re my lovely and sweet grandchild. Hardworking girl. You deserved all the good things this universe has to offer. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, or I will come as a ghost in their nightmare. Ok? Pinky promised me, you will continue living with no regrets. I will always love, love, and cherishes you, Abel.”

Lost of words. Abel couldn’t say anything but she kept hugging Nana.

“You need to go, Abel. You can’t be here for too long. I didn’t know how you got yourself here, but I am sure you will find the exit door that way.” Nana pointed her finger to a pale blue door.

With one more hug, Abel says her farewell to Nana. “I will always love you too, Nana.”

Abel walked towards the pale blue door, when she suddenly remembered something.

“Nana, one question. In this life, did you marry grandpa again?”

Nana chuckles. “Darling, your grandpa can’t live without me. Even after we were dead, he found his way to me. I guess it was never ‘till death do us apart’, but ‘even death can’t do us apart’ for us.”

Abel laughed. “I knew it. Alright, last farewell. Rest easy, Nana. I will miss you everyday!” Abel opened the door and walked through it.

Abel woke up to the sound of Aunt Esther knocking on the door.

“Hey, dinner’s ready. You had a good sleep, didn't you?”

Abel rubbed her eyes. “I slept?”

“Yes, for, maybe, two hours.” Aunt Esther noticed something, “Oh, is that acorns? Where did you get those?”

“I-I have no idea. I guess some squirrels gave it to me.” Abel winked at Aunt Esther.

“Hmm, okay. Now let’s get down, dinner’s ready. Tera’s here too.”

“Will do after I change my clothes, Esther.”

“Ok, hun.” She closed the door.

Staring at two acorns on her hand, Abel smiled.

#October2023 #Cerpen #Fiction

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yessadirichards · 2 years ago

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Screen icons headed for blockbuster Cannes festival

PARIS

Heroes and villains! Screen legends and scandal! Indiana Jones, Martin Scorsese and Johnny Depp! The script for the 76th Cannes Film Festival, which opens next Tuesday, suggests it will be a blockbuster.

Hollywood is descending en masse on the French Riviera for the world's leading film shindig, which runs from May 16 to 27.

But it is striking that most of its big stars are icons who made their names in the 20th century.

Harrison Ford will receive a special homage when the 80-year-old's final outing as the whip-cracking archaeologist in "Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny" gets its world premiere.

Martin Scorsese, also 80, will launch his epic "Killers of the Flower Moon" alongside stars Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert De Niro.

Michael Douglas will receive an honorary Palme d'Or at the opening ceremony, Natalie Portman and Julianne Moore team up for "May December" from celebrated indie director Todd Haynes, and Jude Law dons the crown of Henry VIII in "Firebrand".

The king of quirky, Wes Anderson, will premiere "Asteroid City" and bring a typically star-packed cast to the red carpet, this time including Tom Hanks, Margot Robbie and Scarlett Johansson.

As if any more attention-grabbing selections were needed, the opening film is Johnny Depp's so-called comeback, "Jeanne du Barry", testing his French accent as King Louis XV.

It is his first role since a defamation trial against ex-wife Amber Heard involving bitter allegations of domestic abuse, and arrives just after the film's director and star, Maiwenn, was herself accused of assaulting a journalist in a Paris restaurant.

Depp will be joined by his daughter, Lily Rose, who stars in "The Idol", a TV series playing out of competition, produced by musician Abel "The Weeknd" Tesfaye. It had a tumultuous production with reports of major rewrites and reshoots.

It's a stronger year for women than normal, with a record seven female directors among the 21 competing for the Palme d'Or top prize.

One has been another source of scandal, however, with France's Catherine Corsini only added at the last minute (with "Homecoming") following controversy over an underage sex scene.

They will face a jury led by Ruben Ostlund, a two-time Palme-winner for "Triangle of Sadness" and "The Square".

There are five previous winners in the competition, including Japan's Hirokazu Kore-eda, Germany's Wim Wenders, Turkey's Nuri Bilge Ceylan, Italy's Nanni Moretti and another two-time winner, Britain's Ken Loach.

In a recent interview with AFP, Ostlund joked that he would be scrupulously fair if 86-year-old Loach's "The Old Oak" seduces the jury: "I will definitely work very hard to get over my own egoistic goals of being the first director with three Golden Palmes."

But arthouse fans are perhaps most excited for a rare appearance by Britain's Jonathan Glazer ("Under the Skin", "Sexy Beast") with a romance set in the Auschwitz concentration camp, "The Zone of Interest".

Another lauded Brit, Steve McQueen, will present a four-hour documentary about wartime Amsterdam, "Occupied City", out of competition.

Star of the moment and so-called "Internet Daddy" Pedro Pascal is also expected alongside Ethan Hawke for a "queer Western" short film by Spain's Pedro Almodovar.

And the festival is set to close on a colourful note with the latest animation from Pixar Studios, "Elemental". It is set in a city where residents made from fire, air and water must learn to live together.

#yessadirichards

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carni-val · 3 years ago

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Pomegranate Seeds [Jax Teller] - PREVIEW

Before: You were destined for greatness within The Underworld until it was stolen from you.

During: You played the part of The Goddess of Spring on The Surface.

After: Your return to The Underworld is stained in red.

author’s notes: Here it is! A preview of the four (EDIT: five) part Jax Teller x F!Reader fic I’ve been working on. I’m thinking of posting the first part on Monday so until then, I hope you enjoy this preview and the rest of the fic as it comes out!

Charlie Hunnam Masterlist | Jax Teller Masterlist

PART I: THE SURFACE | PART II: THE UNDERWORLD | PART III: THE IN-BETWEEN | PART IV: RETURN TO THE UNDERWORLD [Pt. I] | PART V: RETURN TO THE UNDERWORLD [Pt. II]

The roads were always clearer on Sunday nights, making Jax Teller’s trip to The Charming Florist much easier. There was only an hour left before Mother's Day and although Gemma would have to wait for her bouquet tomorrow morning, Jax could only find time in his schedule to pick it up now. With Deputy Hale and the ATF on the Sons’ backs, Jax decided it’d be best if the club laid low for now until Agent Stahl and the rest of her team got out of town. They were at Teller-Morrow almost everyday, always unannounced. They had to be keeping tabs on the Sons every minute, which meant Jax had to keep checking his rearview mirrors and his surroundings to make sure no one was following him on the way to the shop. He didn’t want them following him anywhere, not even to the shop and especially not to you. You had always been so accommodating in keeping the store open later when he wasn’t able to come by during business hours, so the least he could do was keep the feds from snooping around.

The street was dimly lit and deserted as the only store that was open right now was The Charming Florist. The lights from the shop shone through the windows and spilled out onto the street, illuminating Jax and his bike. He parked it at the curb before dismounting it and taking off his helmet. The front of the shop was bare as the buckets of flowers were now tucked into the store for the night and the open sign was now an outline, devoid of colourful, inviting lights to illuminate it. Jax scanned the street, confirming that he was really alone out here from what he could tell. It had become a habit.

Then there was you. Scissors in one hand, flowers in the other, and concentration furrowing your brow. The pastel apron you wore was still a sight Jax had to get used to. Although you had worked at the shop for about five years now, the image of you wearing the antithesis of the clothes you were wearing now was forever plastered in his mind; it was what he grew up seeing. If the past version of you saw what you were wearing now, she would refuse to believe that that was her future. But upon a multitude of circumstances, none that benefited you in the slightest, this had become your reality. It wasn’t a bad one though, however Jax couldn’t find it in him to honestly say that you were better off this way. He knew where you belonged and he knew that deep down, you did too.

Longing had plagued Jax for a substantial amount of time; so substantial that it became a part of who he was. He thought being with other women would help subside some of the pain but, he quickly learned the only person that could fix this feeling was you. He was tethered to you in ways that nobody else could understand, or would ever come to know of. It was the reason he came here for every occasion that warranted celebrating: birthdays, Christmases, homecomings, his son being able to finally come home, and any other event that called for flowers. However, the latter event was just a way to tell you about Abel’s recovery and about Abel himself. Although the connection looked doomed from the outside, there was so much more beneath the surface. You and Jax were more alike than anyone could surmise on a first glance.

The bell above the door chimed once Jax entered the store. The breath he was holding slowly trickled out, a habit he had developed five years ago. The hardwood floor was littered with flowers in buckets and display signs usually standing outside of the shop. Your gaze glided over to him from the gardenias you were sticking into a vase. While you seemed to settle under his gaze, he felt himself tense up with nerves under yours. It was easy for him to spew out sweet talk to all the other girls he interacted with, but you stripped him of that facade. You knew him too well and he admired you too much to even play those games with you. He was defenceless under your gaze. Not only did you see right through his bravado, but you appreciated what was underneath it all.

“Hi,” he smiled at you as he navigated through the busy floor.

“Hey,” you mirrored his smile as he approached the cash register you were standing behind, your eyes flickering over Jax’s shoulder through the windows that led out to the street.

“How ya doin’?” he asked sincerely, letting his palms press against the top of the desk that stood between you two.

“I’m good,” you nodded convincingly. Jax studied you as you set the scissors in your hand down onto the counter and then your eyes when they returned to his, trying to see through you the way you did him. There was always something off about your response to that question, while he knew a large chunk of it, he couldn’t account for the boughs of sadness that stemmed from you, new and tender to the touch. Especially lately, the way your eyes kept flickering behind him when you thought he wasn’t looking also sparked his curiosity and he wanted to ask you outright what was wrong, but that’s not how this worked anymore.

“How are you?” you asked him, peering up at him with eager eyes. Your tone of voice was different now. You were beginning to develop a rough edge to it at the tail end of your close relationship, but nowadays it gave way to the exhaustion buried behind your eyes; behind smiles and pleasantries with the customers of the store. Every time he came in here and spoke to you, he wanted to ask why.

Tell me what’s been going on. You know that you can still tell me everything? he wanted to plead with you but he backed out every time. The two of you weren’t as close as you were before so maybe he would be stepping out of line, or maybe you just wouldn’t be honest with him.

“I’m good,” he replied hypocritically. Having ATF on the club’s back reminded Jax of the last time they were in town and because of it his mind was wandering back to the past. While the club stayed out of jail, other events had taken place that changed it forever. He longed to deepen the connection with you and get it back to how it used to be, but time and time again, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“How’s the club?” you asked, leaning on the desk and making yourself comfortable. Your folded hands were an even distance between both of his. His heart pounded at the idea of inching his hand just a little closer to yours.

“They’re doing alright,” Jax shrugged. “ATF and the Sheriff’s department have become our biggest fans.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, I’m sorry.”

Jax waved it off, latching onto the genuine apologetic look in your eye. Anyone else would look at you incredulously to know you were sympathizing with hardened criminals, but Jax knew you still held a soft spot for the club despite your many years of being away from it. Maybe it was just a by-product of spending your formative years entrenched in the club; things fostered in that time are hard to let go of - at least that’s what one of the parenting books he had read late one night had said.

Jax leaned in closer, not missing the way your eyes fled to his lips then back up to meet his eyes again. The action, if performed by another girl, would usually send Jax’s ego skyrocketing, but with you, it only clouded his mind with more confusion. “How’re things around here?” he asked lowly.

“Things are good,” you promised him after a shaky exhale passed your lips. “Quiet.”

He nodded, glad to hear that. Eye contact between the two of you broke for a second as you both tried to change the topic.

You hadn’t changed a bit. You still looked at him with roaming eyes - not to examine his face to see if he was lying or hiding something, but to admire it. Nobody had really looked at him like that before. You knew every part of him and were still able to look at him the way you were now. That was one thing that never wavered: your unconditional appreciation of who he was; not just the VP of the MC, but as Jax. Just Jax. His appearance had changed in all those years and while you had seen him go through those transitions, he still worried that you didn’t like how he looked - the length of his hair, his facial hair that he was thinking of growing out.

He still loved everything about you: the ghost of a smile that you wore whenever he was around you, eyes that glimmered with adoration, and the way your entire being seemed to relax around him. You seemed so relaxed that he wondered if your stomach was tied in knots as much as his was but you were just better at hiding it.

Upon a door opening a few feet away, the two of you sprung back from each other and stood up straight.

“Right, so you’re here to pick up a bouquet for Gemma,” your eyes fell to the paper in your hand as your manager emerged from her office.

Jax gave her a stiff nod and your manager gave a smile back in return. Shelley was her name if Jax remembered correctly. He didn’t miss the way her eyes nervously ran over his kutte as she nervously gripped her hands.

“Hey Shelley,” Jax said to her with a smile. In some ways he wanted to harmlessly taunt the woman, but he also wanted to make sure she was comfortable around him because upon your employment, the amount of money he spent here skyrocketed.

“Hello Jax,” Shelley tried to say without a waver in her voice.

“I’ll be right back,” you told the both of them, trying to hide your amused smirk at the interaction before you as you made your way to the back room.

#jax teller #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine

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helianskies · 3 years ago

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a birthday gift for the beloved @ana-pt! i hope you enjoy, pumpkin! ;)

Sailing Colours

❛ ...that silent spark between them was sometimes the only thing that he needed to see him through, rain or shine, and remind him of the good in the world. Some days it was hard to do that on his own.

But Abel, the wonderful, considerate, big-hearted idiot that he was, was Henrique’s key to life, and he chose to keep that key guarded close to his heart. ❜

rating: mature (sexual content)

tags: fluff and humour, suggestive themes, establish relationship

read on here or on ao3!

❤️ Red

Henrique was not one for overly fruity wines, so acidic that his lips felt funny—numb and itchy, almost—incredibly warm in his throat, and rough in his mouth. Though, the wine was not the only thing at that table that he was sure was capable of such a thing. Issue was, only the wine was giving it to him at the moment, and Henrique was… slowly losing his mind over it. He could feel it, glimpse it, taste it… but none of it was real! And it wasn’t fair!

Taking a second sip from his cup, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment, and then slowly swallowing down the berry-red drink, Henrique met gazes with his company for the evening. Well, for more than just the evening, he certainly hoped; they were travelling together, after all, and had months’ of sailing and exploration in store for them. But some of that was too far away to think about right now, and a surprise he’d rather save for himself. For now, he’d savour the evening, savour his company, and as for the wine, well…

“Tastes like piss.”

Henrique nearly spat it back out, trying to contain both wine and dignity as he choked on a laugh. “I wasn’t going to say it myself,” he said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief following the splutter, “but you’re not far off. ‘S what I get for buying whatever shit was cheap, huh.”

“Spanish, I imagine,” Abel mumbled. There was a flash of something—a brief grimace, perhaps?—and he put his glass aside in favour of his fork. “That’s the last time I trust you with picking the alcohol we keep on board…”

“Ooh. Aye aye, captain.”

The way Abel rolled his eyes said it all.

While the blonde proceeded to tuck into the remains of his meal—fish and vegetables, nothing too fancy but enriching, at least—Henrique sat back in his seat and stared at the pool of wine in his hand as he gently swirled it, round and round. Experts would call it aerating, releasing aromas. Henrique called it buying himself some time. He didn’t want to disturb the other while he ate with trivial conversation, and at the same time, he didn’t want to keep drinking, even if the alcohol would… potentially provide him with a bit of courage. Dutch courage, even.

Well, he needed something Dutch right then, but Abel’s mouth was full of bass. Henrique tried not to kiss his teeth or tut too loudly. Bass without the ‘b’ would be preferable! But perhaps he was the only one in the mood for something more that evening than pleasantries over mediocre food and crap wine. Wouldn’t be the first time. But then… that didn’t mean he couldn’t… test the waters, hint at his thoughts. Abel was not an entirely oblivious nor shy being. And even if it came to nothing, his reactions would surely be delicio—

“What are you thinking about?”

Henrique hesitated and he set his drink down on the table. There was no being subtle now, was there? When he’d been called out like that? So… if he couldn’t be ‘under the table’ about it (literally, because he’d been ready to rub a foot up Abel’s leg, maybe even wedge it between his thighs…) then he would have to be a bit more overt in his gestures. No time like the present. It was a good job he’d had a drink!

Getting up from his seat and ignoring Abel when he asked what he was doing, Henrique abrasively pulled the table away from the blonde (who was all the more confused) and made himself quite comfortable straddling his lap. Abel was as red as the wine in all of three seconds. Henrique was satisfied with his progress just as swiftly.

“Is this, uh… is this what you were… thinking about…?”

A smug grin slipped onto the brunette’s face. How precious. “Abel, I’m always thinking about you. And us. And… things,” he mused, his arms falling around the other’s neck. “I’ve never heard you ask such a silly question!”

Abel had no response to that, not that Henrique had expected one. The teasing had begun and the other, bless him, was not always so good at handling being on the receiving end. But Henrique liked to dish it out—enjoyed the scarlet in his cheeks and the growing warmth between them in more places than one—and this, frankly, would just be the start. It was his personal mission, now, to see just how red he could make Abel go.

(And in turn, he hoped Abel would return the favour in a slightly different way as the night wore on. Red was a nice colour when applied to the skin…)

🧡 Orange

He’d always considered himself to be a sunset rather than a sunrise person, but Abel had convinced him to abandon the bed much sooner than his body wanted, and in the end, Henrique did not regret it, even if the marine wind permeated his robe. There was something about the layers of amber, orange, ochre and gold shimmering on a vast ocean that brought a lightness to his heart and a smile to his soul.

Maybe it was the thought that he got to see and appreciate this single, precious thing, that no one other than Abel got to see. It was all theirs little secret—and no one else could claim it from them, or dampen such vivid hues with their presence.

Abel held his hand. They sat together, precariously balanced on the port-side edge of the boat, watching the sun rise up from beneath the sea, and it was beautiful.

“You know, it’s hard to think that a person could tire of a view like this.”

“Anyone who does has lost their mind,” the blonde quietly concurred. Henrique glanced at him and saw how the sun illuminated his face, a radiant, heavenly glow painted across his skin. Captivating. “You think it was worth it, then? Getting out of bed?”

Henrique didn’t want to admit it, but how could lie? The words didn't need to be spoken for Abel to know how he was feeling (enthralled, content, at peace) and a squeeze at his palm told him, too, what Abel felt in turn (glad, relieved, grateful).

It was nice to have someone in his life who could do that—who had those mystical gifts of telepathy, empathy, and the like. Abel was a rare specimen. In many ways, Henrique supposed… Still, that silent spark between them was sometimes the only thing that he needed to see him through, rain or shine, and remind him of the good in the world. Some days it was hard to do that on his own. But Abel, the wonderful, considerate, big-hearted idiot that he was, was Henrique’s key to life, and he chose to keep that key guarded close to his heart.

“Hey, uhh…”

Eyes wandered from the shimmering sea to Abel, whose gaze he met with a soft, warm smile. “Yes, bezinho?”

“Did you… want to have a quiet morning? Or should I raise the sails?”

“That depends on what you mean by a ‘quiet morning’, bearing in mind you’ve already dragged me from bed at an ungodly hour when you could have let me have a lie-in for once,” Henrique said, head drooping to the side—an attempt at guilting him. “As lovely as this little moment here has been, of course.”

The ghost of a grin, Henrique would have sworn he saw appear on Abel's face, but the blonde returned his gaze to the sunrise and it vanished from sight. "You can get back in bed and rest with no problem, if that's what you want to do,” he said. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“I know. You wouldn’t dare.” A laugh almost tumbled from his lips. “To be honest with you though, I’d kinda hope that you’d join me. Being in bed’s great, but it’s not so fun when you’re on your own, so…”

“Ah. Breakfast in bed.”

Henrique fornwed in bewilderment and turned slightly more towards Abel. “Breakfast in bed?” he repeated quizzically. “That’s not what I— That’s—…” But Abel was giving him a look—The Look, you could have called it—and Henrique’s mouth fell abruptly shut as he realised what he was suggesting. Cheeky bastard!

“‘S up to you, then,” the other went on all the while. “I have no objections to a quiet morning in. Or a quiet day, if you wanted.”

“You’re offering me a whole day? In bed? With you?”

“Why, was there someone else who you’d rather do it with?”

A tut was followed by a nudge, light and half-hearted. “Of course there isn’t,” Henrique responded. “You should know by now that you’re the only person I want, Abe. The only person I need.”

The smile was easier to see, this time. Abel let go of Henrique’s hand—what felt like a betrayal, if only for a moment before he brushed long strands of dark hair out of the way, over Henrique’s back, so he could slip his hand under the thin silk fabric of a bedrobe and feel the warm skin beneath. Henrique smiled with him, too, at that moment. He even untied the belt and slowly shrugged the robe from his body as an invitation, and had to contain himself as Abel, who responded almost immediately to the gesture, cradled the back of his neck and pulled him closer and closer until their lips and souls met.

Abel had always boasted a curious taste. Tart oranges, smoke, and a glorious, rising sun.

💛 Yellow

“You know, usually you’re meant to do the opposite and put the ring on my finger.”

“You’re not the kind for marriage,” Abel remarked as he pulled the final piece of gold from Henrique’s hand and set it onto the bedside table next to the only candle giving them light.

Henrique lightly scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly? Are you trying to say I’m not one for commitment?”

The look he received said enough to see him sigh and sink down into the mattress and pillows in defeat. It wasn’t that Henrique wasn’t ‘one for commitment’, which they both knew, but that being tied down by a ring defeated the whole point of the exercise. They were sailing the world together, travelling from Europe to the Americas to Asia—to wherever they so desired—to escape, to be free! A ring—a marriage—anything sordid like that—defeated the point of having that freedom.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Abel. It was that they could never settle down—not right now, as they travelled, nor upon their return to Europe. For people like them, it just… didn’t work like that. And Henrique didn’t dare jeopardise their relationship, especially when it was at its peak, and still going. Abel respected that. He knew, because it was in the way Abel climbed into bed with him, kissed his temple, and pulled Henrique right up to his chest. The embrace was gentle yet tight, firm yet soothing. It made Henrique smile.

If he had to choose what Heaven looked like, it wouldn’t have been far off that very scene: a tranquil evening, the steady rocking of waves, and safe arms to hold him for eternity.

Another kiss landed on his head. Fingers glided through his hair, teasing out the knots (and teasing his scalp with light scratches in between).

Yes, yes, yes… This was his little slice of Heaven, brightened by warmth, the honeyed-hue of candlelight, and a partner with whom he could share it.

💚 Green

Henrique had never really noticed up until recently exactly what magic Abel’s eyes held. They were more than a simple charming, pale green. In them was a garden, fantastic, botanical, reflecting so many worlds of wonder that Henrique could only ever dream of reaching.

Abel had promised to show him, once. What that meant, Henrique couldn’t be sure, but he was already as happy as he felt he could be just exploring their own world with him. Earth had its gifts, its own wonders for them to enjoy. And one such wonder, they had just stumbled upon, having moored at an island port, ready for a weekend spent on land rather than at sea.

(Though if he were being honest, being back on solid ground was not as enjoyable as he’d thought it would be; perhaps Henrique was simply… meant to be at sea…)

It was a pleasant afternoon, summarised with a drink at a local tavern, a run-in with a ballsy goat, a poor attempt to climb a tree in search of a coconut (Henrique had, luckily, had a very tall person to hand to catch him when he slipped), and now a calmer stroll along the beach. Feeling sand beneath his feet and between his toes was special, just another small taste of liberation.

Not long after their walk had started, however, the sand ended up underneath his back, his head, his entire body, and they had entered this new, little, wondrous world together.

Lips met his. Then they met his jaw, and then they met his throat, and then went back to his lips, stealing away his breath along with his inhibitions. They’d found a cove together, void of life other than the looming trees and shrubs that shielded them from any nearby civilization, so this moment of passion was not an opportunity that Henrique was willing to lose, or shy away from. He pulled Abel closer, if anything—put hands in his hair and held onto him, pushed up against his body (or at least, the one part that counted), and welcomed it wholly when Abel’s hands slipped under his shirt.

Sex on the beach. Who’d have thought? Abel was not often one to go for it anywhere—he prioritised comfort, was the sort to ask Henrique every few minutes ‘are you okay?’ when they were in the middle of a good session despite multiple reminders that it wasn’t necessary. But if the rum had put him in the mood for a quick shag on the sand (or did that make their version of love-making sound too vulgar? too rough? too beastly? when it was the complete opposite?) then who was Henrique to protest?

He’d take any chance he could to feel him, to cross that boundary.of what society deemed Right and step into the Immoral. There was no one else he’d rather do it with.

Green eyes looked down at him. One hand met his cheek, the other resting at the waistline of his trousers. Abel stroked his cheek, slow and steady, and asked him a question without needing words. Henrique smiled up at him. He set a hand over Abel’s—sandwiched it between his hand and his face—and then kissed the palm. A tender gesture, a sweet melody.

Overhead, a breeze made the palm trees dance. A small flock of seabirds passed, the only witnesses to their crime.

“You want to do this?” Abel’s voice asked, pulling his gaze from the azure sky to the verdant universe of his eyes. “You don’t want to go somewhere more private?”

Henrique tutted, lips pursed slightly in incredulity. “No, I do not,” he professed. “Don’t kill the moment by asking me if I really want to do this when we’re this far, bezinho, it’s really not attractive.”

“It’s called having manners,” Abel reminded him, eyes rolling around his head. Probably searching for that last ounce of patience he needs to deal with me, but the Lord knows He can’t lend him any more!

“I know, and I appreciate your concern,” Henrique attempted to placate, “but perhaps you should just… get back to kissing me? Otherwise you may just find that tonight, when we head back to the inn, I won’t be in the mood for any fun with you…”

Once more, the tried and tested method of getting what he wanted paid off! It was safe to say they’d be going for a dip in the ocean soon to… freshen up, just in time for dinner!

💙 Blue

He was sick and tired of seeing blue. Blue sky, blue sea. Sky, sea. Sea, sky. It didn’t matter how many colours appeared and stained both expanses, they were still both blue, through and through, and Henrique was really getting fed up with it never changing.

This… turn in his attitude towards what was normally his favourite scenery was on account of a bout of sickness. Nausea, for the most part, where it seemed both his culinary skills and sea legs had failed him. He’d already thrown up over the side of their rinky-dink boat twice that morning, and it was only made worse by the fact that now, as the third wave had struck him and he braced himself for another heave, it had started to rain.

Paradise was starting to feel a lot less like paradise, funnily enough…

“Here, have some water,” Abel said, crouching down next to him with a cup in hand, and a hand on Henrique’s back, gently rubbing circles through his clothes.

Henrique, however, was not thrilled by the sudden drink being thrusted in his face. “If I wanted to drink some water,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “I’d throw myself overboard, open my mouth, and just keep swallowing.”

The other grunted. “As if you need any more salt in you.”

The cup went away, discarded and forgotten about. Henrique wished he could do the same with his foul mood and poor attitude. Abel hardly deserved it, given that he was doing a far better job of looking after Henrique than Henrique was, but it… it was just that feeling of uselessness, that feeling of not being able to look after himself that had embittered him suddenly. Abel would understand. Abel had had similar moments, too. Today, it was simply Henrique’s turn, it seemed…

As such, he apologised to the other through a sigh. “You’re trying to help, and I appreciate it,” he said, carefully turning around so his back was to the waves. “I don’t… mean to bite your head off…”

“‘S alright, I get it. But maybe we should go back below deck,” Abel suggested, brushing off the incident entirely. God, what did I do to deserve him? Or are you the wrong person to ask? “Last thing you need is to get sick from the cold and rain. You should get to bed, try to rest.”

“And if I throw up all over your lovely, clean sheets?”

“Then I change them. I keep spare sets for a reason, you know that. And I’ll bring a bucket through for you, just in case.”

Henrique mustered up as big a smile as he could, which wasn’t that big at all, but it was enough. He gave a quiet ‘thank you’ and welcomed Abel’s help getting up onto his feet, walking back the short distance across the deck towards the companionway.

He wondered, for a fleeting, crazy moment, if this was something they would come to do for each other for years to come. Would Abel continue to look after him, care for him when he was sick, hold his hair back when he threw up after too many drinks (or in this case, a venture at sea)? And would Henrique still be there to do the same for him? Not… Not hold his hair back, of course, but to care for him? In the way couples did, whether young and free, or old and married?

A large part of him hoped so—he wanted that to be the case. Abel was special to him, and he’d been told in gestures more often than in words that the other had very similar feelings to him. When back home in Europe, they would ask questions, confused looks, sometimes even appeals of ‘concern’ from those who failed to see what they did, but… Henrique didn’t care. He wanted Abel to hold his hair back for him for all eternity, to look after him and care for him…

Just before he set foot on those steps below deck, Henrique glanced back out to the blue, blue sea, and blue, blue sky. It didn’t matter what colours everyone else saw, he felt, because all he saw was blue, blue, blue.

Their relationship could easily have been the same. It didn’t matter what other people saw in it, what they thought they saw in it. Because what mattered was what the two of them saw in it. And for Henrique, all he saw was a many-splendoured rainbow. Not a speck of miserable blue in sight.

💜 Purple

Henrique was surprised when Abel returned to the boat from what he had said would only be a ‘quick visit to the market’ with more than just food.

While he had been doing some leisurely reading in their room, feet up on the table and enjoying a little tipple on the side, Abel had suddenly reappeared with a small package wrapped in parchment and, without a word, had set it down in front of the brunette. Henrique peered over the pages of his current read at Abel. Abel, in turn, nodded towards the parcel—a polite request to open it, he assumed.

Conceding, Henrique put his feet down on the floor, his book on the table, and took up the item as he said: “You know I don’t do surprises.”

“I know you don’t,” Abel said, “but it’s a special day.”

Henrique frowned. Abel looked stunned, to say the least, but he didn’t explain himself or the gift, and instead just gestured for him to open it. So he did.

Slowly unravelling the paper so as not to come across as too keen to see what he had been bought, Henrique thought up some possibilities in his head, but only alcohol and tobacco came to mind. Not much of a gift, given that they shared such luxuries frequently. So what would it have been? He couldn’t tell. The somewhat long, cylindrical shape was unusual. Not wine, not tobacco, not a pipe, not food, so…?

He pulled off the parchment and let it fall to the ground. To his true astonishment, he was presented by a… candle. Ivory wax, neatly made, and a good size to burn for a while. The question was: “Why have you bought a candle when we already have a whole box full…?”

Abel shifted in his seat and sucked his lip—a sort of tick, when he felt awkward, or nervous. “It’s not just a candle. Give it a smell.”

“A sm—? You want me to sniff it?”

“…if it’s too much to ask.”

Henrique hummed, but saw no real reason to protest. He lifted the candle to his nose and slowly breathed in, only to be hit instantly by a very familiar scent: lavender. His mind exploded with hues of lilac, iris and violet, but that beautifully familiar sight and smell of lavender transported him back home to Portugal, back home to the bushes growing outside his now vacant moradia. Suddenly enthralled by this magical object in his hands, he looked at it, gave it another generous sniff, and then turned his eyes to Abel.

“A lavender candle,” he said, a smile falling onto his face as he rolled it idly between his hands. “Where did you get this? At the market?”

Abel gave a slow nod. “Passed a vendor and thought you’d like it,” he replied, “so, uh… happy birthday, I gue—”

“Birthday?”

Another nod, more wary than the first. “Yeah. Today’s your… birthday…” Abel affirmed, and then his expression morphed into one of confusion, contrasting the shock horror no doubt splattered on Henrique’s own face. “Did you… forget?”

The accusation was enough to send him into a small panic. “It’s easy enough to do! I’ve done it numerous times in the past!” Henrique defended, cradling his now extra special candle close. “I lost track of the days, that's all! I— I-I knew it was close, I just— I didn't care to worry about it!"

"…you forgot, didn't you?"

"No! No! I—" He gave a meek laugh, a feeble attempt at brushing it off. This is too embarrassing for words! "You know what birthdays are like, Abe, I don't really need reminders that I'm getting old, that's all!"

Despite not looking entirely convinced by a very unconvincing argument (oh, he definitely knows me too well), Abel chose not to ask any further questions and proceeded: “Do you mind that I bought you something, then? Because I also bought things for dinner and dri—”

“No, I… I don’t mind,” Henrique sighed, but smiled, and leaned across the table to steal one of Abel’s hands. “It’s really sweet of you, bezinho. And it means a lot that you remembered it, even when I somehow didn’t.”

Abel shrugged it off, the modest asshole. “It’s not a big deal. You remembered mine, I remember yours.”

“But it is, it is a big deal, and I really, really do appreciate it,” the brunette insisted regardless, feeling that lurch in his heart, a welling in his chest, as he thought back on years’ worth of birthdays that had been spent on his own, in silence, without a single consideration from another person in his life. “You’ve really… made me happy, Abe. Not many people would go to an effort like this for me, so it mea—”

“You’re worth the effort.”

Abel suddenly put his other hand over Henrique’s, holding it firmly between his own, and repeated his words. For some god-forsaken reason, it only made Henrique start to cry, lavender-scented tendrils drifting up his nose, stroking at his lungs, as Abel hurried to wrap him in one of the tightest hugs they’d ever shared.

🖤 Black

Under the cover of darkness, anything was possible. It could cover a multitude of sins, no matter the kind, but tonight was a night for Lust above all else.

For Henrique and Abel, a night as sweepingly dark as this provided the perfect time to be their most intimate, their most loving, their most honest and open and vulnerable. It was not a time for sex, but a time for passion—a time to prove to each other, in actions alone, just how much they meant to each other.

The pace they had was slow, but rhythmic. Henrique had his hands on the headboard of the bed, propping himself up, with Abel holding onto his waist for extra support. He steadily rocked them back and forth as he took a pleasant midnight ride on the blonde’s slick length. His hair pooled over his shoulder, tickling his warmed skin the same way that Abel’s fingertips did, or his mouth, set on littering his chest with kisses.

Sometimes, Henrique convinced himself that this was his favourite way to love. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t. But tonight, Abel was doing a fine job of making sure it was, and a soft curse spilled from Henrique’s lips as teeth grazed a nipple and nails teased his hips. Abel thrust upwards. That made it worse (read: way, way better) and Henrique cursed again, trying to move his hips down to meet the other’s upwards movements and bury him as deep as possible.

It naturally didn’t take long for a sweet spot to be hit, and then again, and then again. Henrique moved his hands from headboard to pillows, lowering his torso and ensuring that Abel’s lips met his own lips so that any of the lewd noises threatening to spill from him would get swallowed up, and intoxicate him, too.

Moments later again—in the blink of an eye—Henrique was gripping the pillows tight in his fists, tongue lost in the depths of a tobacco-tasting mouth, when his body jerked back and forth with the force of an orgasm. It was hard to stay attached to Abel at the mouth for long; he lifted himself up just as that climax peaked to catch his breath, the remnants of moans tumbling from him just as the sticky remains of his excitement dribbled down onto the other’s body. His energy was spent. But spent very, very well.

Not wanting to deny his dear partner, of course he took on a passive role and did his best to hold himself up as Abel upped the pace and tried to join him. What tipped him over the edge, to Henrique’s delight, was fingers idly gliding over his chest (and no doubt a good flick over a perky bud and back again). The victorious thrust upwards that followed, along with a grunt and exhale of relief, was the cherry on top—the sweetest thing Henrique could imagine, right there and then.

Over the course of the next minute or so, they carefully separated and made the unanimous decision to save the clean-up for the morning (well, Abel had needed some convincing, but it all had taken was a short series of kisses up his neck and jawline and a bold stroke of his now flaccid member. Another victory under the belt!). Henrique settled against the other’s chest, the position they took up being muscle-memory by this point in their relationship; Abel’s arms fell around him, their legs intertwined, and Henrique nuzzled the blonde’s neck, taking note to wake him up with some fresh marks in the morning by way of a ‘thank you’.

They stayed like that for a while, tucked up close, naked, shameless, and one. But too long like that, and they both would have gotten ill, as Abel quite wisely warned them. So, he pulled the soiled sheets over them and blew out the candle, plunging them into an ebony world, and they settled in for the night. They exchanged words—only three each, and perfectly matching—a mutual exchange—and with that, Henrique closed his eyes, enjoyed the kiss buried in his hair, and relished in the feeling of having the entire world holding him close.

🤍 White

The morning after was pure, blessed, bright. Henrique woke to the sun, a plate of fruit on the bedside table, and Abel greeting him with a kiss to the forehead as he braved opening his eyes to this new, private paradise.

White was a sign of innocence, of cleanliness, of Good, or even of God. To Henrique, however, white symbolised the love that he and Abel shared—a single unfading colour that held a prism of wonder, of joy, of honesty, of openness, of trust, of passion, and of freedom.

What else did he need? What else did they need? Other than a beautiful spectrum of a life spent together hand-in-hand?

#hws portugal #hws netherlands #nedport #happy birthday anaaaa~ 🥳🥳🥳#i really hope you enjoyed and sorry this didn't come sooner haha but it's still ur bday where you are so 👀#wfsn #there's some fluff and humour and spice in this one hehehe #helia writes

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cordeliaflyte · 3 years ago

Text

& here's a poem about Adam & Eve!

What fruit did Eve eat?

Was it a matador red apple?

The too-red and too-crisp Snow-White type

That whispers enticingly on a supermarket shelf

Nestled between grapes and figs and pomegranates

When you've bought a six-pack of beer

And a pack of cheap cigarettes?

The type that shines brilliantly

But tastes like paper?

Was it yellow and gently bruised

From bouncing around in your mother's tote bag

But tasted like summer and childhood

Its juice slithering down your chin as you laughed?

Or what is snake-green and smooth,

So tart it made your lips curl

Until your mother told you

They're called tart because they're great in tarts

And showed you how to grate them

Smother them with cinnamon and brown sugar

And tame them, bake them into the bowels of a buttery pie?

Why did God put the fruit on the tree?

To test our obedience, which he mistook for love?

Or did he know you'd pluck it?

That you were hungry in the most abundant of gardens?

Did he know you'd share it with me?

We shared everything, after all:

Eden and kisses and ribs.

Maybe he didn't do it to test if we loved him.

Maybe he did it to test if we loved each other.

Was it a sin to eat the fruit?

Was it a sin to share it?

Was it a sin to love you?

Why did you take the fruit from me when I offered it,

In spite of God's express commandment?

Because I loved you more than I loved him.

Because you were worth damnation.

Why did you take it from the tree in the first place?

I did it because I felt like it.

Because I wanted to.

And why did you give it to me?

Because with you, damnation tastes like a honey crisp apple.

Because sometimes, I got bee stings all over my hands

Just to put honey on your bread and that of our children.

Because I love them, still.

Because I love you.

Why did Cain kill Abel?

That's a question the fruit didn't answer.

Do you remember the sweaty summer day

When we cooled our feet in the smooth lake?

Cain taught Abel how to skip stones

While we finished eating the picnic I prepared.

Did we love them?

Not enough. Never enough.

Is that why we had Seth?

Because there was a hole in us that could not be filled

No matter how much we loved?

No matter how much we ate?

Did we miss our sons?

Or did we miss Eden?

Did we miss God?

I still wake up in the middle of the night, crying.

And you don't say anything.

You just get up and make me a cup of tea.

God doesn't say anything either.

I miss his voice almost as much as I miss Abel's.

When September comes, we harvest our apples.

It is back-breaking work

And we are not young anymore.

And we no longer have children to help us.

Now it's your turn to pluck the fruit

As you stand on the applewood ladder Cain made.

I bend over to pick the apples up.

They carry the blushed colours of autumn, which is about to start.

Some are rotten, slithering with pale worms.

Some are not ripe yet and taste like paper.

Some fall on the ground so hard that they're all bruise, no apple.

After a hard day's work, we rest and drink the juice you pressed.

It doesn't taste like summer or childhood.

It tastes like autumn and adulthood.

Do you miss the summer too?

Air always warm? Fruit always ripe? Children always in good temper?

What do you mean?

Summer hasn't ended yet.

And anyway, it's far from sweet.

Sweat rolling down our foreheads

While we toil in the soil that swallowed our son.

So, you don't miss it?

No.

But I miss summer, ten years ago.

I miss summers when the world was still young.

Do you?

You don't say anything.

You just get up and pour me a glass of apple juice.

#my poetry

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years ago

Text

Contending the Flame VII

Author's Note: Not much to say here, but the story's content will start to go up in rating after this, so prepare yourself for some wild changes coming! Thanks as always for being such a fantastic audience :)

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2336

Warnings: language, mentions of blood, master/servant dynamic

Victory had been claimed for the sons of Ragnar. They managed to secure their hold over York, banishing the idea from the Saxons' minds that they could ever again rule the city. Hostages had been taken, and through the blood and the rain, they had seen themselves suffer their share of wounds. All battles came with a price.

Ivar had acquired his injuries, most being from arrows. After he had been tended to by healers and cleansed of blood, the damage had taken its toll and the pain had set in. He was carried to his chambers by Ubbe and another warrior. Hvitserk had not been able to lend a hand as he had sustained a spear to the leg. When first brought the news of his brother's injury, Ivar had felt a stirring of worry, and hatred towards the dead Saxon soldier. For a moment he had wished for Hel to raise the dead once more if it meant he could feed the Christian his axe. He did not want to lose another member of his family, not after his mother or even Sigurd.

The pains of war felt like a bizarre punishment after the glorious charge he had led. His body betrayed him, reminding him of his humility as a cripple once the agony of his legs joined with the burning of his battle wounds. He remembered little of the healers prodding at him and had fallen into a restless sleep, halfway between consciousness and oblivion.

When he came around again, he was roused by the smell of flowers in the dead of night. A fire was burning low in the hearth, and as he turned his head towards the table at his side, a clay vase had been filled with those familiar purple blooms. They had a delicate, sweet smell, the likes of which he had never seen around Kattegat. The harsh winters of home were something he doubted they could have withstood.

Ivar shifted carefully, trying to sit up when he took notice of the dip in the bed beside him. You were above the furs, sitting upright with your back against the wall at the head of the bed. Ólaug, or Catherine; he wasn't certain what to call you. You must have meant to sit down only for a moment but had fallen asleep instead. His eyes traced over the restful look on your face, a pleasant change from the terror that had been there the last time.

Remembering everything Hvitserk had told him, he was brought back to a state of frustration. He didn't want your fear, he wanted your admiration. You had passion when you spoke with him, something that had been driven out by this treacherous spy.

Ivar brought his attention back to his sleeping nun, taking in the rest of you. His gaze was drawn to the particular detail of your exposed calf. Your frock had ridden up to your knee, leaving your lower leg open to the air. He often found himself mesmerized by the beauty of women's legs, admitting only to himself that it was because of his disgust for his own. The smooth curve of your calf met a delicate ankle, that extended to a long, narrow foot.

He wanted to feel the heat of your soft skin, and there was no battle with temptation as he brought his hand towards the exposed flesh. His rough knuckles dragged down on your smooth skin like hail against a silk sheet. The sensation was heady, and the walls of the room felt closer from the rush of lust. Ivar was emboldened. He wrapped his hand around your ankle, forgetting from your time as his thrall that you were a light sleeper.

Your head that had been tucked into your chest jerked up, and you lurched forward, startled awake by his hand. Your eyes met and Ivar could see the same fear there that took hold of an animal before it was about to bolt away. He wasn't going to tolerate that. In no mood or condition to chase you, Ivar tightened his hold on your ankle and tugged you down on the bed with harsh force. You let out a sharp gasp, unable to collect yourself before he had you trapped below him. Everything hurt, but he struggled through the discomfort as he held himself up by his arms above you.

"I did not invite you to share my bed, Christian."

"My apologies," You sputtered. "I'm only here because your brothers do not know which slaves they can trust."

Ivar let out a huff of annoyance, unadjusted to his brothers' concerns for his well-being. It was behaviour he had come to expect from his mother, and maybe Floki. "Right, a spy who is a threat to my life, and whispers in your ear."

Your eyes that had been downcast returned to his face. "Hvitserk told you?"

"My brothers tell me everything. You were mistaken to think otherwise."

He reached for your arm between them, the one covered with the cloth bandage. You were quick to snatch it away, your face coloured in shame. Ivar brought his hand up to your cheek instead, stroking below the bruise that he had yet to get a full explanation. "Stop that, please," You whispered.

"You believe I'll hurt you, even after I've shown to be generous towards you."

"But I am only a slave, and I mean nothing to you. If you killed your brother, what chance do I have of being spared?"

Ivar frowned. It seemed the spy had filled you in on more than just the Bishop. "You know about Sigurd?"

You nodded. "I know you murdered him, like Cain slew Abel."

He did not know of these men for whom you spoke of, but he had the unfortunate feeling that the comparison was not of flattery. Now that you knew things about him that he would not have shared likely, he felt at a disadvantage. He eased away from you, only for you to let out a cry of surprise as he pulled back.

"Ivar," You exclaimed, shoving your palm at the center of his chest so he would lie back down.

He spotted or rather felt what you had seen. It seemed one of his wounds had opened up on his side, the blood leaving a cold, damp stain on his tunic. You leapt up and over him, setting to work on filling a bowl with water. Your fast pace that you had set was dizzying. Ivar watched as you opened up the leather pouch that had been abandoned on the table until now. It contained healing supplies. Your lack of hesitation for what you grabbed proved you were capable, and you were back at his side without pause.

"Off with this, please," You instructed him to shed his tunic, and you had water touching skin the moment he had discarded the soiled clothing. "Look what you've done."

Ivar had never seen you look so disapproving. It was endearing. That you had scolded him by name had not slipped past his notice. "Ivar?"

You paused long enough in your work for your eyes to widen with understanding. "Oh, forgive me. I should not have been so bold."

He turned more towards you while you continued to work, giving a small shrug in response. "It is my name, and I am no longer your master. Perhaps you should cease with formalities."

"No, it wouldn't be proper. You are still a Prince, and leader of an army."

"Then I must insist on calling you Ólaug."

He let out a hiss as you took the needle to his skin, halting only a moment to let him adjust to the discomfort before moving to close the wound. You shot him a small smile, and he grunted from time to time with each passing of the point through his flesh.

"But that's not my name," You insisted as you tied off the end of the stitch, cutting away the remainder of the loose thread with a small knife.

"And it isn't Catharine," Ivar shot back. "So tell me, who are you?"

You sat back on your chair, resting your hands in your lap. They were pink and red from his blood, with dark grime under your short nails. A healer's hands. His own were rough and stained with blood, but from taking lives, not saving them.

"Why is my old name so important? This is the second time you've asked it from me."

"I've never known someone to abandon their name. Your God asks strange things of you."

"As I'm sure yours do as well," You said with no unkindness in your tone. "May I ask about the markings on your back?"

"Your men do not have tattoos?"

You shook your head, eyes wide and full of curiosity. "The body is meant to be untainted, and we should be satisfied with what God gave us."

And yet they made women cut their hair before entering a nunnery. Ivar did not say as much. You were finally allowing your guard to slip, falling back into another one of your conversations that he'd missed.

"We do not read or write in books as you do, but we preserve our stories in runes and symbols. Tattoos are just another way to honour the Gods."

"Did they hurt?"

Ivar let out a gruff laugh. "I was born into suffering. I hardly remember what it felt like to have the colours bleed under my skin. But any sacrifice to the Gods is a privilege, be it in pain, or a life."

"I don't understand how your gods could demand the life of their people," You said, a distraught look falling over you.

"And I don't understand why you Christians nail your people up on crosses."

"It is an act of punishment and humiliation for the criminal. It should dissuade others from committing the same sins."

Ivar smirked. "But we're the savages?"

"I don't claim to be a delegate for all Christians, but I don't believe you are savages. I sometimes think we are similar."

Viking and Christian alike; impossible. "You are naive to think that."

"Maybe so," You said, coming to a stand as you started to clean up your supplies. "But this fighting for York could have been prevented if the King had settled on negotiations with you and your brothers. Our holy Father blessed us all with free will, and we chose to fight and kill, just as your people have."

"A war is a strange place to search for peace," He retorted.

You let a chuckle escape, turning to him with a face flooded in pink. It was beautiful. "Indeed."

There was a prolonged stretch of silence, neither one of them filling it until you returned to sit at the foot of the bed. Ivar liked to think you were comfortable enough in his presence for the moment that you had not felt the need to fill it with empty words.

"Is peace what you want for your people?" He prodded while shifting underneath the furs.

"I'm not in a position to speak on such matters as this is the most exposure I've seen of battle. I suppose peace is better than tending to bloody men, and women waiting at home for husbands and sons who will never return."

"And what about you? If you could wish for anything in this world, what would it be?"

Your face turned to weariness, and for a moment he suspected he had offended you. He would have offered to take the words back if it would have helped, but you chose to answer.

"I wish I was happy," You said in a voice so low that Ivar had almost missed what you had said. But he had heard, to which he frowned in confusion. "You thought I would ask for freedom?"

"Isn't that what all those in enslavement hope for?" He rebuked.

"Before I was captured by you heathens, I was still a prisoner. This is just a different cage."

"I thought being a nun was an honour?" He couldn't help but sneer the words, but you did not appear dismayed.

"When I joined the convent, it was for a sense of duty. It brought me contentment, but there was no joy in my days."

You brought your legs up onto the furs, settling in without regard of whom you were close to. Ivar was pleased by your unintentional behaviour, mesmerized by your fingers as you trailed them through the thick pelted covers.

"I don't understand," He spoke up eventually, long enough to break his concentration on your stroking of the furs.

"Of course you don't. You are a man, a Viking, and a prince. Your life was marked with freedom of choice the moment you drew breath. If I was granted freedom this very moment, where would I go?"

'With me', he thought but did not say the petulant thought aloud. If it was happiness you desired, then he would give it to you.

"I've intruded on you long enough. Would you like me to leave?" You enquired, moving to stand.

"No, stay," he commanded without thinking, and the harshness of his voice caused you to flinch. Taking a quick breath through his nose, he tried again. "Tell me about Cain and Abel."

You eased back onto the bed, choosing to stay out of arm's reach as you delved into your tale. Ivar listened, enraptured by the passion that took over you in the telling. His own heart was beating with a different excitement, and he wondered how much longer he could keep his adoration from you. You were a Christian disguised in heavy frocks and gaudy crosses, but beneath all of that lurked a free woman longing to burst forth, and Ivar was going to draw her out.

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#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x you #ivar lothbrok #vikings imagine #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #history vikings #ivar imagine #vikings

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years ago

Text

Wednesday 11 September 1839

3 ¼

F61 ½° at 4 ¼ am much rain in the night and sandy road .:. 6 horse off at 5 6/.. at Kyrkstad at 6 55/.. I hot and much bit in the night

K- to Bolstad 14 w.

Njölbolstad 13 w.

Helsingfors 68 w.

St. P- 480 w.

the woman had not been able to get us any Swedish money .:. agreed that she should take a 10 Rubel bill and be answerable for 6r. for the horses and take 4 towards her own bill and I paid her (at the rate 40sk. rigs per rubel) for the 2 remaining rubels

7 eight sk. banco notes i.e. 1.5.4+0.2.8 given over – very civil good tempered looking woman – much pleased we were so satisfied – remembered Handbook and his friend very well – said they had given her a small bit of money which she kept for their sake – I happening to have my 3 silver ½ dollar banco silver pieces in my pocket gave her one of them (that has a hole thro’ it) and desired her to keep it for I should ask to see it again sometime – Better rooms and house at Keala [Kealanoja] last night but better eating here – Rain again and off in the rain at 5 6/.. – I slept most of the way – all forest till 6 55/.. when fine and sunny, and stopt to change horses /4 again) at some distance from the station house (did not even see it) near a small cottage where the red square headed mile post is set up – I got out for a few minutes very usefully the village must be near the station house on our left – scattered farms and cottages about – a pretty opening – very pretty country – wide winding wooded hill enclosed valley – a bit of forest again (young wood) in about hour+ - but good road – sandy land – but the road hard gravel like an English park road about 12ft. wide as usual, but sometimes less nice country all along to Bolstad at 8 ½ - stopt again in the road so[me] distance (left) 200 or 300 yards from the station house – walked to it – to see the direction post – could not find one – poor place – I think we could not well sleep there – the people 2 or 3 men and a woman

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0030

September Wednesday 11 at breakfast a little fish (apparently salted?) and boiled potatoes 2 rigs dollars a ton dearer here than at Stockholm – at last it was agreed that the woman should pay for our 4 horses from here 15 ½ w. to Everby [Ofverby] = 3.72 and the young man (her son?) gave me two 20kop. notes + one 75 kop. + two two-kop. copy pieces + two ½ sk. banco pieces for 4kop. = 5 Rubel – 5 kop. no wonder Handbook complained of their accommodation for the night – that is not the place to stop at – all Finnish commerce with Stockholm .:. all their money payments among themselves are in Swedish money but they are obliged to pay the taxe for posting in Russian money .:. are obliged to receive it for their horses – their wood (salmon) butter all goes to Stockholm but now they have the douane to pay = 2 rigs dollars per 60lbs. and being obliged to sell their butter at the Swedish price as they did before without duty they of course now lose this – and so equally the whole of the duties paid by them to Sweden is now a loss to them – the village of Bolstad not apparently very near the station – nice country – off from B- at 9 2/.. and at 9 ½ pretty lake and unpainted cottages and hamlets dotted here and there – green basin valley and lake and rounded wooded hills – in about 10 minutes more or ¼ hour come down upon the water wood bridge and cross it at one end where it looks river like – very pretty hereabouts rock and wood and water and villages and farms or cottages – a good deal of wind which curly the water – corn cocks as yesterday but now 9 ¾ it is rye – steep pitch up from the bridge and sandy road – at 10 ¼ moss-rocky forest – uphill and our horses hardish passed – all along sandy – pretty country – very pretty drive – at 10 50/.. at next stage to Finns 12 ½ w.

Helsingfors 39 and St. P- 451 w.

Öfverby (pronounced Everby) – small unpainted house – but probably might sleep tho’ not good - but the woman a decent woman – off at 11 – cocks of corn out here – rye I think – very pretty – rocky wooded hills and scattered unpainted little cottages and so red – the village of Ofverby (its neat little church at the foot of the hill just beyond the station) seems

September Wednesday 11 seems widely scattered in patches – winding pretty valley – round hilly and rather sandy – in ¼ hour (11 ¼) foresty again – several of the bare rocks today very white – all granite

the Fins a stupid looking people – here and there a red house but the red seems to bespeak a certain degree of [afflict] – the being better off than common – and here as in N. and S- the [?] (contamine) is growing as a weed among the rocks – we have not seen it as weed elsewhere because the land kept too clean – no weeds seen – now at 11 50/.. another wooded pretty lake right – and A- and I have just had a little of our Keala [Kealanoja] coq du bois that we brought away in paper – very good – many hamlets scattered about today – the country today seems more populous than yesterday? – at Finns at 12 13/..

to Grahn 14 ½ w.

Helsingfors 26 ½ w.

St. P- 438 ½ w.

might sleep but not perhaps good place for it tho’ the civil woman came to say she could change a 5 Rubel note

nice open country about here wooded in the distance – 2 or 3 cottages near the station house – and large village or two of unpainted houses little distance (left) – rather pitchy last stage and at = off at 12 34/.. from Finns out with a steepitsh pitch from here and then pass thro’ a few houses and over 3 [?] bridges the unpainted cottages very picturesque dotted all round about interspersed with patches of fir wood and wooded hill and well cultivated vale – now at 12 ¾ a little sun forest light – little pretty vale just below us right green rye and corn in cock (probably rye) not much oats grown in Finland? cottages or barns dotted up and down – fine foresty peopled drive this stage at 1 ¼ unpainted village in the widish basin vale little distance left of road and good yellow house and one or 2 red houses near – all looks well hereabouts – and slow at 1 20/.. descending and at the bottom of hill another pretty little lake near (left) – the openings and rounded dark pine wooded hills very picturesque – much mammelonné [mamelonné] rocky hill and bare and moss covered rock and boulder in our forest and sandy road now at 1 1/2 – here and everywhere much more Scotch fir than Spruce – this forest now at 1 ¾ the best as to size of trees (but none large) we have passed thro’ -

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0031

September Wednesday 11 in Finland – it opens out and we stop at Grahn at 1 57/.. nice little single house on a little [eminence], looking dry and comfortable – I should suppose one might sleep there as well as at Nyby or better? – the wide valley on plain studded with houses, farms, barns – the proportion of red increasing as if to denote our approach to the capital Helsingfors 12w. distance – large [?] beautiful lengthy finely wooded wooded island lake right sweeping along the wide valley – road hilly but tho’ rather sandy, good – forest covered rock alongside (left) – have written, or rubbed out pencilling, or read Handbook (article St. Petersburg) all this morning except added up the whole but 1 or 2 pp. of the Swedish account – since leaving Götheborg [Gothenburg] It seems (vide p. 174. 2nd vol.) that our pastor on board the steamer was M. Edouard de Moralt minster of the reformed church at St. P- and ‘the learned editor of an edition of Minuties’ Felix’ – probably Handbook knows him and sent him his book en cadeau? now at 2 20/.. road very sandy in the forest – at 2 40/.. gentleman’s house right – very pretty – a company of soldiers pass us – forest and break – very pretty – at 2 ¾ pass (close) broad shallow lake – at 2 55/.. Helsingfors church in sight – whitewashed like several other large neighbour buildings – church a fine object – fine looking town with its beautiful fjord – forest and break till now 2 55/.. that we emerge to bare Götheborg-like [Gothenburg] scantly wooded rocky hill – and gardens and houses marking our approach to the capital – at 3 at the water – beautiful view – cross good wood bridge – and at 3 ¼ at the Hotel du Nord – the fine dressed woman who came to us could do nothing – must wait for mademoiselle how should we stay – there was a room au 3me – I got tired of this work and drove off to the society’s house fronting the harbour – settled

September Wednesday 11 there very comfortably at 3 ½ - 2 nice rooms and lodging for the servants at 6 rubels a day – au 3me? but good – ordered dinner at 6 ½ and A- and I out at 4 10/.. – took John – to the botanic garden –

Stymphoricarpus [symphoricarpos] racemosus (snowberry bush) in flower

Vïburnum [Viburnum] Lentago a little like prunus padus but with broader leaf

V- dentatum (leaf something between the hazel and syringa leaf?)

Lonicera caprifolia [caprifolium] (as called by the gardener) the shrub I observed at Åbo with a little orange coloured berry, looking a [specie] of honeysuckle

Populus canescens (white abele)

P. cardifolia

Delphinium. several specie large beautiful blue flower – a little in the style of aconite – have often seen it in a pot in the window in these northern parts

Lythrum, several specie pretty pink flower in spikes 6 or 8 inch long – narrow leaf – would be pretty (to give colour) at Shibden and hardy enough -

Asclepias incarata [incarnata] (in flower – pinkish – pretty would do at Shibden)

Phlox several specie pretty little genus-pink and white – in flower like a smooth sweet William – 6 petal flower – the white very common in England gardens

Borago officinalis – pretty blue flower – 5 petals woolly stern and leaves – whatever will do well out of doors here, would do at Shibden – much wind today must be very cold, and exposed in winter – the garden garden divided into small compartments for the flowers, and sheltered by hedges the tall ones of lilac, and acacia, and Norway maple and the low ones of Spiraea calcifolia [salicifolia] – try this hedging plan at Shibden with along the middle a hedge of Spruce firs – or Sycamores? a very pretty hardy looking mespilus? or [?]? with clusters of hawthorn-like (but larger) red haws – Inquire for this –

In returning about 5 ¾ set John at liberty and A- and I sauntered into and about the handsome new not finished church – a Greek cross with 4 Corinthian porticos and pediments – then stood some while listening to the military band and came in at 6 ½ - dinner at 6 ¾ soup, mutton cutlets, sort of

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0032

September Wednesday 11

sweet omlet, and afterwards a sort of roll pancaky thing for dessert – no mead now – too late in the season – had plenty in the summer - .:. had each 2 cups of coffee – then siding had Grotza – then wrote the last page till now 10pm. very fine day – a good deal of wind all day but this afternoon particularly, and particularly here – a very handsome town – fine day F61 ½° now at 10 ½ pm

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a-ghost-duet · 4 years ago

Text

words that make me feel things - part 1, Love Run.

• Into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning / As our boat is untethered from the dock

• And the waves of our bodies and the smell of our follies / Rips into the bark of my bones

• I’ll smile as I climb the stairs (to the light) / To the light that you keep burning there (all hell)

• Sing / come rip up the flesh of my fears

• I know your fingernails are the colour of rust (come back) / And your veins are empty of dust (but our voices) / But our voices collide with each howl of the tide / Singing all hell and its fire waits for us

• you see this girl, she / Looks like she crawled out the lost and found / She pulls right up to my ear and says / Whatever you do don’t turn round

• Unfurl my wings / My fall makes no sound here

• We do each other's laundry in our hearts

[ ] Would have stayed if you'd had asked / But instead you just walk past

• You're the one who told me my hair looked better black / You're the one who told me to never look back / You're the one who asked me if I'm feeling ok

• I said I'm fine / It's just a sitting down in the shower day

• Know you should love him but it's such a pain

• And I can smell the smoke of hell / In every stitch and seam

• I cannot hear them scream / ‘Forget me not.’

• You will scream ‘I won’t forget you’ / But I’ll cover my cold ears / It cannot be a lie / If no-one hears

• And although you hold my hand and say / ‘I love you’, you are wrong /Because love does not exist here / In this garden there’s no feeling / And you say the words so often / That I barely know the meaning

• And then you’ll cry to our painted sky / ‘I loved him then, I love him still’

• And you’ll strew some sage and lilies / And roses where I rot / Of all the flowers you picked / I knew you would forget / Forget-me-nots

• My eyes are made of winter and these hands I hold are skin and bone

• Pray for me, I’ll run until I begin to understand / What holy men really mean when they speak of sin

• Sweet nothings are screamed not spoken

• God made all man in his image / Honey I’m I’m I’m no man / I’m what’s left when children go to war

• I cannot sleep when all you do is cry

• And why you cannot sleep for sighing /Why womanhood is more than crying

• The cracks you made I fill with mortar /A broken pot can still hold water

• Why so sad he says / And his eyes say don’t you know that its not all about you anyway

• Its daylight again and you look like I’ve failed you / Did you tell them about the time we met little miss / You’ll love the way I tell it / And I’ll yell it from the rooftops for you

• You’re going too fast / You’ll burn up soon

• Just stop staring at the moon / That’s why I put up fairy lights. Just to distract you.

• I don’t know how to reach you when you get like this / I’ve been waiting for you to come home

• Why won’t you let me follow in your footsteps as you trek into that underground world / What’s that hold that the big dark king of nothing has got on you my girl

• Why do you go down / Those stairs to that green dark cave / Where there’s only faces of the unfamous dead / Full of people just pretending to be brave

• You don’t see daylight anymore /Something’s sucking out your core and it’s so boring

• To see you tired all the time / Why won’t you just tell them all to fuck off love and be mine

• Why so sad / I’m here and I’m alive / Stop making up death wishes just take my life line / He says / Or at least that’s a cliche to represent what he meant / [swhat I meant]

• Why won’t you believe I love you if I’m not hurting you he says / Can’t you see that I’m enough for you but you don’t want me to be / Cos that means you’ll actually have to be content

• Why so why so sad / Stop asking why I’m sad just know its enough to know I’m sad

• But your blood does not bleed red no more / It’s whiter than the sun burns, its bright with every hum

• Oh watch the fire surprise surprise burn up and up into those skies

• Tear me up and burn me up and rip me up and leave your / Hand on the wall as you go

• Are you god or devil, ghost dishevelled / Childhood friend or drunken revel / I cannot stop I’m bleeding out for you / You angel heart you monster oh / Some godforsaken prosper / Your feathers and your paws / Your hell for leather applause / You dance on tables, endless labels / Are you cain cos i’m not abel / Your bastard lasting nightbus asking / What’s the everlasting fable

• It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart / Is slowly slowly peeling off / And I’m showing / All the stains and things / They wrote on the wall before

• and I’ll stare at you / As you stare as you stare right back at the sky

• These hands are growing cold / They’re running out of things to hold

• But today we ripped it off, we ripped it off, we showed the world that we exist / Never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway

• I can hear the children calling as though across the bar

• If I’m good will you come back / If I’m good will you come back / If I’m good will you come back

• One fist holds a lighter the other your hand / The oh’s of your screams still echo in your dreams

• But I held your hand / As you shook in the middle of the night / Without waking you said / not yet not yet

• Sing me awake with a song about pirates / And I will try to harmonise / And sip the sunlight from your eyes

• I cannot find the words to keep you / It cannot be a lie if no one hears / Let the seabirds / Don’t turn 'round / He says

• Love, run! The song you know's begun

• Keep running. It’s up to you now / Up to you now love to

• Love run, love Run / For all the things we wished we’d done / Run from all you know that’s coming / Run to show that love’s worth running to

• Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none / Would raise to you a hand nor thumb / Not while by you I stand and hum

• All that matters / Is that you're here

• O let the land come at you, love / With all it's sand and sin, a-singing / A song you once knew well's begun / Run until your lungs are numb

• Now let the earth a-tumble, love / And humble you withal, keep running / It's not from what we run that drums / But what's to come, what’s to come

#this took me entirely too long #Please enjoy lmao #the amazing devil #madeline hyland #joey batey #folk songs #music #song lyrics #quotes #the witcher #jaskier #Queue #mine #I made this to convert my friends lmao #cottagecore #dark academia

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teacup-crow · 4 years ago

Text

The Christmas Runner

On the 12th Christmas Eve after the world ended, Molly and Carena told someone the story of the Christmas Runner. Major end of S3 spoilers, very minor spoilers for early S5.

I spent all day in bed and this happened? Will probably go on AO3 once I polish it (and when it’s actually close to Christmas). Promise it’s wholesome!

(In my headcanon here Carena is 15, Molly is 13 and Sara is 7)

“Sam’s givin’ you how much to watch her?” Carena Skeet spluttered, towering over the younger girl, leaning her hands over her head on the brick wall of the housing block. The moon was a sharpened, thin crescent, and lights winked in the guard towers. Over in the main barn, they could faintly hear the twanging of a slightly out-of-tune guitar and some tipsy singing, suggesting the grown-ups’ Christmas Eve party was already in full swing.

Everyone said that Molly Harrison was the prettiest girl in Abel, with blonde curly hair and eyes blue enough to knock out zoms, but right now she was shifting foot-to-foot, looking more irritated than anything else.

“A loaf of crusty bread and a pot of blackcurrant jam, and… you’re not having any of it, Caz.”

“Dr Cohen only promised me a bloody book!” Carena pouted, but avoided stomping her foot. She’d about grown out of that. Nobody would dare call her pretty, but she was too, in a fiercely intimidating way. It was two months until she turned sixteen and could finally start Runner training, and she’d already begun practicing first thing every morning, tearing around the training shed when the sun had barely risen. Where Molly was soft and homely, she was angled and muscular. “You can read it if you let me have a spoonful.”

“That’s a rubbish trade and you know it! I won’t always go along with everything you tell me to do, you know, it’s not fair-“

“Oh blah blah blah, quit whinin’, let’s just get the job done before they realise they double-booked.” She dropped her hands and stalked away. Her foster dad’s old fireman jacket was too big on her, but wearing the king’s clothing added to her swagger.

“You don’t like kids,” Molly pointed out, stumbling a little behind her as she strode off to the front door.

“Kids is fine. Kids is kids. I have, like, fifteen siblings. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, and you don’t like any of them. And they’re all the same age as you!”

“What can I say, I’m not good at sharing.” She turned and gazed pointedly at Molly, who shrugged it off. “It doesn’t take two people to babysit a seven year old.”

“Yeah, so go away, Caz. You don’t even want a book.”

“Gotta get on Dr Myers’ and Sam’s good side if I want to be recommended for Runner, don’t I? Janine respects their opinion more than anyone else except Runner Five.”

“So go and sit on guard duty with Runner Five and earn their approval.”

“You jokin’? Five’s batshit.”

“They’re also the only reason we’re not dead, so maybe you should be a bit more respectful.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to tell me what to do, Molly Harrison...” Carena’s tone was affronted, teetering on nasty. Then she stopped herself. “But yeah, you’re right. Five’s batshit bonkers, but they’re awesome.”

“And scary?” Molly added.

“Yeah, if you’re a wuss.”

They’d reached the green wooden door of Maxine and Paula’s apartment, a wreath on the outside, a menorah in the window. Sara had hung paper chains all down their part of the corridor. It made both the teenagers smile for a second or two.

Carena knocked, to no reply. She tried again.

“That’s weird,” she muttered.

“Sara, you in there?” Molly tried, peeking through the window.

“Sara, we brought chocolate!”

This caused a patter of feet to charge towards the door. Carena grinned. “First rule of kids is lie through your teeth.”

“MOLLY!” Sara sprang through the door in a bright blur of red sweater and green trousers, and jumped into Molly’s outstretched arms. “Did you bring Galileo too?”

Years before, when Archie Jensen had lost Mildred van der Graff to an explosion, Five had managed to get their own chicken back to Abel relatively unscathed. Molly, already interested in animals even as a small child, had adopted Galileo Figaro, a now-geriatric menace with a beak that had lasted longer than anyone expected. The hen had strong memories of her dinosaur roots, and, apart from Molly, Five and Sara, would attack almost anyone who dared enter the coop.

“Galileo’s an old hen, she’s resting.”

“She went cluck-cluck-cluck over the rainbow bridge to Ed Harrison’s stomach, you mean.”

“Caz! Dad would never!” Molly looked scandalised as Carena burst out laughing at her own joke. Thankfully, it went over Sara’s head as she dropped down from Molly’s arms and stared up at Carena’s jacket in awe. Caz ruffled her mop of springy hair affectionately. She liked this kid, at least. It was very difficult not to.

“Hello, baby Sara, how’s it goin’?”

“Good, Princess Caz! I’m making a jigsaw puzzle. It’s got a million trillion pieces!”

“Sounds like an absolute riot. Tell you what, Molly can finish it with you and I’ll heat up the rations.”

Molly nodded despite herself, taking the pudgy little hand in hers and stepping into the cosy apartment. “Okay, let’s go, hopefully we have all the pieces...”

“Daddy had to remake some of the missing ones but he said you can barely tell the difference, sort of! Anyway, you said you had chocolate?”

This was still one of the oldest housing blocks in Abel, but instead of enough bunks for eight people the two rooms comfortably housed the little family of three, bathroom splitting a bedroom on one side and a family room on the other with a table and a bookshelf and warm candle-lit lamps too high for Sara to knock over on the mantelpiece. Woollen throws covered the kind of battered armchairs you sank into and artwork lined the walls. There was even a tidy kitchen corner with a kettle and a camp stove and a stack of chipped plates and mugs. It was one of Carena’s favourite places: better even than sharing a room with some of the roller girls on a rare trip to see her foster dad in London; much better than her own springy bunk in the children’s dorms, the wall behind her chequered curtain plastered in pictures and photos and plans but still not private enough to block out the whining and crying of the little ones all night. It was nice to see a place where a real family lived. When she stood in the centre of the room, she could squeeze her eyes shut and almost picture the faces of her real parents, her actual bedroom, the kitchen they’d had with a white-tiled floor. Or was it sand-coloured tiles? She wasn’t quite sure, not that she’d admit it. Whenever anyone asked, she always said she remembered the pre-zombie world perfectly.

“Caz? Are you heating up the food or...?”

“I’m getting to it!” She stomped towards the stove, where Sara’s parents had already left a few crumbling Tupperware containers of pea soup from the kitchens, and Molly had brought a bowl of eggs to hard boil if they felt snacky. Not particularly inspiring, but then food had been limited for the last week as the kitchens saved all their supplies up for Christmas Day. And none of them knew how to be fussy: Sara and Molly did not remember a time when food was plentiful, and Carena’s last remnants of pickiness had been starved out of her when the Ministry occupied Abel. She’d been nine, and her stomach hadn’t stopped rumbling for that whole terrible ten months. It ached again a little just thinking about it. She wondered if that had left her weaker, permanently damaged her chance to become a Runner or a roller-girl. As if her asthma wasn’t enough of a handicap. Well, she’d do it anyway. Nothing was going to get in her way, least of all the legacy of those who had hurt her foster father.

“Three bowls of green soup, coming up!” She added a lick of salt, and stirred the metal pot. The ruckus from the square was louder now, almost matched by the younger girls playing with the puzzle behind her.

“I can’t tell if this is supposed to be a man’s face or a rat.”

“Daddy’s not a very good draw-er.”

“I mean… he could use some practice, to be honest. Any clue on where this piece should fit, Caz?”

Carena doled out the bowls and spoons. “Looks like a squiggle with earmuffs to me. Sam’s crap at art.”

“Don’t swear in front of Sara!”

“She’ll be fiiiine,” Carena rolled her eyes. “Lighten up, Molly.”

“Yeah, lighten up, Molly!” Sara echoed jubilantly. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“Okay, you can cut it out now. Eat your dinner.”

Molly changed the subject, sensing another mischievous outburst of swearing on the horizon. “Are you excited for Christmas, Sara?”

“Yeah! Did you hear that we’re going to have a hog roast and potatoes?! And games! And, and, Ms Marsh knitted me a hat and mittens!”

“How do you know about that?” Molly admonished. Sara immediately looked caught in the act.

“I… maybe heard her and Mama talking about it.”

“Did you ‘maybe hear’ or were you spying on your Mama?”

“I wasn’t spying! People just think kids can’t hear stuff!”

“Hey, spyin’ is a great skill, don’t knock it, Mol. Don’t worry, we won’t tell.”

“I wasn’t spying!” Sara drank down the last of her soup, licked the bowl, and pouted adorably. It was hard for the babysitters not to laugh.

“You know, I think that piece might actually be a clockwork mouse. I think it goes down at the bottom…”

They finished the jigsaw with only four missing pieces. “It’s… a big man in a red coat with a white beard! With lots of toys. I’m going to call him Mr Bob.”

“Sara, that’s Santa. Do you not know about Santa?”

“Father Christmas?” Molly tried, although she wasn’t completely confident either. Sara looked blank.

“You know my father is called Sam Yao?”

“No, baby, Santa Claus is different. He brings things to good children at Christmas.” In the back of her mind was an image of Ed in a terribly cobbled together Santa suit, a tiny Molly on his shoulders. A good memory in a flock of bad ones. It twinged in her chest.

“He’s a Runner?”

Carena sighed. “Basically. Yeah. Santa Claus is just another name for the Christmas Runner. Every Christmas Eve, he goes from township to township, leaving gifts for all of the children.”

“How does he get through the gates?”

“Well, duh, he lets the township leaders know what time he’s going to come on Rofflenet first. And he’s really fast, so he doesn’t need to worry about Raiders or zoms. He’s got a big sled drawn by nine dogs for all the presents!”

Sara’s eyes sparkled. “What are the dogs called?”

“Well, the main one is Rudolf, and he’s an, an Irish red setter. Or he wears a red jumper, like you. Something to do with red. The other ones…” she looked to Molly for assistance, and realised the blonde girl was just as enraptured. “The other ones aren’t important.”

“Caz!”

“Fine! Dasher, Dancer, Prancer… Victor?”

Her mind drew a complete blank. Somewhere in her subconscious, a woman’s voice read the words of Twas the Night Before Christmas, but she couldn’t quite make them out. “Um… Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh and Spam?”

Molly snorted in surprise, her face contorting and shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back a peal of laughter. At least Sara seemed satisfied. “Okay, so how come I don’t hear them all?”

“He sneaks in with magic and only when you’re extremely tired so it’s, like, impossible to stay up to hear. But if you leave a sock on the end of your bed he’s guaranteed to put sommat cool in it.”

“How will he know what I like?”

Molly looked thoughtful. “Maybe you should leave him a list? But you like a lot of things.”

“And my socks are quite small.” Sara looked pensive, kicking her feet in the air to check the size of them. “You two should write lists as well!”

“I’m too old to write one-“ Carena tried, but Sara was already insistently jabbing a pencil and an old receipt at her from a scrap paper drawer in the cabinet.

“These big long lists from the olden days are perfect, we can use the back.”

Carena’s eyes flitted over the receipt. Morrisons. Mango, papaya, hummus, avocadoes. All words she didn’t recognise, foods she would never get to try, and, suddenly intimidated, she laid it down on the table. She wasn’t the strongest reader or writer at the best of times - she’d learned too late, and it was difficult with so many new things in a row. Sara sounded out the letters on her own list as she wrote, her reading already confident.

“Dear Christmas Runner. Thank you for all your hard work, and for taking so many risks to deliver presents…”

Molly glanced over at Carena with a dash of awkward concern. They’d shared a schoolroom as children, and again for the last few years, and had some of the same frustrations, although Molly struggled more with maths and numbers and the purpose and point of algebra and geometry than writing and words. “Can I write both of ours, and you do the pictures? Your drawings are really good.”

Carena nodded, and got up abruptly to wash out the pot and make some tea. Outside, the town choir had drummed up enough numbers to give a few carols a go. She cracked open the window a little to let the sound filter up.

“I would really like some bubblegum but I know it is hard to find and my mothers don’t like it so don’t worry if you can’t find any. I also like marbles and you can fit lots of them in a sock!”

“You’re already running out of space!”

“Okay. Lots of love from Sara Myers-Cohen-Yao, kiss kiss kiss! What are you going to ask for?”

“Nicer soap,” Molly said, quite serious. “And I need a new metal bucket for chicken feed and milking. Mine is close to holes.”

“A bucket won’t fit in a sock!” Sara scoffed with childish mirth. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I don’t know, she has really big feet.” This made Sara giggle even more, and slide off the chair to look at Molly’s feet more closely.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Molly gave Carena a mock-withering stare. “What do you want, Caz? I’m doing yours now.”

Carena thought as the water began to bubble. All she really wanted was to be a Runner. To explore. To get buckets and soap and marbles and gum and make faces back in the township light up. All she wanted was her lungs and airways to do as she commanded, her muscles and heart to work with her, to let her push past exhaustion.

“Eh. Shoelaces would be nice.” She smirked at Molly. “Or some chicken fat.”

“Make one more threat to my chicken’s life, Carena Skeet and you won’t be getting anything from the Christmas Runner!”

“I surrender, I surrender!” Carena laughed, and poured the tea. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be in bed by now, Sara? If we’re going to get this Runner to come at all.”

“But I’m not even tired,” the small girl yawned, still on the floor with her head on the chair and cuddling one of the throws her mothers had stacked on the sideboard.

Molly grabbed the rest of them. “Come on, we’ll build a blanket den, have our tea in there, and Caz can tell you more about the Christmas Runner.”

“Startin’ to feel like Caz does all the work around here,” Carena added, stirring in milk and honey and using the puzzle box as a makeshift tea-tray. “Go on then, lead the way.”

Five minutes later, they’d constructed a large blanket fort and, huddled together inside it, Carena began to tell them everything she remembered from the world before, embellishing the odd detail or ten.

“You’re lying, there were no flying snowmen.”

“Well, I saw a film about them!”

Eventually, Sara curled up and fell asleep, thumb in her mouth, dreaming up a jumble of tinsel and angels and dancing snowmen and turkeys.

Molly smiled, sleepy herself. “You know, you’re actually really good with kids.”

“You’re actually good at lightenin’ up.”

“Yeah! This was fun. I had a really nice evening.”

“Molly…” Carena began, and stopped. She tucked Sara’s blankets around her a little tighter. She didn’t know how to say how safe she felt, maybe for the first time since she lost her brother, warm and wanted and hopeful, surrounded by the peace she wanted so badly to fight for. “I think tomorrow is gonna be a really good day.”

The bell in the square jangled once, twice, twelve times and for once they didn’t panic. It had been years since a horde went anywhere near the gates. This was midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Caz.”

“Merry Christmas.”

***

Carena awoke under a pile of blankets, her head on the end of Sara’s bed, the sound of Dr Cohen humming in the kitchen as she fried the eggs for breakfast, and caught three bulging stockings out of the corner of her eye. A lump came to her throat as she saw the book, as promised, bound in ribbon, that she recognised even without reading the words.

The Abel Runner’s Handbook, fourth ed.

She nearly knocked the wind out of the doctors in her rush to hug them.

#zombies run #zr #carena skeet #molly harrison

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dirtydoesgood · 5 years ago

Text

Golden Eyes

Title: Golden Eyes Author: @kazesuke Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character(s): Comte de Saint-Germain, Vlad, Female MC Rating: M - Mature Warnings: Spoilers for Comte’s real name, Incubus AU, dub-con (because Incubus) Prompt: "How sweet, sacrificing yourself for her. When did you get a heart?" Summary: She enjoyed the dreams of golden eyes and the soft smile of the man she met at the museum but the red of wine sent chills down her spine.

She supposed she should be frightened. The man in her room shouldn’t have been there, couldn’t be there - even her sleep addled mind felt sure all the windows and doors remained locked as always.

Yet, he hovered above her - hovered because she couldn’t feel the weight of him, just the heat of his body calling like a siren to her.

Her brain urged her to do something as she gazed up into captivating golden eyes, an alluring smile that almost looked gentle… sad.

His lips felt warm as they brushed against hers. She thought fear ought to well up inside her, but a tingling warmth spread from the touch before he took her lips again. Again and again, rolling warmth spread through her body while he plucked pleasure from her. She couldn’t feel the definition of his touch but she felt the way her body ached for more and the disappointment when it clenched on nothing.

She tried to raise her arms, to touch him in return, but they felt heavy, her body languid. A tiny spike of fear needled at her heart before the scrape of his teeth, too sharp but oh so wonderful, replaced that needle with a bright stab of pleasure.

A jolt of pain, then pleasure burned her veins and her body trembled in ecstasy.

She bolted awake at the blaring of her work alarm, feeling as sated and warm as her dream but, of course, alone. No warm, beautiful man above her.

She checked all the windows and her front door before she went to work that day.

Locked.

She first met Abel at the local museum, a warm, gentle smile on his lips and a sprawling knowledge of history in his brain.

“I’m not sure it would have actually flown but he seemed to have some good ideas.” The soft, low voice made her jump and he smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I work at this museum, my name’s Abel.”

She gave him her name in reply, the brief hope that her beating heart would calm leaving her as she looked up into his handsome face. His golden eyes were most captivating, hauntingly familiar like she’d seen them once in a dream. “Y-yeah, it seems logical to study birds to figure out how to fly but it’s a shame it didn’t work out for Da Vinci.”

Abel nodded. “I wish we had more things of his to display here, but of course they’re in various European countries. These are just some models based on his designs. If it’s not too presumptuous of me… would you mind a guided tour?”

“N - no of course not!” Her face split into a grin and his smile never wavered.

She listened to him for hours as he took her on a personal tour - a perhaps unauthorised event, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for sure in case the spell between them somehow broke.

“Did you know Vincent Van Gogh had a younger brother? He was desperate to show the fruits of his brother’s labour to others and supported him as best he could.”

She shook her head, the two of them standing before Sunflowers. “No, I didn’t, but I think it’s good that he had someone.”

Abel gave a soft nod. “I agree,” he murmured, something so immeasurably soft in his tone that it made her heart ache. “It’s strange.”

She opened her mouth to ask what exactly was strange, but a voice called from behind them first;

“Abel? Can you come help me with the Monet display?” A man of a similar age, yet with white hair and piercing eyes the colour of wine, approached them. He gave her a smile that she couldn’t quite follow to his eyes, but his tone was soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, miss, if you need help with anything the information desk is available to you, not to mention our very comprehensive audio guide.”

He took Abel’s hand and dragged him away to a protest of “Vlad!” which she assumed to be the other man’s name. She stood for several moments, the whirlwind of the conversation settling around and over her like a blanket before a needle of hurt poked her heart. She really had been taking up too much of Abel’s time - possibly gotten him into trouble.

Maybe she could leave him a message at the information desk. She left him an apology and her number, thinking nothing would come of it.

It arrived 5 hours later. “No need to apologise, I enjoyed your company. I’m sorry about Vlad (my coworker).”

The same dream plagued her that night too. It felt just as real, the warmth burning brighter in her chest the moment she met his eyes. They looked like Abel’s. Had they been like that before in the dream or was her mind just embellishing? Her subconscious adding what she wanted, yet could she truly want it after only half a day? She could feel his touch more clearly in this dream, his fingers cupping her flushed cheeks, his thumb brushing over desperate lips.

She ached when his hands drifted lower, teasing her body as his weight settled on her and a moan slipped past her lips. He nuzzled her throat, breath tickling her skin with a sigh, the sound utterly satisfied. She could feel him through clothes that to be skin tight, the hard bulge of him rocking against her, and she longed to press up into him. His moans grew desperate, pants heavier as a quiet whine escaped him before a flood of pleasure engulfed her body and he shuddered above her.

“Ab-el-”

She jolted upright with the last syllable leaving her lips. Her alarm had rudely awoken her once more and she flushed hot with embarrassment. She had to get it together if half a day of Abel’s undivided attention had reduced her dreams to this.

Abel sighed softly when Vlad insisted on joining him on his visit to the coffee shop.

“This isn’t like you, Abel,” Vlad muttered, voice darker than Abel felt comfortable with. “Making a connection with a human.” That was a lie. Abel had always been far too interested in humans and their relationships. That wasn’t the point of their existence. They gave humans a nice time and then they went on their way. No strings, no relationships, no nothing.

Humans in the mean times had come up with words that perfectly described the kind of sex their kind had: one night stands, friends with benefits.

Humans were too messy. Too emotional.

“I just prefer to understand humans a little more.”

“You shouldn’t play with your food.”

Abel gave him a hard glare but the pretty little human arrived and Abel’s face immediately softened. Disgusting. Almost like Abel felt affection for her. Vlad would think he’d fallen in love. But that should be impossible for an incubus.

Abel made some apology for his presence but she smiled softly and shook her head. Too sweet to declare it a problem. Too kind. Vlad watched her and felt a flush of surprise when Abel left the two of them alone to get coffee.

“So, Vlad. You work at the museum too, are you also as interested in history?”

Perhaps he could ruin this whole thing before it went too far. Vlad put on his most charming smile. “Yes, 18th Century architecture is my real passion, it’s a shame there’s not exactly a place for it in the museum.” Each expression, every word a calculated move to pull her in. A mere hunt. “Abel tells me you’re very interested in history too?”

She went off on some ramble that he lost half way through, but he’d noticed the way her cheeks flushed with excitement and her whole face lit up. Vlad might have given some indication of that, since she wound down with an apology; “I - I’m sorry, I got a little carried away.”

The smile on his face had become effortless after decades of practice. “It’s quite alright, it’s beautiful the way your face lights up.” He leant a little closer and could practically feel the elevation of her heart rate. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about your passions.”

“Yes… You’re right, Vlad, thank you!” The smile she gave him looked warm but not shy, not flustered. The woman remained so unaffected by him it was almost laughable. Vlad would have to try harder.

She opened her eyes to the beginning of the dream, the night quiet around her but rather than golden eyes, she woke this time to deep red, the colour of wine. Ice slid down her spine at the sight and she wondered if she should have been feeling this all along, this sense of wrong. He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes, just like….

Her whole body jolted as though she’d been released from some spell and she scrambled back in her bed. Vlad braced himself against the wall, a snarl on his lips and hair in disarray. A warm hand settled on her shoulder and tension drained out of her when she saw it belonged to Abel.

Even if he wore skin tight black and tiny wings protruded from his back and his forked tail looked like a snake poised to strike.

Vlad wore much the same now that she looked at him properly.

This must be one hell of a dream.

“What are you doing here, Vlad? She’s my prey.” Hissed words that made her shudder. She’d never heard Abel angry before but this felt beyond that. He sounded incensed, even though his touch on her shoulder remained as gentle as always.

“Prey? You call her that but I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’d say it was love if we were capable.” This Vlad seemed so different from the one she’d seen. His features twisted with rage and contempt, sneering at the both of them, like they were something nasty he’d stepped in.

“Maybe we are, Vlad! Can you truly say you’ve never felt anything for anyone?!” Abel’s voice so different yet so comforting even with the fierceness that laced his tone

A deep hurt crossed Vlad’s face before rage overcame him once more. “The council could strip you of everything for this. Time and time again I have to stop you, but this time…” His narrow eyes flickered to her. “It should be impossible… but she almost rejected me.”

“The council can do as they please, I don’t care if it’s for her.” Softer. The words made her heart thump harder than the dreams ever had.

"How sweet, sacrificing yourself for her. When did you grow yourself a heart?" Despite the words, Vlad knew Abel had possessed one for a long time. “And what about your little human, what will she say about an incubus crawling into her bed and trying to cosy up to her as if you can have some kind of… anything!”

Abel glanced at her and, for the first time, he looked nervous. Her hand settled on his, head spinning with all the information, her mind foggy with sleep. A lot to ask of her in one breath.

“I’d like to talk about it, at least. You owe me an explanation if nothing else.” Her sleepy attempt at scolding didn’t do much to dent the look of sheer relief and delight that she hadn’t immediately rejected him. She couldn’t stay mad.

“Disgusting,” Vlad snarled, but she thought she saw hurt and not anger this time. He swirled from the room, the night settling quiet and deep around them.

Abel dropped heavy onto the bed with a quiet sigh and a guilty look cast her way.

“Do you still drink coffee… Like this? I think we could use some.” She made the first move, an olive branch coated in caffeine, and a helpless laugh of relief returned as her reply.

“Coffee sounds wonderful.”

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