#its already slipped through my fingers like when the sun was setting over the sandy shore and i tried to cradle the ocean in my small hands
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absinthemindedly · 5 months ago
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Just kinda the vibe lately ~
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p4lparker · 3 years ago
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A Touch Of Lips
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Birds twittered outside the window, and sunlight leaked through the slits in your blind. You could feel the warm body underneath you. Head resting on a chest which rose and fell peacefully, you tilted your head up, hands coming to rest underneath your chin as you stared at the blonde. His face was so peaceful, still marred with painful looking bruises and cuts; his eyes covered from you in sleep, but his mouth was quirked slightly a smile painted on them even in unconsciousness, his lips looking so inviting that you couldn’t restrain yourself. You pushed up on your hands on his chest and placed a gentle kiss upon him. It was only supposed to be a peck, but when he began to respond it soon turned into a lazy series of smooches.
“Well that’s an amazing way to wake up..” JJ whispered against your lips, not wishing to part from you for too long, you both were smiling into the kisses. You shuffled off of him slightly, wrapping you arms around his middle and snuggling into him, as your arms rearranged around him you brushed against his lower body- feeling his hardness against you made you blush madly at the memory of last night. You could remember the way he felt in your hands and the desperate noises he whimpered out as you pushed him closer to his release. As the hay images flittered across your mind’s eye you felt a rush of heat flow through you and settle in between your legs. JJ stiffened at the brief contact, the slightest brush of hands or lips and it sent him in to a bubble of lust. His lips moving more furiously over your own- hands ventured along bodies- whispered moans filled the heady air surrounding you both. Until there was a knock on your bedroom door, you pulled away from JJ quickly, rolling to the side and off him before pushing him off the bed as the door opened to reveal your father.
“Morning sweetheart..” He smiled, his eyes caught on the black boots at the foot of your bed and cargo shorts. He rolled his eyes and wiped a hand over his face tiredly. “Morning JJ or John B.. “ Your Dad kind of growled out; it wasn’t that he disliked the boys, he just didn’t take kindly to the fact that she was either sharing a bed in with one of them in the chateau or one of them was crawling in to her bed here, and no father wants his little girl sharing a bed with horny teenage boys.
“Breakfast is in the kitchen, I have to go to the station and don’t know what time I’ll be back later so I’ll see you when I see you sweetheart..” Your dad smiled at you softly, which you returned meekly, as JJ’s head popped up from the floor and peered at your dad stood in the doorway. You dad shook his head as JJ tried to not look to embarrassed at being caught out.
“And you… Get clothes on and get outta my daughters bed… You better not have defiled her Maybank or I swear to god..” He pointed a finger at the blond who flinched at the threatening voice.
“DAD! Get out! Go to work!” You cut your father off, mortification racing through your system quickly. You covered your face in your hands, you couldn’t tell if the room was hot or if your embarrassment was burning you alive from the inside out. You could hear your Dad grumbled as he closed the door and slam around the house before leaving for the day. The engine of the cruiser coming to life outside and driving away- but the shame unfortunately didn’t follow. The bed bounced as JJ jumped up on it, pulling you so you could bury your face in his warm chest instead of your hands.
“Has the ground swallowed us up yet?” You whispered and JJ just chuckled dropping a kiss to the top of your head and letting his hands rub up and down your back soothingly.
“Hey, at least we’re both kinda dressed and he didn’t walk in like ten minutes later.. cause then I think we’d all need therapy..” He laughed, your head flying up to stare at him mouth open and cheeks aflame. Your hands left his waist and felt for the pillow behind you before flumping him in the face with it. He sat and stared at you shocked. Eyes wide, mouth dropped open before grinning madly at you and reaching for his own pillow. And thus began “..the pillow fight to end all pillow fights” as JJ had dubbed it, the two of you running around the room wafting pillows at each other, laughing wildly as you both made contact. You were both to enthralled with whacking each other with pillows you didn’t notice John B crawling through the open window, until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and toss you onto the bed- a scream leaving your lips as JJ howled louder with laughter. You looked to your assailant and threw a pillow at him.
“You scared the shit outta me John B!” You crowed, before joining in laughing with your boys. The fight soon became an all out battle, unfair for you as you were being pummelled by the pair of them- your laughter was raucous and loud, and it continued until the two boys collapsed on the bed beside you worn out and breathing as heavily as you were. You all laid together, the boys entwined around you- trying to calm your hearts and guffaws of laughter to chortles, you swept your hair from your face with a huff before realising the contentedness that encapsulated you. You were happy here- buried between your boys, having ridiculous frivolous fun, them entwined around you happily, both just being there. You looked to JJ and waited for his merry blue eyes to find you, you stroked a hand over his face, you then looked to John B and grinned at his tan, freckled face and let your finger poke his cheek. The two leaned in and pecked each of your cheeks, causing you smile to widen into a grin that nearly split your face.
“I heard there is going to be a killer storm in the next couple of days so the swell is going to be immense.. So I was thinking we grab our boards and make the most of it before the tourons ruin our beach?” John B stated, as his fingers found your own and they began to wiggle play with the appendages. His calloused tips tracing over your own and around your palm and wrist- tickling the delicate skin there- you looked to JJ who just grinned, and so it was decided that was what the three of you would do. You patted John B’s stomach and moved to stand from the bed, JJ pinched your side playfully as you moved making you yelp. You collected the abandoned pillows from the floor and tossed them back onto the bed with the boys; they groaned at the impacts but laughed along regardless. You moved around the room; searching through drawers for a fresh bikini, you couldn’t decide between the yellow or pink one, holding part of both suits in your hand thoughtfully.
“Yellow..” JJ murmured from behind, you looked to him over your shoulder- watching as John B nodded emphatically. You smiled lightly and put the pink one back- then moved to your closet and collected some shorts and a t-shirt before turning back to the boys and gesturing for them to leave. They both just stared at you not understanding the issue, you sighed and rolled your eyes.
“Dude, leave so I can change..” You stated exasperatedly, the boys fumbled to get up and leave you to do as you said. You got yourself ready and piled your hair into a messy bun on top of your head as you tugged on the bandeau bikini and other clothes, you slipped your feet into your sandals and ventured out to the boys- grabbing one of each of their hands and pulling them behind you to the kitchen. You shoved a cooler into John B’s arms and began whirling around the kitchen making sandwiches and collecting soda’s and beers before popping them into the cooler. JJ helped pass you things and close cupboards etc as you whizzed around. When you were closing the lid to the cooler, you pushed John B to the front door and JJ jogged to grab your board from the back porch, the three of you venturing out to the Twinkie- and the moment you stepped foot out the door, the sun began slamming its heat into you. You all settle into the van and set off for the beach; you had raced JJ to try and get shotgun, but the blonde had won, and now you sat in the back of the bus, head propped between the two as John B concentrated on the roads which were beginning to become busy with summer-fun-seekers and JJ concentrated on slipping a new juul cartridge into the pen before breathing it in. He held it to your lips, letting you take a hit and smiling as you took it like a champ.
The ride to the beach was filled with tunes and chatter- and before you knew it you were pulling to a stop in a parking space and the three of you sprung from the van, you tugged the cooler with you as you hopped out. JJ had already climbed up onto the roof of the Twinkie and was handing the boards down to John B, once JJ was back on the ground and not precariously leaning half off the roof; you all jogged down to the sandy beach. The air was warm, and the breeze was gentle- it was a glorious summer’s day, but the ominous black clouds pulling themselves from the horizon slowly told you the waves today would be sick. You all ran close to the shore line; spreading out a couple of towels and propping the cooler between them; you watched as the boys stripped off their shirts and shoes, you eyes watching their movements making your mouth go dry, as they stood before you in all of their tan gloriousness. You mind quickly reminding you how those taut muscles felt under your hands and the palms of them tingled.
“See something you like Y/N?” JJ asked teasingly, his face donning a grin fit for the devil himself, John B stood beside him- equally as taunting. You huffed as the flush ran through your body- you’d been caught ogling them, and you couldn’t even play it off. You ignored the comment with a sniff, and proceeded to tug of your shirt and shorts- feeling their eyes on you, you raised a brow before turning to your board- grabbing it and jogging off to the water. Wading your way into the cold waves you stood and let your body regulate to the temperature before sliding onto your board and paddling out to wait for a wave. The boys followed close behind, the three of you floating on your boards as you waited for the waves to begin roiling. The wind picked up as the sky began to darken; you turned your gaze to the once busy shoreline, and watched as the masses began to pack up their belongings and flee the sand as the first few drops of rain splattered onto them, you tilted your head to the sky and let the rain drizzle onto you. As the waves began to get more wild, you waited and began paddling back to shore- the crashing wave chasing you down, when it was upon you- you leaped up to your feet keeping low to keep your balance as you felt the wave take you. Arms out to the sides to keep your balance, you swayed your body with the waters movement below- cutting turns and twists into the wave. Letting out a whoop of joy as you rode the wave for as long as possible before the swell dumped your body in the water below. The boys followed your lead and began chasing and riding their own waves.
You stayed in the water for as long as you could- before your skin was beginning to turn blue from the pouring rain and the freezing ocean. The heavens had opened and the rain poured over you all, but it didn’t stop your laughter or joy. You let the waves push you further into the shore, sliding off your board and wading through the knee deep water until you were able to collapse on the soggy sand- waves lapping at your feet. John B followed you out, dumping his board next to yours before sitting behind you; his wet chest to your goose bump covered back, legs either side of your own, arms locking around your shoulders, face nuzzling into your neck- the both of you watching JJ surf more waves, he was the better surfer out of the three of you. John B brushed his hair back with on of his hands before reaching round and pulling your face towards him and kissing you gently. He smiled into the kiss, before swaying the two of you to an unheard song. He pulled away and pecked the tip of your nose making you giggle- the rain still poured over the pair of you, both watching and whooping as JJ showed off his skills. You sighed happily and leaned against John B’s chest, resting your hands around his forearms- both watching on as the waves became more and more wild, when JJ was dumped from a wave for the fifth time in a row he decided to make his way back to shore to you both. As soon as his foot stepped back on soggy sand, sinking in slightly- thunder cracked and lightening flashed over head. You felt your heart start at the surprising noise- your breathing gasping as you flinched further into John B’s chest. He laughed at your reaction and pressed a kiss to your wet crown before tugging you up- reaching for both of your boards as you collected the cooler and your soggy clothes. You all ran to the van- you diving inside the back of it and wrapping a blanket around your shivering frame, after hoisting the boards back into place on the roof, JJ joined you. Slithering into the blanket with you and wrapping himself around you, as you both shivered together. John B jumped into the cab, starting her up- shaking his long curly hair from his face like a dog before urging her out of the parking spot and down the much quieter roads.
The storm was becoming more violent outside, thunder crashing and lightening flashing more frequently, you could all feel the wind push against the sides of the Twinkie as John B steered her down the familiar path to JJ’s dwelling. As you neared the house you could feel JJ stiffen behind you, and it had nothing to do with him being cold- it wasn’t a home, it could never be called that. A home was filled with love, not terror. The chateau was home, with you and John B- and as he pulled into the dirt track drive you all breathed a sigh of relief as it was empty. Meaning the elder Maybank was working so JJ would have some peace and safety for the night. JJ kissed your cheek laughing as John B raised a brow and pointed to his own, before leaning forwards and dropping a kiss on the brunettes cheek also- he grabbed his gear and an to the door, waving wildly at the pair of you before disappearing behind the door. You slide yourself forwards and clambered into the passengers seat next to John B who began the drive back home. One hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh- covered with goose bumps, he turned up the heat and tried to get the radio to play, but the storm interfered with the signal. The music being drowned out by whitenoise and crackling- as the monster of a storm raged outside. You noticed visibility out the windshield was getting worse, and it made you wonder how John B was able to even see.
Thunder bellowed overhead, and John B swerved to the side of the road; a gasp and a yell leaving you both at the sudden movement. And then pained groans as the Twinkie dipped over the shoulder of the road- lurching you both forwards uncomfortably, you continued to roll forwards until John B remembered to slam the breaks on. The jarring impact of you stopping flung you back against your seat. John B lifted his hands from the wheel and looked over you with worried eyes. When he was sure you weren’t harmed in any way, he wrangled the bus into park and switched her off. You couldn’t see through the wind screen; the rain was coming down in thick sheets. The clashes of thunder were coming every other second and rumbling so loudly within your chest it felt as if your heart stopped beating regularly.
“I can’t drive in this! It’s not safe… looks like we’re camping out here for a while ‘till she passes…” John B called to you, trying to be heard over the cacophony just outside. You nodded and moved to the back of the Twinkie, he followed; the two of you piling all of the blankets and pillows back there in to some sort of comfort, it was like building a fort. Once you were content that it would be comfortable, you flopped yourself down into the blankets, making grabby hands at John B until he laid next to you. You giggled as he snuggled in wrapping himself around you like a blanket himself. He reached one hand from you to your phone- abandoned on the floor, scrolling through it until he found your music, he chose a playlist and let it play aloud. The then switched out of the app and opened up the camera one; holding the phone to face you both, he pushed his face against your own until his lips were pressing into your cheek. He snapped the pic, the tell-tale shutter sound shielding the music momentarily- before moving his lips to cover your own, in a gentle kiss. Again the shutter sound echoed, and you laughed at his cheesiness. But let him have his mini photoshoot all the same. Secretly enjoying every moment as your heart swelled and a warm, fuzzy feeling settled within your stomach. When he was happy he’d captured the moment well enough, he let the music play and let your phone rest near your heads. He let his eyes close and laid on his back before snuggling your head to rest on his chest, you laughed, leaning up and pecked at his cheek before settling back on him once more.
The wind howled around you, the rain pattering down quickly and never-ending upon the roof above, thunder booming making it feel like it was shaking your very being and lightening flickering, lighting up John B’s peaceful face in a darkly beautiful way. He had his eyes closed still, but his lips quirked.
“You’re staring…” He whispered, turning his face to you, before opening his dark eyes and staring back at you. You just smiled gently back at him and he let a huff of air pass through his nose- almost like a laugh. You could feel yourself relax and your breathing slow, and sleep was calling to you both, dragging you towards it peacefully. Until a particularly loud burst of thunder ripped through the sky, making a yelp leave you as you clung to John B.
“Hey, you’re okay.. I got you..” he murmured, one of his hands raising from your waist to tilt your face up towards him- he then leaned down and kissed you. Trying to let his lips calm you, but as his supple lips met yours, and his tongue swept along your bottom lip- they did the exact opposite. The gentle kiss became the spark that ignited flames within you, and his gentle hands smoothing over your skin only coaxed them into an inferno. You manoeuvred yourself to hover above his lips, legs straddling his waist- one of your arms supporting you, the other resting against the side of his face as his lips danced with your own, you pulled away slightly and his pouted lips followed you- making you giggle before meeting him again and kissing him with fervour. You opened your mouth and let your teeth nip into his plump bottom lip, making him groan as he opened his mouth and let your tongue in. You explored his mouth, tongue stroking against his. Hands began to wander, his large ones cupping around your bikini clad backside and squeezed- pulling you closer to him, moving you back and forth on him. You could feel him, and from what you could feel he was feeling the heat all the same- your bottoms becoming damp as your arousal settled there. Your ground yourself on him- languidly, this whole entanglement was leisurely and passionate. His fingers trailed up you back and tugged at the material covering your chest from him- you leaned away and pulled the bandeau top up and over your body and head. As more skin was revealed his eyes marvelled at you, focusing solely on you, taking a mental photograph- memorising the ethereal way your skin glowed in the striking lightening. His hands moved slowly ghosting over your soft skin and cupping your breasts, thumbs moving over your hardened nipples and toying with them gently, the moan slipping from you made his pupils blow and mouth drop open.
You lunged forward again and captured his mouth- kissing again, his lips always welcoming. You hands venturing down his body, tracing over his abs- feeling them contract under your palms- then lower to palm his growing hardness. He stiffened and whined at the contact; the storm outside almost drowning his noises out, you fingers fumbled with the waist band, tugging until he got the message. You pulled back and helped him push his shorts off his body, when he was free you scanned your eyes over him. He was different to JJ, not bigger, not smaller- just different but non-the-less pleasing. Your mouth went dry as you saw the blushing head leaking pre-cum. You let the pads of your fingers trace over it and spread it around, lifting it to your mouth and suckling the taste of him from the tips. You had to fight the urge to go back for more. And John B jut watched you eyebrows so high in his hairline you wondered off-handedly if they would ever return to their usual place. His mouth was wide in an O shape, but no sound escaped him, but he could’ve watched that image of you on a loop in his mind until the end of his days; as he was positive nothing would ever be that enticing. That sexy. You licked your hand thoroughly before letting it wander along his shaft- his head falling back against the floor of the Twinkie with a thump. You let your hand squeeze and run along him building up a smooth pace; not too fast or too slow, and he seemed to appreciate it, if the moans leaving his plush lips were anything to go off. You pressed kisses against any flesh your could; nibling and sucking your mark into his left pec. Smiling at the blossoming bruise that formed- you watched as he was lost in the throes of ecstasy.
You moved your lips down his body kissing and licking against the tan skin, soon enough your face was where your hand was working him. You don’t know what made you do it, but your mind couldn’t keep up with your body- as you surged forwards and let your lips meet the blush head of him. He was lost in the sensation, until he felt something new but not unwelcome- his head popping up and staring at you eyes wide- brows furrowed. You were looking at him for his reaction, and you weren’t disappointed, the look on his face spurred you on, as you wracked your brain for anything you could remember from watching porn. You tentatively opened your lips and left open kisses on the tip.
“F-f-f-uuuuck!” john B whispered, his hands pushing his hair from his face. His response pushed you on. Your mouth opened and took him inside, you bobbed your head down as far as you could before hollowing out your cheeks and sucking on him. You watched him from beneath you lashes, his hands were fisted in his curly locks and tugging at the ends of the strands and his face was screwed up beautifully in pleasure. You moved slowly, taking him in and out of your warmth- moving your wet hand over the parts of him you couldn’t fit into your mouth. His moans made you hum in appreciation- you picked up the pace slightly and pushed him further into the confines of pleasure. And he was so close, so, so close to that delicious release- he wasn’t lasting long, especially when you swiped your tongue over him teasingly as you gained confidence. As he could feel the familiar tightening in his stomach, he tried to let you know to pull away. When his frantic hands tapped at your shoulder you pulled back- he sighed out and took himself in his hand and pumped himself quickly.
“mm gonna cum..” He grunted out as he pumped his hand quicker until spurts of white coated his hand and some landed on your chest. His eyes couldn’t decide whether to screw shut tightly or stare at you wide eyed. He was wrong, this was the most beautiful and sexy thing he’d seen; you covered in him. Once he had ridden out the aftershocks of his release he lunged towards you and kissed you furiously, passionately- his lips slowing until it became more his more familiar languid style. His fingers found their way to your bottoms and began to stroke you over the material. Before slipping underneath- you moved your hips against his hand and tried to gain more friction; chasing your elusive high. John B began shifting his weight until he could roll you beneath him; his hand slipping from the front of your bottoms to the sides and began to tug them down. Once you were bare for him his fingers returned to our most sensitive area- and yours began their exploration of him once more you could feel him begin to harden again, as you both teased eachother. Lips fused in a never ending kiss. You lifted your legs, and began to wrap them around his hips, dragging him towards you. His fingers working you to your end swiftly- pads of his fingers circling and drawing figure eights on your clit, your peak came and you rose with it moaning out loudly at the sensation. He pulled his lips from you, your eyes focusing on his features he looked directly into your eyes, panting slightly.
“Wait!” You gasped out, as your mind began to clear- the look on John B’s face surprised you, you had expected disappointment, not the gentle smile he was sporting. He nodded, not needing an explanation- he pulled his hands from your core, licking your taste from them before rolling off of you. He pressed his lips against yours lazily and kissed you- the way you were beginning to love. He tugged you to rest against his chest once more, pulling blankets around you both as you snuggled toget
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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years ago
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Nothing But A Scratch
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Ivar x Princess reader
Word Count: 3155
Warnings: Tiny mention of violence, a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, Ivar may be out of character (Shrugs).
Summary: Ivar is wounded during battle.
My entry for @maggiescarborough’s 400 Followers Writing Challenge! Congratulations Sophie! 😊❤️For some reason, I always write more than 2k for your challenges 😂
I’m not exactly sure what to say about this. I struggled quite a bit writing it. I’m really hard on myself 😅Hope ya’ll enjoy!
Prompt: The character gets seriously hurt.
According to google translate (An unreliable source, I know), moron in Russian is Debil.
Thanks to @shannygoatgruff​ for beta reading
...
It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself.
The enemy sword was swift, the blade slicing through his armor and deep into the flesh of his belly.
It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when blood began to pour from his wound and past his lips, the adrenaline pushing him forward.
It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when he swayed on his feet, his crutch no longer of use to him.
It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when his legs twisted, and his body collided with the muddy ground, completely vulnerable and surrounded by his enemies.
Ivar dreamed.
He dreamed of Kattegat in the days of his youth, back when he trailed behind his older brothers through the dirt with his hands, only to come to the painful realization that he would never be like them. He dreamed of his mother and her tears, his pride separating them despite how much she pleaded for him not to go.
He dreamed of the salty waters of the Northern Sea and the unforgiving winds that destroyed their ship, splintering it to pieces. He dreamed of Ràn dragging him into the depths of her dark abyss, collecting another prize for her realm of the drowned.
He dreamed of England’s sandy shores, of land ready for the taking, and of the weak-minded men who ruled over it. He dreamed of little Prince Alfred, now a King, holding out his hand to offer him friendship in the form of a chess piece.
He dreamed of Ragnar in the way he remembered best, tired, and decrepit in his final days, a hermit, and yet, in his eyes, he was still the greatest man who ever lived.
It is not your time yet, Ragnar told him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.
He dreamed of Kiev and its massive wooden gates, golden palace walls, and luxurious Byzantine silks. He dreamed of the ambitious Prince Oleg, and of sweet, sweet, Igor. He dreamed of emotionless puppets made to stand with perfect posture while he still struggled to keep up with his own.
He dreamed of the Rus princess with the mysterious umber eyes, always seeking him out in a room. He dreamed of her dark hair hidden under white and gold silks, and of the jewels that adorned her neck and wrists, as befitting a princess.
He dreamed of her smile, never fully reaching her eyes, and of the way her fingers stroked his cheek at night when the fires burned bright against the darkness when her maids kept close watch outside her door.
He dreamed of the smooth expanse of her skin, of her gasps of delight, and her moans of pleasure. He dreamed of her mouth on his, the urgency they both felt as she left crescent moon shapes over his shoulders, clinging on to the precious time that seemed to slip away.
He dreamed of the day he stole her away from her brother, away from the shelter of the Kievan court, and into the safety of his arms. She watched her brother die that day, by the hands of her own nephew, her dark eyes glossing over, but never daring to let the tears fall.
He dreamed of making her his wife, of her in a crown of wildflowers and the sun illuminating the different shades of her hair.
He dreamed of her smile, finally reaching her eyes.
He could hear her calling out to him, begging for him to come to her.
Ivar, please, she cried, Wake up.
He tried searching for her, arm outstretched and fingers reaching in futile attempts. It was impossible, his body fighting through what felt like tar. He sunk deeper into the darkness, away from her soothing voice, and into Ràn’s abyss where Ivar the Boneless was forgotten.
It had been a week before he had shown any signs of consciousness.
7 days of fever, chills, and silence that had him teetering between Midgard and Valhalla.
For 7 days his army laid low after their truce with the Saxon king. For all the attacks Wessex had endured from the Northmen, he valued peace over war, forgiveness over vengeance. A true Christian king.
Alfred was not ruthless.
For 7 days the heathen army waited impatiently, wondering whether the youngest son of Ragnar was to survive, or whether a funeral was to be organized. Some believed he would die. Of course, the wound he received at the hands of a Saxon warrior was a deadly one. A deep gash across his stomach had been opened to infection, causing the fever to take hold of him the first few nights. His legs, more shattered than ever, would make surviving seemingly impossible.
But still, they waited.
The former princess of Kiev waited by his side, as still as a statue of a saint. She kept watch over him at night when the rest of the army was asleep, feeling more lost than she ever did in her brother’s court. She prayed for his soul rigorously, cross clutched tightly in her hand, hard enough to leave an imprint in its wake.
7 days of uncertainty, of prayer and fasting, of fear and loneliness. 7 days of hope and hopelessness, surrounded by untrustworthy men.
But still, she waited.
It was the dead of night when Ivar broke from his delirium.
He wasn’t on the battlefield anymore. He couldn’t hear the screams of his fellow warriors, the clashing of sword against sword, nor could he smell the scent of iron spewing from the blood of both enemy and ally. It was just...darkness.
Perhaps he was in Valhalla, he thought, though if that were true, then the stories were wrong. It was rather underwhelming.
But no, he was not in Valhalla either, not by the scent at least. It smelled of dried herbs, and of that revolting root the Rus princess often drank as a tea. What was it again? Ginseng?—
And then he forced his eyes to open, lashes ripping apart after spending days glued together.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he felt as if he were suffocating under the pile of furs thrown over him. His heart was beating erratically, nearly bursting from the confines of his chest as his body fought to stabilize itself.
He wheezed, his throat feeling dryer than the deserts of the Silk Road. His tongue darted out in an attempt to wet his cracked lips with little success.
Moving was an issue. He couldn’t. It hurt.
His attempt to sit up failed as a yelp ripped free from his lips, croaky and in pure agony. He fell back against the makeshift cot with a grunt.
The pain was excruciating, hot, and vicious in his lower abdomen, like a raven fighting to claw its way in. His legs, though always in a fragile state, felt worse than they had in the years since adopting the use of his braces and crutch.
He struggled to crane his neck, quick to map out his surroundings as best he could. He was in his own tent, that much was evident, as he always had it specifically set to his liking. His weapons were laid out in a corner, along with his ruined armor, crutch, and leg braces. The useless things landed him in a cot, fighting for survival.
“My love?” Her voice was enough to calm his wild heart, his neck snapping in the direction of her voice.
The princess’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from what he could only assume had been days of weeping. Beside her was a steaming cup of tea, producing that horrible smell of Ginseng that made him want to gag. When had she the time to steal the root before they left Novgorod?
Wrapped around her wrist was her gold beaded rosary, bright and shining in the candlelight. She held the cross tightly in her small fist, knuckles white from the pressure. He wondered how long she had sat by his side, praying, waiting for him to recover.
Her fingers dropped the cross, her soft hands reaching for him. Ivar could feel her hot tears drip over his bare chest as she leaned over him.
“Ivar—” She choked his name, sobs already taking hold of her body as she cupped his warm face, “You’re awake! Thank God!” More tears poured from her eyes as her mouth quivered. She lowered herself to her knees, grabbing his hand and placing kisses on the surface.
Ivar wanted to wrap her in his arms, to tell her he was fine, that the gods have not taken him yet, but his arms felt as fragile as his legs, weak from days of disuse. Instead, he brings his fingertips to her flushed cheeks, forcing her to look up at him.
“Hey,” He croaked out, using his thumb to catch another falling tear before running his fingers through her hair, “Stop crying, please, love.” His voice was not much more than a whisper. He sounded more like an old toad than a human, but it was enough to bring her weeping down to mere whimpering.
“It has been days, I thought perhaps…” She trailed off, sniffling before continuing, “I feared the worst.”
The princess was far more worried for his well-being than he ever was.
Ivar was quite content with the idea of falling in battle and ascending to Valhalla. She had not agreed with such sentiments.
It is not your time yet, his father had said to him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.
“It is not my time yet,” He repeated Ragnar’s words, his hand continuing gentle motions through her soft hair, “Valhalla will have to wait a little longer, hmm?”
“Valhalla,” She hiccups, shaking her head, not fully understanding the Viking fascination with death, “Not with the way you throw yourself in battle.” She mutters, wiping her eyes.
She stood, going to the far side of the tent to fetch a bucket with a wooden ladle. She brings a hefty scoop of water to his lips, holding his head up carefully to aid him.
He drank like a mad man, the water running past his chin and down his neck.
“Debil,” She chastised him lovingly in her native tongue, eyes still moist, “Idiot. Where were your warriors?”
“Fighting for themselves,” He gasps, the cold water soothing the dryness of his throat, “Or have you forgotten the ways of war?” He croaks, his lips curling into a smile.
“What would I know of war, my love?” She offers, setting the bucket and the ladle aside once he had his fill, “Or have you forgotten I was but a sheltered princess.” She tried to make a joke of it, but she only sounded miserable saying such words. She brings a hand to smooth down his wild hair, braids unraveling into a long-twisted mess.
“In war,” Ivar begins, eyes fluttering as her nails scratched at his scalp, “You either survive or die.”
“And I suppose you wanted to die then?” A bitter tone was followed by a bitter smile. He cleared his throat, his tired eyes watching how her expression shifted through so many emotions.
His reply was honest. “If that is what the gods intended for me, then so be it. It would have been an honor.”
“What honor is there in taking me from my home, and leaving me to live out my life away from my own family and amongst men I do not know?” She snapped, though the anger was short-lived, and she lowered her eyes.
She was intrigued by Ivar from the moment she had set eyes on him, like a moth to a flame. She was happy to have left with him, happy to have relinquished her title and to have left such a sour life behind. Ivar offered her freedom, adventure, and love, things she never understood the meaning of in Kiev, but she was a fool to believe he was invincible. She had seen him rally crowds to chant his name, had seen his strengths despite his weaknesses, and yet, he bleeds red as every other man does. War takes the lives of men, and Ivar was not immune to such a fate. He welcomed it.
“You are all I have in this world, Ivar.” She spoke gently, as she did when he dreamed of her. Her fingers shifted to trace over the dark lines inked upon his heated skin. The fever had barely broken, but at least he was conscious now. “Please, my love, all I ask is that you stay alive.” Her lips quivered, “I do not think my heart could bear to see you like this again.”
Ivar felt his heart sink.
He knew she wasn’t made to live in a war camp amongst warriors. She was born into a life of gold and silver, into luxury that so many others could only dream of, and yet, she chose to go with him, a fallen king with worthless legs and a heart as dark as coal. He once had the world at his feet. He would do it all again, for her. He had to.
“Do you regret it?” He finally asked though something within him feared her answer.
“Regret what?”
“Regret leaving Kiev with me?” He reiterated, observing her features for any hint of disappointment.
“No,” The response was immediate and without hesitation, “I have been happier with you than I have been all my years in that palace.” She sighs, her hair creating a barrier between them when she lowered her head, “Oleg was not a good man.” Her words were laced in sorrow. Her brother's death still weighed heavy on her heart.
“You deserve more than this,” He said, eyes closing for a moment before bringing them back to her. Her dark brows curved up in a worrisome expression he’d seen on her many times before. “You have given up so much for me, a lonely cripple,” He chuckles when she made noises of protest, “Only the gods know why.” She considers him in silence, noting how unreal the blue of his irises were.
“Ivar?” She questioned, setting her palm on his warm chest and over his heart, silently thankful it was finally beating at a normal pace.
“You’re a princess, my love. The battlefield is no place for you.” He places his hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze.
“All I ask of you is to stay alive.” She spoke softly, her lips curving into a smile, though it wasn’t enough to reach her eyes. “I will not ask you for anything else.” She feared being alone, and rightfully so. She’d been alone all her life in the Kievan court, as expressionless and empty as those Byzantine puppets Oleg was so fond of, donning smiles that never reached her eyes.
“My sweet girl,” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “Come, I wish to embrace you.” Planting both hands firmly on the sides of the cot, he forces himself into a seated position, groaning all the while, feeling the fire burn in the pit of his belly. He grunts, eyes screwed tight as he forced himself upright.
“Ivar!” She scolds, more worried than anything else, “Stop moving! You’ll fester your wound.” She peels off the furs to reveal the gauze wrapped tightly around his mind section, the once white cloth now stained red. “Christ. I must call the healer.”
“Don’t,” Ivar pants, tugging her wrist and quickly bringing her to his side, “Please. I wish for a few minutes to ourselves before I must face the world in this weak state. Grant me this one thing, hm?”
“But your wound—”
“What, this?” He jerks his chin down toward his abdomen with a tired smile, “It is nothing but a scratch.”
“Ivar.” She warned him.
“Princess.” The amusement was clear in his tone, artfully masking his pain. He gripped her waist, tugging her forward and into his arms with a grunt. She smelled of the English forest and of summer blossoms. “I will never leave you.” He mutters the promise into her waist, still ignoring the pain, “I will give you everything you deserve, my love.”
“What of your army?” She questions quietly, fingers dancing over his bicep, “And the Saxon king? Your brother tells me he seeks peace.” Ivar scoffs.
“And he shall get it...for now.” He concludes with an angry twitch of his brow.
“What do you intend to do?” She laid her cheek over the messy strands of his chestnut brown hair.
“Recover, and take you away from this miserable land I should have never brought you to in the first place.”
“Oh, Ivar,” He felt her plant a kiss upon his hair, “I belong wherever you are.” He grunts, gripping her tightly as if she would slip right through his fingers like sand.
“Marry me.” He mutters into her soft linen dress, suddenly feeling as shy as he did when he was a boy.
“Hmm?”
“Marry me.” He said, louder this time, needier, a plea falling from his lips as he tightened his hold on her. He shifts his head to look at her, imagining her with a crown of wildflowers nestled in her soft tresses. Her eyes grew round at his statement, lips parted as if to speak.
“Truly?” She asks, “Or has the fever gone to your head?” Ivar rolled his eyes fondly.
“Why would I bother asking you if I did not mean it, hmm?” His chin lightly grazed her abdomen as he peeked up at her through his lashes. “I will make you a queen, lay the world at your feet if you allow me.”
How many tears could this woman produce? He thought though he was more than satisfied knowing they were tears of joy when she erupted in giggles.
“I accept,” She wiped her eyes before arching down to place a kiss on his lips, “But, under one condition.”
“Oh?” Ivar pulls away from her, brows raised, “Go on, what is it?”
“You must drink the ginseng tea,” She offers, taking the lukewarm tea and offering it to him, “The healers would prescribe it to Oleg whenever he came back wounded from battle. It will revive your strength and clear your body of infection.” Ivar eyes the cup wearily, nose flaring at the abhorrent smell. He didn’t like it.
“It smells horrid.” He complained.
“You fight battles against fearsome enemies, and yet, are too afraid to drink an herbal tonic?” She scoffs. Ivar narrows his eyes, considers her words before muttering under his breath.
“...Very well.” He takes the cup from her, face pinched after taking a sip, “Are you satisfied now? Will you marry me?” She nods fervently, her hands laced together in her joy. A blinding smile settled on her lips like never before.
It finally reached her eyes.
...
@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux​ @shannygoatgruff​ @inforapound​ @walkxthexmoon​ @hecohansen31​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @peachyboneless​ @fuchsiagrasshopper​ @pomegranates-and-blood​
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oumaheroes · 4 years ago
Text
Earthbound: Gabriel’s Story
Written for @needcake, whose wonderful and ongoing encouragement has spurred me to explore new directions.
Context: Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.
Word Count: 3570
Characters: Portugal
Arthur’s story can be found here.
Matthew’s story can be found here.
---
Gabriel is six.  He’s at the doctor’s, which he doesn’t think that he deserves, and to protest this offense he does not answer when he is spoken to.
‘Gabriel? Can you answer some questions for me?’
The lady doctor looks nice enough; she doesn’t look scary but that’s not the point and Gabriel presses his lips together and picks up a plastic shape. It’s solid and brightly coloured and he has some like this at home. He likes to build with them, usually, when he can get them from the other kids for long enough, and on the rare occasions he’s left alone with them undisturbed he builds high high towers and pretends they’re castles.
He turns this one, red and smooth, over in his hands and lays it on the small plastic table he is knelt in front of with finality. It will be a part of a dungeon.
‘He’s always like this,’ His foster mummy Anita speaks from behind him, over his head, ‘he has these funny moods where he won’t speak at all, and then when he’s not eating it just gets worse. Never had a kid like him.’
Gabriel feels his presence swallowed softly underneath her words as the conversation passes over and around him as if he were not there. He picks up another shape. This one is round at the edges and is blue. It can go at the top.
The Doctor gently taps the table by his elbow. He turns to find her crouched next to him; eyes slightly too wide behind large glasses. She smiles, ‘What are you building?’
He shrugs.
‘Ah,’ She ponders the beginnings of his construction with interest, ‘Well, the biggest I’ve seen someone build with these is about this big,’ she gestures with her hands to her chest and Gabriel is forced to look at her.
That is quite high.
‘I can go bigger.’
The doctor raises an eyebrow sceptically, ‘I don’t know,’ she says, ‘the girl who built it didn’t have to go home for dinner.’
‘I don’t have to go home for dinner,’ Gabriel retorts, immediately. Mummy Anita scoffs and Gabriel flushes, looking away.
‘Do you not like dinner?’ the doctor prompts, softly.
Gabriel shrugs again.
‘I don’t like Option 3,’ the doctor says. She reaches under the table and picks up another shape -yellow, a triangle- and puts it near him.  Might be a good turret ceiling, if they leave him alone to build high enough, ‘that’s what I hate. But my favourite is Option 17.’
‘I don’t like any of them.’
‘No? You must like one of them, there are so many!’
Gabriel shakes his head and continues to stack shapes, ‘they all taste funny.’
‘Funny?’ the doctor glances at Mummy Anita who shrugs.
‘None of the other kids say that. We’ve had the machine checked out- I eat from it. It’s fine. Even tried him on other machines but he says they all taste funny.’
The doctor looks back at him and he tries to look unbothered by their discussion, ‘Why do you think food from meal machines tastes funny? What’s strange about the food?’
It’s an easy enough question, but one that Gabriel can’t really answer- not even to himself.
The best way he can describe it is that food from machines just tastes wrong.
All meals come from food machines. They’re in every home and school and all taste the same; a catalogue copy of meals for everyone to have. But there’s a dryness to everything, something that sticks bland and metallic in his mouth and no matter which out of the many hundreds of options he tries, Gabriel hates them all. There’s something wrong about them, he thinks, something unnatural that he never wants to taste, no matter how used to it he knows he should be. Food from machines is all he’s ever eaten.
They don’t grow things on his colony; vegetables or fruits or grain. There’s no room in the towering stacks of buildings, stretching into the dusty orange sky. The colony is a jumble of things, a jungle bleached colourless and lifeless despite the scattering of people that scrabbled through its warrens.
There is no room for fields here. No farms for cattle to roam. The machines feed them: food materialised from the collective memory of humanity. Gabriel has heard in the playground at school that other human colonies, the ones further off into space where their communications cannot reach, make their own food from scratch, like the people of the olden times of Earth. This seems bizarre to him. What difference would it make, if you made a meal from things instead of a machine? All of their neighbouring colonies do the same as they do and this is all anyone of them have ever known.
Either way, the taste is lifeless and empty so Gabriel avoids eating as much as possible, giving in only when his tummy hurts with an ache that needs to be filled with something, anything, before it will think of going away.
He doesn’t know how to put this into words, so he turns away and adds another block to his tower, hoping that the adults will leave him alone. The doctor on his side sighs and taps something into her e-tab, looking back over at Mummy Anita.
The conversation begins again, over his head, and Gabriel slips away.
When Gabriel is thirteen when he realises that something about him isn’t quite right. It’s not his problem with food, although that has never improved, things taste as stilted now as they ever have done. No matter what meal option he tries, and no matter from which machine, there is the same blandness to everything, a cotton covering that prevents him from tasting what everyone else says he should.
But lack of taste is the least of his concerns.
The word most used to describe him by adults is ‘unfocused.’
This isn’t something he thinks is fair, but he understands how they think that, he supposes. He can often be found staring out of a window or escaping off into space, eyes glassy and face slack. He doesn’t agree with the term ‘unfocused’ because Gabriel is very focused on doing just that.
Escaping.
It is easy. So very, very easy. Like a quick breath in, he can switch off today effortlessly and take himself away somewhere, mind’s eye overlaying reality to wash his surrounds bright and true and better. He can take himself to a place so perfect it can only exist in his mind- soft sandy beaches in front of scrubby mountainsides that soar and roll up and down in sharp curves, all under a sky so blue it burns. Cyan rivers wend down corridors and curl around the legs of his classmates, a cliff face leans out of the drop of a window, a dark cupboard hides the maw of the unknown- damp caves that drip drip drip with depth and cool his older, sun-burnt skin.
If he closes his eyes and truly does focus, he can go even further- bite down and taste Brazilian gold, hard and cold as it hits his teeth to send shivers of warning up his spine. A dropped pencil or a creak of a floorboard snaps into the crackle of a fire, hot and close and his mouth waters with the promise of flame kissed meat and the smell of woodsmoke.
As much as he enjoys this, he realises it is a problem because it is not something that anyone else does. Not anymore, at least, and never as well. Children used to play pretend, of course, when they were younger- it was normal. Gabriel always seemed to be the best at it, somehow, better able to call to mind a place for their games with a vivacity no one else could hope to compare to and it was fun- something he excelled in. He made all of their games, a playmaker in setting the stage and lifting another world to blanket the dusty playground and wrap them all in colours.
But his friends have grown out of such things. Their thirst for the imaginary cooled and then tapered off entirely whilst Gabriel’s hunger for it only grew and grew until he could travel miles in the blink of an eye, drumming fingers playing a marching song to set the pace and propel him onwards.
Why be here when he can be elsewhere? Why would he ever choose otherwise, when elsewhere was a paradise unlike any other. Any colour, any texture, any smell or taste, and all blended and whirled together to spill a storm of yearning through his waking days.
Maybe he could write, he thinks. He is sixteen and thinks that, maybe this is why he does this. Maybe this is something that is normal after all, if he can put what he is feeling to paper and share it with others. If it is productive, it is good, after all. If it creates something tangible, if it is something that others can use and enjoy then it is something worthy; it has value. When it is just for him, it is strange; adults watching with dark and wary eyes, muttering condemnations that shackle him with labels.
It is the way of things.
But writing is harder than it looks. Words only describe so much and are too flat, too rigid to encompass the entirety of what he feels and sees. On paper, the world of his daydreams regresses to shapes like the coloured blocks he used to love as a child- useful for building something, yes, but ultimately something controlled and solid, changeable but unmoving and limited. Gabriel’s imagination isn’t like this, it is constantly new and fluid, forever showing him more and more and more with a detail words can never capture, never truly express.
He dreams of orchards, of fruit so orange and full and clear to him that he can see the speckles of dust in the dips of its skin, the dew that sits on the leaves in the morning. He feels himself, brown, large hand scarred with mistakes and history, close about it and pull; feels the tension as it resists on the branch before a gasp of a break. The leaves of the tree swing back and the fruit is full and firm and he can taste it, taste how full it will be when he peels back the skin and bites down to flood his mouth with sweetness.
He feels air that is cool and tastes of salt, wind that pushes and tugs at his clothes, of a floor of wood that moves and bucks in angry waters of grey and blue. Unknown jungles where the air is thick and hot, arid plains where the sun scorches the rocks, and damp misty hills that whistle ancient secrets across the miles and twist his heart until it breaks.
What is that.
Why is that.
He doesn’t know.
When Gabriel is eighteen, the foster home he is in releases him.
‘You can stay, if you want,’ Anita gives him a measured look, up and down, from beneath her eyelashes, ‘but you’ll need to start paying rent. Benefits stop for you now so I can’t keep you about for free.’
Gabriel blinks at her, ‘But, I don’t have a job.’
Anita’s face remains impassive, ‘Then you’ll have to find one.’
‘How?’ he is angry, all of a sudden. Older children had never stuck about after their eighteenth birthday but he always imagined that they had left of their own accord, that they couldn’t wait to leave. Now he wonders how many of them were forced out, where they went, ‘I’ve never had one before.’
‘Your school should do something about helping you find one. Or, here,’ she reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out her e-tab. The paint of the old thing is chipped but it still works; the screen flashes bright and the contrast with the dark office room washes her face flat and white in the glow. After a moment, she holds out the tab to him, ‘there are some programmes about. Take a look at them and sign up to some.’
Gabriel doesn’t take it and her arm hangs there, suspended and stiff between them. Eventually, she sets down the tab and pushes it towards him, ‘I’ll give you two months, if you want to stay. You should be able to find something in that time.’
‘What do I do if I can’t find anything?’ there is a tightness in his chest. He does not like it here, does not really even like her but the taste of betrayal is thick on his tongue and catches in the back of his throat to prick at his lungs, ‘what do I do? This isn’t fair.’
Anita looks at him, hard and cold, ‘Life isn’t fair. The quicker you learn that, the better off you’ll be.’ With that she motions with her head towards the door behind him and tabs on her computer, bringing it back to life.
The conversation is over.
Gabriel clenches his jaw, spins about and opens the door. The e-tab he leaves on her desk.
He moves his way through the house and out to the street. Night has fallen and the glow from their fat, orange sun hangs warm and faded behind the horizon. It looks like a painting; abstract- not real. The cut of the skyline is wrong, too sharp and small and alien all at once and he hurts with the urge to close his eyes and drift away on the tide of his dreams to somewhere better.
He can’t. He needs to do something, needs to go somewhere, needs to eat. Food machines are everywhere, but they cost money that he doesn’t have and the fear of hunger for the tasteless pushes him into the tangle of streets.
Gabriel is twenty-two. He found a job, eventually. It was the spur of the moment, out of desperation, but it’s not all that bad, in the end. He is a builder.
The monotony of manual work allows him to loosen his mind, lift himself out of his body as he lays dun-coloured bricks down in careful order, one by one by one. He builds a home under his hands but his mind is away, far far into grasses so tall they tickle his cheeks and he reconstructs himself into a reality he can control.  
This brick can be the dungeon. This brick can be a turret. Gabriel can be elsewhere.
This is enough. It is enough, he tells himself. It is more than enough; if he gets better, he can actually do that, actually build the castles of his dreams. Maybe he could be an artist, or an architect, maybe he can design a whole new colony that has fancy machines to replicate wind or bodies of water to recreate a sea deep and blue enough to have come straight from the Earth itself.
When he thinks about this too deeply, it hurts.
The ancient planet sings to him from the files of history, a stunning colourful thing that hangs suspended in time. Oh, what he would give to be there. To see the oceans and feel the grasses of fields that are somehow so very green. What he would give for the possibility see it, just once. Any part of it.
The pictures he’s seen, the videos and the stories that are collected into binary are the only things left of humanity’s original home- something so colourful and incredible that it is hauntingly impossible. Gabriel’s dreams must be modelled on it, he knows, they must have a grain of truth in them because only his imagination can compare to the flat, coded remains of Earth. Nothing man-made can be so beautiful, nothing built by mortal hands produce such unkempt beauty.
Gabriel feels like he was born in the wrong time, made and moulded to explore something older and wilder where he can go and go and go and always see something new, unending and natural. This lost opportunity, this missed moment and incorrect assignment whips a storm in his heart and brings tears to his eyes but passes, eventually. He is not a man for regret, not a man to dwell on what he cannot have and he consoles himself with the idea that maybe, one day, he can help to build a new world that rivals the one in his dreams.
When Gabriel is twenty-four, one of the human colonies fails. As the colony collapses, life systems screaming into the vacuum, the population spills into the sky, desperate to get away however they can. As one of their closest neighbours, despite the distance, Gabriel’s planet catches a lot of them.
They arrive in huge patchwork ships- cobbled together with speed, not precision. They’re falling apart and can barely cling on and the people they contain are scared, panicked things; exhausted by the constant and very near threat of death they press beseechingly into their new home. His planet is full, really, too full to take on so many but they have nowhere else to go, no place else to stop and so they flock into streets and public buildings, cawing for food and water and housing.
As a builder, Gabriel is in high demand and is immediately put to work. Hastily constructed houses spring up, growing the towns outwards and into the desert. There are no domes here- Gabriel’s planet can sustain itself and for the new arrivals this is bewildering.
Gabriel begins to talk to one of them. She is old, feather light skin wrinkled and soft, and she flutters like a bird about the building site, eager to offer help in any way she can. It’s sweet and Gabriel softens to her instantly, sensing she feels a displacement similar to what he does. A kinship of the unbelonging.
Every afternoon she arrives and as soon as his shift ends, he lowers himself to the ground and goes in search of her. They take tea together in the shade and talk existence to rights.
‘You remind me of my grandson,’ she says one day. Gabriel avoids talking about her planet or her family, or anything to do with what brought her here. He does not know what parts of it will cause her pain and he has no wish to do that to her. She must feel enough when she is alone, he knows, when she has time to mourn what she has lost and it is not his place to bring that sadness to other aspects of her day. She never offers anything and so the subject lies between them, an elephant in the void of space.
When she says this, then, he is surprised and curious, ‘Oh? How so?’
She smiles, ‘He’s a dreamer too. Always thinking of things when he should be focusing. He makes a similar face to the one you do.’
Gabriel blushes, ashamed to have been caught drifting off whilst in her company.
She sees his embarrassment and laughs, ‘Oh no, don’t worry- it’s fine. I used to love watching him float away somewhere. I used to say he was going off to Neverland.’
‘That’s a nice description for it,’ it’s an old Earthen story Gabriel was fond of growing up- a tale of a journey to somewhere else, ‘What was his name?’
‘Is,’ she corrects firmly and Gabriel nods apologetically, ‘Is. His name is Peter.’
‘Peter,’ the name fits a fellow daydreamer. The boy who never grew up. Gabriel decides to ask, tentatively, ‘Where is he?’
The old lady looks wistful, ‘Earth,’ she says with a sigh, ‘He and his parents managed to get passage to Earth but I wasn’t able to. We’re too far out to send any communication- I don’t want to think about what they believe became of me.’
Gabriel blinks once. Twice. Tries to speak, ‘Earth?’
She frowns at him, ‘Yes, don’t you know?’ Realisation hits and she shakes her head, ‘Oh, I forget that you don’t hear much this far out. Earth was declared habitable a few months ago. They’re starting a founding colony there to see if humans can survive there again.’
‘Wh- what?’
She looks at him, concerned, ‘Are you alright? You’ve gone awfully pale.’
Gabriel can’t really understand her, her voice feels like its coming from one end of an endless tunnel and his heart is hammering too loudly in his chest to focus on her. He stands, shaky, and she clutches at his shirt hem, ‘Gabriel? Gabriel, what’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ his heart pounds canon fire, a boom boom boom that disorientates him. He smells smoke, smells fire, smells death, ‘I thought- I thought it was gone, Earth was gone.’
‘It was, but they travelled to investigate about a decade ago and they’ve been researching it- dear please sit down.’
She tugs at him but he shakes his head, a ghost of understanding in his mind that slips away like silk, ‘Can we go? Who can go- can I go?’
She looks scared, ‘Yes, but there’s a waiting list, you need to get your name down- Gabriel!’
---
He doesn’t wait for her to finish. He takes off into the centre of town to the public buildings, pushing his way through crowds to get there faster. He won’t waste one second more, will grab hold of what acutely feels like a delicate second chance with both hands and won't dare to let go.
AN:
This was my first time writing Portugal as a character with a voice and it was both challenging and very fun to do. There are so many amazing Portugal writers out there to inspire me and I hope I have done him justice for any of you who read this!
The full fic can be found here on A03. It doesn’t include Portugal, but explores this AU a whole lot more with a different cast of characters.
Thanks for reading!
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please-buckme · 4 years ago
Text
I’ll Never Be The Same.
Hayden Christensen x reader
Warnings: a lil sad, fluff, smut. NSFW 18+ You hooligans!
Words: 2.1k
Request: Hi! So umm I’ve never done this request thing before since I haven’t been on here that long. But I really want you to continue the Ewan x Reader x Hayden 😂...but like with just Hayden 😳 Could you do it where the reader and Hayden meet up the next day and just to get to know a lot more about each other and then.....go at it like bunny rabbits, after all he said he wasn’t finished sooo....😂😳💀Request from @missgirlnoname 🥰💕
Part 1
Masterlist
A/n: I wanted this to be kind of like their physical representation of a melody. How their bodies intertwin and mesh as if made for you one another. I hope I did a good job of trying to portray what I’m seeing in my head! 💕
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The morning sun crept its way through the thin hotel curtains. Your eyes stung when you opened them to the blindingly white room. Squinting now, You rolled over, taking in a deep breath, trying to wake up your exhausted body. The pain from last night's events finally sat in as you slept, every move hurting more than the last. A smile crept across your face as you recall everything Ewan and especially Hayden had done to your body. The aches and pains being totally worth it, with the pure ecstasy they brought you.
Your hands traveled down your still naked body, landing in between your thighs. Hesitantly, you massaged the sore muscles in your legs, wincing every so often. Had they really been this aggressive towards you? You weren’t complaining, you’d just never been this sore after sex. But you’d also never had a threesome, so maybe that’s the difference? You bit your lip trying not to let out a pained sigh since Hayden was still sleeping beside you.
When massaging your thighs didn’t seem to be making a difference you lifted your hands to your lower stomach, massaging the just as tender muscles. “Ow” the word slipped from your lips when you hit a sore spot.
This did wake Hayden up slightly, rolling over onto his back, exposing his beautiful chest and abdomen. He was just as beautiful in the mornings, except his face was sleepier, more puffy, making him look almost angelic. You ran your eyes up his body until you met his eyes, his already staring into yours.
“Good morning.” His deep, groggy morning voice making your sore walls throb.
“How are you so beautiful in the mornings?” You smile, making a deep chuckle vibrate through his body. “Like you can’t even laugh without turning me on.” You admit, laughing yourself.
“Mmm, already ready for round 5 I see. Come here then.” He smirks while whipping the sheets from his body, exposing his immaculate morning wood.
You sigh, biting your lip in frustration, “There’s just one problem with that?”
“And that is?” He sat up, looming over you. He’s awake enough now to see the bruises left all over your body and how your hands knead at your skin.
“I- uh, I don’t think I can move.” A shy smile fell on your lips, breaking eye contact with him now. Hayden threw his head back laughing. “It’s not funny you jerk- ow.” You went to slap his shoulder playfully, forgetting about your soreness momentarily.
Hayden pushed the sheets off of the both before straddling your waist. “When I said I was going to fuck you until you couldn’t walk, I guess I meant it.” He started massaging just above your hips, making you wince again. “Shh I got you. Just relax and tell me something.”
“Something like what?” You ask.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Oh here and there. My daddy had a job where he had to travel a lot so we traveled all over the country.” You laughed, thinking back at the memory of it being just the two of you. “He used to call me his co captain when we would drive to a new location. It’s stupid but it made me feel special.”
Hayden smiled repositioning his hands to your hips now, “So you’re a daddy's girl?”
“Ow- well I- um, I- I was but he died. A couple years ago.”
Hayden’s eyes went wide, “oh I’m sorry. We don’t have to-“
“No it’s okay.” You interrupt. “He was sick. I took care of him for 2 years before he passed. I’m glad he’s not in pain anymore, ya know. Like I miss him everyday but I’m happy he’s in a better place.”
“Are you religious? You believe your dad’s in heaven?” He dug into you a little deeper, making your hips jolt.
“Mmm, I don’t know what I am. He just told me before he died that he’d be looking down on me everyday. I guess I’d like to believe that.” He hummed above as if in agreeance.
“Would he have been proud of you last night.” He grinned.
You sighed, laughing. “He was a huge Star Wars fan. He’s actually the one who got me into it, so maybe.”
“What’d he think of me?” Hayden asks, sliding his hands to your outer thighs.
“Uh, he only got to see ‘Attack of The Clones’ but he liked you. Darth Vider was his favorite so the idea of Vader’s backstory blew his mind.” He smiled again exposing his beautiful, toothy smile. How could someone so beautiful want to set here and listen to you just.. talk. And he’s not even just someone he’s The Hayden Christensen. As much as it pained you, you reached your fingers up to his arm, tracing the muscles softly.
“I would’ve loved to have met him.” Hayden says without realizing what he had just triggered in your brain. He ‘would’ve loved to have met him’. Did he mean as a fan or as your dad? You knew all you’d done was slept with Hayden but to you he meant more than just sex.
“It’s too bad he didn’t get to see you in ‘Revenge of The Sith’.” You say.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Oh it was hands down your best performance out of everything else you’re in.” You smile up at him. He smiles back at you, leaning down to your face, twisting a few strands of your hair in his fingers. This all felt so natural. It was almost as if you’d done this every morning with him. The muscle relaxing, the conversation, the hair playing- everything. With Hayden you felt at home for the first time in years.
“You didn’t just like my movies because you think i’m hot right?” He smiled, still twirling the same strands of hair.
“Oh that’s the only reason I ever watch your movies.” You giggle, letting him know it was just a joke. “But no of course not. Hayden you’re an amazing actor, truly.”
“You’re not just saying that to get in my pants?” He joked.
“Baby, I already got into your pants.” You can’t push back the feeling of wanting to kiss him, so you do. Just a light peck, that he welcomes.
“What was that for?” He asks.
“I don’t know. I just really felt like kissing you.” He smiled softly, almost as if he was being bashful. This cute, shy side of Hayden made you want to kiss him even more. Something in the room changed though. You mean this kiss would mean something different than the last one did. When you captured his lips again you didn’t pull away and neither did he. It wasn’t the heated kiss he’d given you the night before, this kiss was passionate and longing and a hint of neediness.
“Do you leave today?” He asks, rushing to lock his lips with yours again.
“Yeah- at 3” You answer.
“Good.” He presses his hips down onto yours, earning a pained moan from you. “Oh gosh i’m sorry. We don’t-”
“No. I- I want to. I want you.” your eyes stare into his, not wanting to look away from those beautiful pools of blue. Your hands find their way to his luscious, sandy curls, massaging them at the back. He smiles slightly again, then leans into you again.
This time he’s gentle and patient with you, caressing your curves as if they were made for him. When you break free to catch your breath Hayden discends kisses down your neck. Right now you were his and he knew it. He wanted you so bad and the only way he could express his feelings was to make love to you, instead of the rough fucking he’d given you the night before.
This was also weird for him. He and Ewan had done this many times before. Not once did he massage their aching bodies, let alone bring them back to his room. You were different and he knew that. He also knew that once you left the room it ended. He couldn’t be seen with a fan and you had to go back to your life. Things had to be the way they were before you met.
You gasped when he licked a stripe between your breasts, not expecting it of course. His hot breath fanned over your skin when he laughed at your reaction. “I can’t make you feel better, would you like that?” He says, kissing just below your belly button..
“God, yes.” Gently he spreads your legs, trying not to hurt you in the process. You gasp at the feeling of his face once again between your legs. His thumb massages your sensitive nub just before he takes your cllit into his mouth, devouring your bundle of nerves. You feel him suck and bite and lick all at once, making you throw your back back. Delicate moans leave your lips as he continues his actions on your clit. Your hands find his hair again as you pull him closer to your core.
“Oh god, Hayden.” Your back arches at the sensation, adding a new level of pleasure. “Keep doing that, yes.” He did as you asked but sped up, bringing you to your shattering climax. He helped you ride out your climax, then when he was done he kissed you clit again. Such a subtle action but yet so sweet, almost as if he were claiming you as his.
When he eventually made it back up your body you couldn’t help but kisses, really kiss him. It was hungry yet still full of passion, “I love tasting myself on your tongue.” You hum.
“I love the taste of you on my tongue too, babygirl. You’re sweeter than the rest.” You groaned into his mouth, needing him more than you did last night. You reached down between your bodies and aligned him with your still swollen entrance. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”
“I need to feel you- please.” His member enters you slowly, both of you hissing at the contact. A tear falls down your cheek and he pauses inside you.
“Should I stop?” He worries.
“No, no. Keep going. I’ll adjust.” He pushes until he bottoms out at your hilt. He stays there, peppering your face in kisses while he waits.
He whispers sweet things into your skin, “You’re doing so good, babygirl. You’re so strong and beautiful. I’m never gonna find another girl like you.” This only makes you cry more. If everyday with Hayden was like this you wouldn’t mind the fame or the fans, as long as you get this side off him when you two were alone.
He slowly pulls out of you once he feels your body relax a bit. He groans, kissing you again as he comes to pull in and out of you. His pace doesn’t change and that’s when you knew this was more than just fucking to him too. Instead of pounding into you he was taking his time, kissing your bruises, whispering sweet nothings, making you feel.. loved again.
You reach out to press down on his lower back, letting him know he could move a little faster. He takes the hint, spreading your legs higher up to your chest, making you gasp. “I’m never going to forget this tight little pussy. How it clinches around my cock.” He huffs as you can tell he’s reaching his climax. “I’m so weak for you, baby. I’m about to cum and we just got started.” Everything he’s doing and saying brings you over the edge again, making you cum with Hayden not far behind. Hayden helped you both ride out your highs before pulling out of you, continuing to pepper kisses along your body. “I could do that with you for the rest of my life.”
-
Once Hayden’s lips finally tired themselves out he offered to start a shower for you. When you’d showered off both and and Ewan you got dressed. Hayden gave you one of his shirts which you were over the moon about but simply said thank you. Once you had all your stuff together he walked you to your room. “I had a great time.” he said just before you opened the door to your room.
“I did too.” You smile whilst jiggling the key from the door. “It may have been a little routine for you but this actually meant a lot to me.. Thank you.” You smiled down at your feet, a little embarrassed by your confession.
Hayden grinned, “Nothing about you was routine, Y/N” You looked back out at him, feeling the need to kiss him again. Hesitantly you did and he responded immediately, picking you up off the ground by your waist. Tears welled in your eyes but you blinked then away as he put you back down. “Until next time.” He says, kissing your hand.
“Next time.” When you go to pull your hand away he grasps it tight before finally letting go.
-
Taglist: @haydens-moles @valkyrieofthehighfae @cocassedoodles @basicanti-socialb-tch @alyssa-skywalker @stefslightsaber @alideetoo @princessxkenobi @midnightanixx @luminarahan @missgirlnoname @adovranakin @skylerrae-solo @skkye @rougestardustjedi69 @romaniansweetheart
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makbarnes · 3 years ago
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Chapter 4: You'll always be safe with me
Chapter Summary: After a rough night Lee treats you with sweetness on this Saturday.
Word Count: 2.5K (near)
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
Your eyes darted all around as you searched for Lee. With every minute that passed your heartbeat picked up and you clutched your blanket tighter. Your hand shook as you tempted yourself to open the door but decided against it. Tears pricked your eyes as you waited in the seat and tried to calm yourself. You wiped away the tears that clouded your vision and sniffled up the snot that began dripping from your nose.
“Please be okay, Please be okay.” Your mouth was buried in the fur of the kitten stuffy and you hid your face in the white fur. Your fingers played with the ribbon around its neck and tucked your knees into your chest. You kept your eyes trained on a spot in the treeline, as your nerves got the best of you and you picked at your exposed skin at your wrist. You whimpered with every pick from your nails and you tried to keep yourself calm and not continue it. It felt like hours as you waited for Lee to come back and hoped you wouldn’t be out there all alone. After your tears were dry and your wrist had blood rising to the skin you felt a rush of relief come over you as Lee came back and leaned against the car. You quickly unlocked your door and jumped into his arms. Lee hugged you tightly as he caught his breath against the car, Lee wiped the streaks of tears away and kissed your forehead roughly. You tucked your face against him as he picked you up and put you in the car. He kept you snuggled up against him as he rubbed your back slightly as he waited for his deputies to come back to their cars. He knew they were all okay and he also knew that you must have heard the shot from Carl’s gun after one of the idiots dropped it. He wrote down his information he had on the case and rushed back to the car as fast as he could. He felt guilt rile his gut as he saw a glimpse of red on your wrist, picking it up he sighed heavily and you avoided his eyes.
“Oh Kitten...what’d you do?”
“Nofhing.”
“Are ya lyin’ to me? I’m not mad Kitten, Just tell me what happened.”
“I was scared and worried and I didn’t mean to. I just started and couldn’t stop. I’m sorry.” Your tears stained his shirt as he ran his thumb over your worn skin and just held you.
“Kitten I’m so sorry. My dumbass deputy picked up his gun and dropped it. The damn thing went off and I had to write everythin’ down so I could file a report when I got back. I was hoping you had gone to sleep.” Lee adjusted you to cuddle into his side before he started the car and sped to the station. Your whimpers had subsided and you had easily fallen asleep from the lack of adrenaline. Lee smiled and kicked open his door as he lifted you into his arms, your arms lazily held your kitten. He walked into the office and settled you on the couch before ripping his notepad from his pocket and quickly dialing his sister’s number. He sighed as he watched your sleeping figure on his couch and cleared his throat when he heard the line click.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sandy, It’s Lee. Carl’s been found dead. I need to talk to you.”
“Fuck off Lee.”
“Sandy! Now listen to me. Carl’s dead with his own gun and you know somethin’. Meet me at the station tomorrow or I’ll have a warrant on your ass.”
“Whatever big brother. I gotta trip to Virginia planned out” Sandy slammed the phone down and Lee rolled his eyes as he sat down in his chair and filled out a report. He left Sandy’s name off as next of kin to hopefully give her enough time to get her story straight. Lee felt in his gut that something wasn’t adding up.Glancing at his bottom drawer and watching your steady breathing before leaning down and sliding open the cabinet. He picked up the glass bottle and set it gently on his desk. He glared at the bottle and back at you, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth he set the bottle back down in the cabinet and walked over to you. Lee gently picked up your head from the couch and moved to sit under your head. He ran his fingers through your hair as you snuggled in his lap.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You rubbed your eyes softly as they fluttered open to see Lee’s feet resting on his small coffee table, his relaxed hand was laying over your waist and he was asleep as he leaned on his hand that was propped up on the arm of the couch. You sat up and yawned into your hand before nudging Lee’s shoulder.
“Lee? Lee?” You shook his shoulder lightly as he jolted awake to see you sitting up next to him and the sun just starting to rise out of his window.
“Hey Kitten. Awake already?”
“I just missed you too much.” You scooted closer to him and he instantly pulled you onto his lap. Lee checked his watch and his eyes shined up at you and a smile grew over his lips.
“I have an idea. You get changed ‘M gonna pack up your things.” Lee kissed your cheek as you happily moved off of him and he grabbed the file he had left on his desk and laid it out on his assistant desk for Monday. Carl can wait, nobody gave a shit about him anyway. You changed in the station’s bathroom while Lee packed up your things and he hung up his uniform in his small closet. He pulled a yellow flannel over his white tank top he kept on under his uniform. He slipped on his extra pair of brown slacks before turning his head to see you walk in wearing an ice pink babydoll dress. Your hair was tied up behind you with a matching ribbon and you kept your eyes from Lee. He tucked his arm around you and guided you out to his patrol car, opening the door for you. He slid in next to you behind the white wheel and smiled as he took off down the street. You watched him take a few turns before pulling into a gravel covered area and guiding you out. Lee opened his trunk and wrapped a blanket around his arm as his fingers laced with your own.
“Where are we?”
“Watching the sunrise Darlin’. It’s Saturday. Thought we could do this and then take you home, breakfast, spend the day together.” Lee smiled as he stopped you and laid the blanket out in the grass. You settled down against the blanket and pulled Lee down next to you, He gave you a chaste kiss before slipping your pacifier into your mouth. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of the pinkish clouds and bright orange sun coming over the edge of the world. Lee fiddled with the bottom of your dress and a blush came over your features as his fingers traced over your skin. You adjusted yourself closer against him and shivered a bit as you felt the heat coming off of him. “Cold baby?” You nodded your head without an answer and he moved to hover over you. “Bet I can warm you up.” Lee winked as he pressed his fingers against your hot core and smirked up at you. “Bad girl, no panties?” Lee reached up and slowly slipped the paci out of your mouth.
“You didn’t pack any.”
“Caught me.” He trailed his nose over your legs as he pressed sweet and soft kisses to your skin. You took the opportunity to move onto his lap and press yourself against him. You linked your fingers together behind his neck and moved just enough for him to slip his pants down a bit. You chewed under his ear as his hand came around to hold your balance.
“D-daddy!”
“I got ya, Doll.” Lee easily moved you to lay back against the blanket again. He hiked up your skirt in his hand and pulled it to the side. You wrapped one leg around his waist, giving him a better angle. “Shit. You’re so perfect.” You flooded your ears with compliments and teases as he slowed the pace down to have you begging under him. You whined as he smacked our hand away from your clit, for going too fast. Lee pulled himself out of you far enough to earn a whine and have you pull him back against you. “I think we can let me play this time.” You nodded your head and arched up to him as his hot breath fanned over your nipples. Grinding against his hips as he teased them with his mouth you tilted your head back a bit just enough to see the orange fading and it becoming morning. You laughed when Lee moved you onto your stomach and hiked your ass into the air. You made no effort to muffle your moans as he surprised you with a bone jarring pace. He had a hold on your hips and his other arm wrapped around toying with your needy clit. You tensed as you held back your impending orgasm, Lee ran a hand up your spine before holding your neck and pulling you up to rest on your knees. As you leaned your head back against his shoulder he dropped his hand to cup your breast.
“P-please.”
“Go ahead Kitten.” Lee bit into your neck as you let yourself fall from your climax and almost lose balance. Lee lowered you back to rest on your hands as he pounded into you through your finish. “Such a good girl.” You heard him grit through his teeth as he spent himself inside of you. Lee gave your ass a playful bite before kissing up your spine and helping you relax against him. You hummed happily as the sun had the sky resting at a natural blue with yellow glowing through the small amount of clouds. Lee rested his head on your chest before hearing your stomach growl lightly. He let you sit until you started kissing him again and he pulled you to the car to leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that day Lee had gotten you home and the breakfast had grown cold after you lured him to the shower. You laid against him, resting on the sofa, your eyes closed softly as Lee pet down your back.
"Hearing a knock at your door he adjusted for you to relax against the couch and peeked out of the chain he locked.
"Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same. Where is she?"
"I can say, I don't know who you are talkin about but you better brush off the attitude." Lee puffed his chest a bit before opening your door slightly to show his badge.
"I see her on the couch."
"You don't see anything. Leave."
"Why don’t you make me Sheriff?" The man laughed a bit before he heard the door slamming and he was pinned against the brick wall behind him. Lee spat towards his feet before bringing himself inches from the other mans face.
"Leave or I’ll have you smilin on the side of a milk carton."
"L-lee?" You rubbed your eyes as the door opened and your eyes locked with your ex boyfriends. "Why are you here Dalton?"
"Your Brother told me where to find you. Come back home. Don't be with this dick."
"No. Lee come back inside."
"Close the door Sweets. I'll be back inside in a few."
"He's not worth the trouble Sheriff." You leaned against your doorway with a glare hooked onto your target. Lee’s shoulders attempted to soften as you spoke but he fought the urge.
"Don't let there be a next time." Lee pushed him against the brick before moving you back inside and watching him leave through the peephole.
"Sorry, Ill handle my brother."
"Not much of a brother if he gave that ass your location."
"Siblings." You shrugged your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around his front.
"Tell me about it." He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.
“You have a sibling?”
“She’s not good for much but she’s family.” Lee rubbed your arm as you snuggled into his side.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later on as you ate in Lee’s lap with a smile you felt a weird tinge of pain in your stomach and quickly moved off of Lee’s lap.
“What’s wrong Sugar?”
"Nothing, I just uhm, have to go to the bathroom." You stated blankly before walking to your bathroom. You sucked in a deep breath as you pushed your hair back. Splashing some cold water on your face you felt panicked and you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to ride this out without Lee finding out. It made no sense, your body would always try to shut down hours after you saw your ex. Call it a late fight or flight response. You held your head down to your knees. "You are safe. You are safe. Safe. I am safe." You raked your nails down your arms and paused when you heard a small knock.
"You okay Kitten?" You cleared your throat before stuttering out a yes. You heard a sigh and footsteps clicking away from the door. Biting hard on your bottom lip you steadily opened the door and headed back to the kitchen. You grabbed a small throw blanket to wrap over your arms before sitting down next to Lee.
"Baby, Look at me." He guided your chin to face him and pouted at your tear stained eyes. "Why're cryin?"
"It’s nothing Lee."
"Hey, don't shut me out."
"I don't want to talk about it. Please." Your voice was lower and he could easily tell your switch. He kept his eyes down a bit as you sat in silence for a few moments. You glanced at him a few times before feeling guilty and tears flooded your eyes again. You sniffled against the blanket you had tucked in your hand while you pushed your plate away from yourself. "Lee?"
"Yeah Kitten?"
"Are you mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you Sweets?"
"Cause I didn't wanna talk about my problem." Lee turned to cup your cheek and bring your forehead to rest against his own.
"You'll talk when you're ready. Don't ever let anyone force you into talking to them."
"I had a mini anxiety attack in the bathroom due to the visit from Dalton."
"Princess, you shouldn't worry about him."
"I know. I wish I could just rewrite over the memories."
"I have a few ideas of how I can do that."
"Lee, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Wanna at least try?” Lee stood up and offered you his hands before leading you to stand by your window. “C��mere.” Lee led you out to your small fire escape and hand you stand facing out as he kept your body still against him. “Take a deep breath...I’ll do it with you.” You smiled when you felt him suck in a large breath and you followed. You closed your eyes and hummed as he kissed your neck. “On three, let it go.” You nodded your head. As Lee began to count. 1. Unknowingly to yourself Lee had a different idea and he was determined to distract you from the problem. 2. Lee held your sides gently as he brought himself closer to your ear. 3. You pushed back against him as he started tickling your sides and you both tumbled inside of the small window.
“Lee!”
“Got ya to laugh. That’s all I needed.” He helped you up to your feet and twirled you once in the room. “Now about this brother… Need me to arrest him?”
“I don’t think you could arrest the new town treasure.”
“Plant some over shore accounts?”
“I will handle it.”
“Such a big girl.” He pinched your cheek playfully as you led him to the kitchen to clean up from dinner. “Clean Law man.”
“Yes Ma’am.” You kissed his cheek as you walked into your room to call home.
NEXT CHAPTER
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chalametdarling · 5 years ago
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T.C. fluff:  Being Timothée’s co-star in an upcoming romantic drama, and having a long weekend off together to explore the coastal European city you’re filming in
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“Wow, this is beautiful.” You hugged your rolled-up towel close to your chest, the view of a crowded beach, sparkling crystal blue water and colourful umbrellas lining the sand awaiting you. 
“Oui, c’est très beau,” Timothee agreed, playfully nudging your shoulder, guiding you to follow him down onto the sand. You slipped off your shoes and the two of you began meandering through the endless sea of warm sand and towels, eventually finding vacant real estate between a young family and a group of women bathing in the sun. It was Timothee’s idea to explore the French town you were filming in together while you had a few days off, and as you laid down your towel, and Timothee retrieved containers of strawberries and savoury biscuits from his backpack, you couldn’t believe you’d thought of spending your Friday any other way. 
You talked and ate and waded into the water, splashing each other and jumping over waves. And when you weren’t doing that, you alternated between reading your script and a novel while Timothee laid on his stomach, headphones on, head resting on his arms.   You couldn’t quite tell behind his sunglasses, but judging by how you’d finished reading an entire chapter and he hadn’t moved a muscle, you assumed he’d fallen asleep. Under the sun block and daylight, his pale skin seemed to glow. His hair a perfectly messy mop, grains of sand nestled into the ends of his curls. Timothee really did have perfect features. You could objectively see that now that you were really looking at him. Bold eyebrows poking over the tops of his sunglasses, strong nose, angelic lips- “You staring at me?” You quickly looked out towards the water, resting your chin onto your knees and hugging your legs. “No, just checking if you were awake.” He rolled over, stretching out. “I am now.” Checking the time on his watch, he added, “Shit. We’ve been here for hours.” He reached out and picked up one of the few remaining uneaten strawberries by its stalk while you packed away your books into your bag. “Do you feel like getting dinner?” he asked, tossing the leafy remains into the pile you’d made as you ate.   “Yes,” you eagerly nodded your head. Laying out on the sand all day really worked up your appetite. Already feeling drowsy from the fresh air and too much sun, you followed Timothee’s lead from the shore to the row of bars and cafes lining the beach. He led you inside the doors of a quaint pub; one hand holding the door open, the other on the small of your back. A live band was set up on the raised stage towards the back, playing acoustic French music for those enjoying meals and post-work drinks. You found a seat at the bar, sharing bread and wine, your heart swelling the more time you spent learning the workings of Timothee’s mind. You could’ve sat all night with your chin in the palm of your hand, listening to him rattle on about his favourite directors and film theories and character studies, then abruptly stop himself with an embarrassed laugh, running his palms down his thighs. “Anyway,” he laughed, shaking his head. He finished his drink, then tuned into the DJ who’d since replaced the initial band. “Wanna dance?” Several drinks in and hours of dancing later, you were still on the dance floor with a drink in hand.  As the night went on, every time your head spin subsided, Timothee was either dragging you through the crammed bodies back over to the bar or replacing empty glasses in your hand with overflowing cups of alcohol. After the fourth glass exchange, you put an arm around his neck to pull his ear down to be level with your lips. While your thoughts were still somewhat coherent, your words were a little slurred. “Timmy, maybe you should slow down a bit.” As you were speaking, the ABBA remix playing faded into Kid Cudi, and you watched as your words fell onto deaf ears. Timothee’s face lit up and he shouted, “FUCK YEAH!” raising his free arm above his head. Your eyes followed his movements as he sang along to every word, big grin on his face, never stopping to breath; only pausing for a sip of his drink.   Before you knew what was happening, your back was against the wall and Timothee’s lips on yours. But just as quickly as he had kissed you, he was pulling back, flicking his hair back and shouting the next lyric through a tipsy grin. As the chorus started for a second time, he caught sight of you watching him, wide eyed and in a daze, and set his empty glass down as you reached to grab his waist. He stepped in to kiss you again; this time harder, longer and deeper.   The remainder of the night became hazier and hazier; only blurred visions of licking salt off the back of your hand and clinking shot glasses, jumping and spinning around the dance floor, and your fingers getting caught in Timothee’s salty curls remained. * An instant ache shot through the middle of your forehead as you blinked your eyes open, and you groaned. Sheer confusion washed over you, your mind unable to piece together where you were or what day it was, until you spotted a familiar black backpack against the wall and a bottle of cologne on the dresser. Ah, Timothee’s place. Timothee’s bed, to be specific. Slowly rolling over and rubbing your eyes to look behind you, you discovered you had the bed to yourself. The other side was practically untouched, blankets still tucked under the mattress. A door creaked open, and Timothee emerged from the adjoining bathroom, dragging his feet behind him. Seeing you were awake, he changed course and climbed onto the intact side of the bed, mumbling out, ‘Morning’ in a deep, soft voice. He sat with his back to you, and the one hand cradled to your chest itched to reach forward and trace down his spine. You weren’t sure where the urge came from. Maybe because of the way his hooded eyes, drunk on tequila and European air, remained locked on yours for hours last night. How his strawberry lips sponged kisses on your cheek and neck as you waited at the bar. How his hands had so delicately clasped around your cheeks when he kissed you for real over and over and over again. It would’ve been so easy to push back the covers, walk your fingers across the mattress; to drag them up and down his back or affectionately twist the ends of his hair. But Timothee was leaning back against his pillows to lie down beside you before you could muster up the courage to do so. With interlaced fingers resting on his bare chest, he looked over to you. “How did we get home last night?” You yawned, nestling further down into the pillows. “We walked, remember?” “Oh, shit.” Timothee nodded, pursing his lips with a hum. “I feel like shit.” “You drank a lot last night,” you said softly. He licked his lips, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck.” He stayed like that for a few moments, rubbing his face, and you wondered if he’d forgotten anything else from the previous night.   “I should probably go back to mine.” He dropped his hands back to his chest, looking over again, voice gentle as he spoke. “You can stay if you want.” “No, I should go and have a shower,” you told him, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out. Timothee’s fingertips ghosted over your neck with a small smile, and you instinctively moved your head back from under his sudden touch. “What?” He shook his head, bringing his hand back to its resting place on his chest, eyes still lazily drooped as he enquired about your plans for the rest of the evening. You pushed yourself up to sit against the headboard, your hand subconsciously hovering over the spot Timothee’s had just been. “You know we have work on Monday, right? I’d like to read my lines at least once before then.” After pointing out you brought your script out with you the previous say, he added, “You have all of Sunday for that.”   You pursed your lips with a sigh. He rolled over, holding his head up with his hand. “Come on, y/n.” You evidently didn’t need much convincing, because a few hours later, you were meeting Timothee for ice cream. Desserts in hand, you found a small table outside the ice cream parlour, shaded from the orange glow of late afternoon sun by an umbrella. The two of you sat looking out at the streets, sunglasses hiding both of your dark, hungover eyes, observing the strangers passing by. And when you had the chance, you stole glances at the boy sitting across from you. When you met him out the front of the hotel, his formerly dry, sandy hair was now shiny, the ends still a little damp. He smelled fresh when you hugged him, and his jumper was soft on your cheek. He’d complimented your turtle neck top, which reminded you… “By the way,” you said, pulling Timothee’s attention from the open roads to you, “I’m not too happy with you, Timothee.” He frowned, taking another lick of his ice cream. “What the fuck did I do?” You teasingly held his stare. “Oh, I don’t know,” you said, pulling down the high neck of your top to reveal your purple stained skin. A shy smile overtook Timothee’s face and he shrugged, laughing awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry?” “Funny is it?” you mused, sliding your sunglasses down your nose to look over the frames at him. Timothee licked his melting ice cream, then said, “No, but now that you mention it, y/n, I’m mad at you too.” You slid your glasses all the way off, placing them down on the table. “Really? Why’s that?” Timothee, with a cocky smile, tugged down the chunky collar of his sweater, revealing a light bruise at the very base of his neck. You instinctively lowered your face and hid your eyes behind your free hand. “Oh my god.” Through the cracks between your fingers, you saw him smiling, bringing his cone back up to his mouth. “Forgot about that, did you?”   Dropping your hands with a laugh, you reached forward, using your thumb to push back his collar again and run your thumb over the mark you left on his pale skin. “Sorry,” you mumbled with a little pout. With an exaggerated sigh, looking up to make eye contact with Timothee, you added, “What is wrong with us?” He laughed, putting his hand on your wrist and running his thumb over your skin. “It’s alright. I forgive you.” You shook your head in mock disapproval, but there was a buzzing in your chest as you felt his lingering eyes and warm skin on yours.   You strolled back to the hotel in comfortable silence. Despite being a bundle of nerves, it was nice being with him. He made you think, and he made you feel. A man adorned in a billowing linen shirt sat on the side of the street, guitar in hand, singing a sombre tune. You slowed down along with the few other strangers who had paused to listen to the man’s song, Timothee a few paces behind you, taking his sunglasses off as he slowed. A few moments passed, and Timothee leaned down from his place behind you so that he could speak softly in your ear. “He’s singing about his lover.” Timothee paused to listen to the next line. “He doesn’t want to live without them… he feels empty… and sick… he- he’s waiting for her but… he knows she’s gone for good.” Turning over your shoulder, you pouted up at Timothee, who reciprocated the expression. “That’s so sad.” Timothee nodded. His hair flopped over his cheek, and you noticed his eyes sparkling in the golden cast of evening light. Over his shoulder, a couple held each other, longingly looking into each other’s eyes, tenderly touching each other’s cheeks. As a loaded weight settled on your chest, you looked back up at Timothee. The space between his eyebrows slightly creased and he smiled. “What?” Clicking your tongue against your teeth, and shaking your head, you answered, “Nothing.” You both knew it wasn’t nothing. With a sigh, you snuck your hand between his arm and body, grabbing onto his forearm to lead him away. “Alright, I only agreed to ice cream. Let’s go.” It was quiet when you got to your floor of the hotel, so you tried to be as silent as possible climbing the stairs, so other guests weren’t disturbed. You and Timothee were work colleagues, and friends, and his room was only ten steps further down the hall, and you were almost positive that you’d definitely be seeing him again the next day; but as he lingered by your door as you rummaged in your bag for your key, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad you were saying goodbye. Once you retrieved your key, you looked up at him with a smile. “Alright,” you said softly. “This is where I leave you.” Timothee stood by your door, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes stuck on your face. He wasn’t budging, and you weren’t game enough to break first. His messy curls flopped over his eyes again, and you pushed them back behind his ears. He held onto your wrist, slowly lowering it down to your sides. Relationships with colleagues could get messy. Everybody knew that. What does this mean for us? The words were caught in your throat. You wanted to ask; to say it out loud. But you couldn’t bring yourself to form them. Why couldn’t you just be okay with enjoying the moment? Timothee inched his head closer to yours slowly, almost unsure if it was okay. You kept your eyes lowered. “Timothee,” you whispered. “Yes,” he whispered back, resting his forehead on yours. You slowly shook your head. “I can’t.” “Why?” You didn’t respond right away, eyes still focused towards the ground, and he nudged the side of your nose with his, then pulled back from you. “Hmm?” You sighed, closing your eyes and lifting your face to his. Very slowly, he took the sides of your face into his hands. Static in the air charged your movements as his lips grazed against yours. Somehow, you simultaneously had both a million things to say, yet nothing at all. You settled on hugging him, chin resting over his shoulder. It was nice hugging him; to have him holding you close. “Good night, Timmy,” you muttered, eventually breaking free. “Good night,” he said in reply, hands sliding out from around your waist. With tingling lips, you stood up on your toes for a second to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth once more. You unlocked your door, and while slipping inside your room, you looked over one last time at Timothee smiling. “Good night.”
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raviotherabbit · 3 years ago
Text
royal pain in the ass - chapter 5
Chapter 5: Greatfish Isle The Zeldas find themselves stranded.
[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!
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The first thing Dusk notices when she steps through the portal is the smell of salt, carried on a cool breeze. And then, almost immediately, her vision begins to swim and she doubles over in dizziness.
“You weren’t-” she swallows. “You weren’t lying…”
“I’m never getting used to this,” Artemis collapses on the sandy beach, draping an arm over her eyes. “Flora, where are we?”
“Well…” Flora exchanges a concerned glance with Sun, who shrugs in return. “We appear to be shipwrecked.”
“What?!” Dusk straightens herself out in an instant, finally getting a view of their surroundings. The island they’re on appears to have been ruined in some way, the ground torn apart as though wrecked by a great force. And, as far as the eye can see, there is only water.
“By Hylia, this can’t be happening!” Dusk brings a hand to her face in horror. “We’re stuck here?!”
“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Flora kneels down, scooping a handful of sand and letting it slip through her fingers. “We have our food supplies, and there doesn’t look to be any danger around here.”
“And we can sleep under the stars!” Sun chimes in. “Have you ever gone camping, Dusk?”
“No.” She crosses her arms grumpily. “I have not.”
“I’ve basically been camping since Link finished his quest…” Sun takes a moment to count on her fingers. “Almost two years ago, now. Trust me,” she places a comforting hand on Dusk’s shoulder. “You’ll catch on in no time.”
  △ ▲△
“So what are we thinking about for dinner tonight?” Flora holds up her slate as she asks, inspecting its contents. “Dusk, I must admit, your era was great for stocking up on supplies. We have the ingredients here to make quite the meal.”
“Shouldn’t we ration, though?” Sun asks, peering over her shoulder. “I mean, we don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here.”
“The Era of the Great Sea isn’t as desolate as it appears,” Artemis remarks, head poking up from where she’d been laying out her bedroll. “Sooner or later, someone is going to come by.”
“You know when we are, then?” Dusk pipes up from her seat at the fire, arms and legs both crossed.
Artemis nods. “It’s truly a beautiful time. A shame that we’re stuck here.”
“A shame indeed,” Dusk mutters under her breath.
“Ah, I remember hearing about it during my lessons,” Flora comments, but it’s all she says on the subject before turning her attention back to Sun. “How about some risotto? We can use pumpkin in it, if you’d like.”
“Really?” Sun’s eyes go wide,and she grips onto Flora’s shoulder just a bit tighter.
“Why not?” Flora flips to the page showing her supplies. “We’ve got everything we need for it.” She pauses for a moment, eying the scowl of their newest member. “Dusk,” she asks, causing her to perk up. “Would you like to help with dinner?”
“Oh,” Dusk almost seems a bit… confused, her head slightly tilted to the side. “Really?”
“Though Wild’s taught me a few things, I’m not the best chef,” Flora admits. “I’d appreciate the extra hands.”
With a bit of hesitation, Dusk slowly scooches over to Flora and Sun. “So,” she glances down at the Sheikah Slate. “What do I need to do?”
  △ ▲△
There have definitely been better pumpkin risottos, that’s for sure. The rice is a bit undercooked, adding an uncomfortable crunch to every bite. Not only that, the pumpkin is slightly goopy, almost spine-shiveringly so.
“Well, this is…” Artemis starts, but she doesn’t finish the thought.
“It’s made with love,” Flora grimaces.
“This sucks,” Dusk says out loud.
“I think!” Artemis deliberately speaks over her. “Because we’re out in the middle of nowhere, we need to start keeping watch at night.”
Oh. Oh no. Dusk’s stomach twists at the idea of that. Sitting around, basked in darkness, doing nothing but watching, waiting? You know what that sounds like?
“Oh, that’s an excellent idea!” Flora comments. “We can even separate into shifts, to minimize any issues that would come from staying up late.”
“We are in unfamiliar waters,” Sun jokes, earning a small laugh from Flora. “But seriously, it may be the best way to ensure our safety while we rest.”
So they agree, just like that?!
“Are-are you serious?” Dusk chokes out, the taste of pumpkin risotto growing even more sour in her mouth.
“Dusk, what’s wrong?” Flora reaches over to her companion, but Dusk jolts away as soon as her fingers brush her arm.
She stands abruptly, her cloak fluttering behind her. “Do as you wish, but I won’t be participating.” Without another word, she storms out of the camp.
  △ ▲△
Thankfully, at least in Dusk’s mind, her counterparts opted not to mention her outburst from the night before. The three of them seemed to have sorted the watch out amongst themselves, but just the thought of that causes a burning feeling of shame to ignite in her chest.
The next morning, the four set about trying to make their small fragment of an islet more comfortable. Artemis has been insistent on keeping a fire going, so they could catch the sight of any passing ships. Sun was more than happy to help her scavenge for kindling. But Flora…
“Malanya’s goddess-damned hooves,” Flora curses under her breath.
Perhaps a bit annoyed, Dusk pokes her head up from her rapier, which she’d been sharpening. Just a few feet away, Flora sits with her legs crossed, arduously attempting to drag a comb through her hair. And arduous is the right word, as no matter how hard she tries, she makes little headway in regard to the tangles.
Dusk places her sword to the side, deciding it will serve her well enough for now. “Do you need help?” she asks.
Flora startles at her words, but settles into a sweet smile when she realizes who’s speaking. “Oh, Dusk.” She holds out the comb. “If you’d like a try at this, go ahead.”
Taking the comb, Dusk silently takes a seat right behind Flora. She tenses slightly as Dusk gently grabs one of the locks, experimentally running her fingers through it.
“This isn’t so bad,” Dusk remarks. “It just needs a bit of maintenance.”
Flora relaxes with a deep breath. “It’s these ocean winds,” she explains, a huff of irritation in her voice. “It always gets bad when I travel, but especially with all the salt in the air…”
Dusk smoothly runs the comb through the top layer of Flora’s hair, removing some of the surface-level tangles. “I can only imagine. How have you been taking care of it before?”
“Typically I’d try to stay ahead of it, but…” Flora sighs. “I’ve fallen behind, lately. Everything has been non-stop since I arrived in Artemis’s time.”
“And how long has it been for you since then?”
Flora takes a moment, and peering around, Dusk can see her counting on her fingers. “Around five days, give or take. It’s just so hard to take care of, you know?”
It takes a great deal of effort for Dusk to swallow down her shock. “Well, if you don’t like it long…” She pinches Flora’s hair between her pointer and middle fingers, miming scissors, at a length just at the bottom of her neck. “Have you considered cutting it?”
“Cutting it?!” Flora brings a hand to her cheek, as if scandalized by the idea. “I- well, I’ve thought of it a few times, yes, but- I’ve never really...” With a strange focus, she twirls one of the strands by her face around her finger, before glancing back at Dusk. “Do you think it’d look good?”
“On you?” Dusk grins warmly. “I think it’d be great. Most of your tangles are in the lower half, so we could just cut them off.”
Suddenly, Flora frowns. “Oh, but we don’t have any scissors. I guess it was a nice thought.”
“I brought a dagger with me,” Dusk reveals, pulling said item from her boot. The handle is intricate and golden, yet not too flashy. “I could get the length down in no time.”
Flora chuckles. “You know, Artemis would kill you if you nicked me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Dusk surveys Artemis and Sun’s work at the firepit. Sun is currently demonstrating to Artemis the proper way to fan a fire, using a palm leaf.
“How do you know this?” Artemis asks her ancestor with a glint of suspicion in her eye.
Sun straightens, realizing Artemis’s implication. “I didn’t start any fires, Artemis, it was for a Loftwing ceremony-” At that point, though, Dusk stops listening, turning back to Flora.
“Then I’ll have to be careful.”
The first cuts are the most dramatic, slicing away the largest chunks of hair. Flora fidgets with her hands the whole time, but she has the poise to keep her head still for Dusk. Once it’s down to length, though, all that’s left to do is to clean up the edges.
Finally, running the locks through her fingers one last time, Dusk announces, “It’s done.”
Flora gasps with elation, and before Dusk can even lament their lack of a mirror, she pulls out her tablet. Much to Dusk’s surprise, when she points it back at herself, both of their faces appear on its screen. Her own shock and Flora’s pure excitement are reflected back at them.
“Oh, it’s amazing!” Flora turns her head back and forth, her new bob cut twirling with her. “Dusk, thank you so much for this!” She wraps an arm around Dusk’s shoulders, pulling her forward. “Smile!” she says, just before her slate makes a clicking noise.
By the time Dusk processed those words, though, it was already over.
“Wh-what was that?” Dusk stammers out.
For a brief moment, Flora looks at her with confusion. Then her eyes go wide, her mouth forming into an ‘o’. “I took a photo of us on the Sheikah Slate.” She holds out the slate for Dusk. “Do you want to see?”
Hesitantly, Dusk takes the tablet from Flora. She doesn’t have to do much after that because there, right on the screen, is a photograph of Flora’s sweet, smiling face. And Dusk is right next to her, looking towards her descendant with the most bewildered look on her face.
“Woah,” Dusk says, politely ignoring her less-than stellar appearance. “This is amazing.”
“I know, right?” Flora takes her slate back.
Struck with an idea, Dusk grabs a few of the strands of hair left on the ground, holding them up and shouting, “Hey, Artemis!”
Artemis looks between the hair in Dusk’s hand and Flora’s new cut. “What did you do to her hair?!”
Dusk waves the hair back and forth. “I got you more kindling!”
Flora and Sun’s laughs are worth the shade of red Artemis’s face turns.
  △ ▲△
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with me?” Flora calls over her shoulder. She’s lounging on one of the sharp edges of their little islet, her legs hanging over and dipping into the sea below. “It’s a great way to cool down!”
“No thank you!” Sun responds with a smile. Together, she and Dusk are happily sitting under their makeshift canopy, constructed from their spare blankets and tied together both with stakes and to the sole tree on their shard of an island. Dusk’s own cloak has been abandoned, now serving as a barrier between them and the itchy grass.
“We don’t have bathing suits like you and Artemis do,” Dusk explains, with Sun nodding along solemnly, “So we probably shouldn’t get wet.”
Flora shrugs, but her resignation turns to horror as, suddenly, a hand wraps around her ankle. With a shout, she disappears past the ridge, into the ocean.
Oh, Lanayru’s tears!
“Flora!” they both shout, leaping to their feet and sprinting to the edge of the islet. When they skid to a stop, though, they don’t find a horrible sea monster attempting to snap its jaws around their descendant.
Instead, they’re just in time to bear witness to Artemis, waist-deep in the shallows, hefting Flora upwards and, despite her kicks of protest, supplexing her into the water.
SPLASH!
And, just like that, Dusk and Sun are soaked.
Artemis springs out of the water, laughing in a way a cat would laugh if it caught its prey. If Dusk didn’t know any better, with her wet hair and all her grace, she might have thought she was a mermaid.
“Rude.” Flora surfaces just behind Artemis, though she doesn’t emerge past her neck.
“You needed to stop delaying,” Artemis insists, crossing her arms. “I was getting bored on my own in here.”
“I was just checking on Sun and Artemis-!”
“Uh, hello?!” Dusk shouts and gestures to her dress, which is currently dripping saltwater onto the grass below. “Two sopping wet queens, here!”
“I’m not a queen,” Sun murmurs, though she’s mostly focused on wringing the water from the edges of her own dress.
“Can it, Sun,” Dusk orders, pointing an accusatory hand at Artemis. “You splashed us!”
Artemis rolls her eyes. “A little water never hurt anyone.”
“A little water?!” Dusk almost shrieks. “Do you know how much I spent on this dress?!”
Flora stops blowing bubbles to poke her mouth above the water. “Why did you bring an expensive dress on your time travel adventure?”
“Because as a queen,” Dusk refers to herself with her fingers on her chest. “I need to present myself nicely. In fact, I’m surprised you three don’t have anything nicer.”
“Anything nice I own has been eaten by moths by now,” Flora mutters. “Or malice.”
“This is my nicest outfit?” Sun reveals.
“Stop saying nice,” Artemis groans. “It doesn’t sound real anymore. Dusk, if your dress is ruined now, do you want to join us?”
Dusk gasps with indignation. “I would never-!”
“Fine! Fine!” Artemis waves her off. “Forget I asked. Go back to your castle or whatever.”
She almost leaps into the water then and there, just to give Artemis a piece of her mind. In fact, Dusk takes one sharp, threatening step towards, her fists curled into balls, when- “Come on,” Sun takes Dusk’s hand, and the contact grounds her in a way. “I know a lot of good laundry tricks. I could probably un-saltwater your dress.”
“You’d do that?” Dusk asks, almost confused as Sun guides her pack to their canopy.
“Of course,” Sun smiles at her. “Why wouldn’t I help?”
Artemis stands in the water, watching as Dusk and Sun retreat. Her lips are pressed together, eyes narrowed in, and Flora can’t figure out what she’s thinking for the life of her.
This kind of sucks.
Hylia, alright. She can figure this out.
For now, though, Artemis has made a grave tactical error, leaving her back to Flora while her attention is elsewhere.
As quietly as she can, Flora sneaks up behind Artemis. Then, when she’s close enough, she leaps at her back, pushing down with all of her might.
“I’ve got you!” Flora shouts, before realizing… Oh no. Even using all of her strength, she hasn’t pushed Artemis down an inch. And now, Artemis is looking right into her eyes, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
Wordlessly, Artemis flips Flora off of her back, and she lands in the water with a Smack!
“Ow,” Flora whimpers as she peeks back above the water.
With a sigh, Artemis dramatically brushes her hands off. “Now, that can’t be the best we can do.”
  △ ▲△
“Sun, this has got to end.”
That’s what Flora proclaims when she wakes Sun that night for her nightly shift.
“What’s gotta end?” Sun slurs, still half asleep.
“This fighting between Artemis and Dusk,” she crosses her arms. “I don’t like it.”
“You’ve noticed it too?” Sun asks as she rubs her eyes.
Flora shrugs, settling next to Sun’s bedroll. “I think just about anyone with eyes could notice that.” And then, without thinking, she adds, “It reminds me of Link and Revali.”
Just a little bit, Flora’s heart aches.
“Huh?” Sun tilts her head upon hearing this. “Who’s Revali?”
“Oh, Revali- uh,” Flora stammers awkwardly. “He’s a friend. Was a friend.”
Immediately, Sun breaks out those sad little eyes, as if she can guess exactly what happened to Revali. As if she knows anything about her Hyrule. “I’m sorry, I know it’s hard-”
“It’s fine!” Flora shouts, just a bit too loudly. Instinctively, she covers her mouth, though she’s relieved to see that Artemis and Dusk don’t stir within their own bedrolls.
“It’s fine,” she reiterates, quieter this time. “We need to focus on this, now.”
“Alright,” Sun pushes her blanket down, meeting Flora’s eye with a determined smirk. “How do you propose we do it?”
  △ ▲△
“See, this is the Cryonis Rune,” Flora demonstrates by summoning a pillar of ice in the shallow part of the water. “It can make ice.”
“Very interesting, Flora,” Dusk comments, eying the designs on the surface of the ice. “In fact, it���s kind of pretty, too.”
“Thank you,” Flora bows jokingly. “Obviously, it can be used to keep us cool during hot days. But also, they can be utilized as makeshift bridges across waterways.”
“Oh? Like from this island to another?” Sun’s acting leaves a bit to be desired, but she can at least keep the ball rolling.
Flora snaps her fingers at Sun. “Exactly! Now, I can’t be certain of where any proper islands are, but I can at least make my way over to one of the other land masses nearby. It could be good for foraging.”
Artemis raises her hand. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Of course, Wild has done it plenty of times,” Flora assures her.
“I don’t know if anything that kid does can be construed as safe,” Dusk murmurs under her breath.
Artemis’s eye slightly twitches at that. “Dusk does bring up a good point.”
“Oh for Hylia’s sake,” Flora pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wild is fine! He’s accident prone! Not safety unconscious!”
“Oh, last time he visited, we played this fun flying game!” Sun reveals with a small clap. “He kept jumping off the side of Skyloft, and I had to try and catch him with my Loftwing while he avoided me!”
“Sun just disproved your point, Flora,” Dusk points out, smugly.
“We’re getting off-topic!” Flora suddenly shouts. “I can only have three pillars up at a time, so not everyone can come with. Any volunteers?”
“Yeah, Wild was really good at that game!” Sun continues on as if nobody else spoke. “He almost reached the Surface once.”
“I said, any volunteers?” Flora states once again, drawing out the words to catch Sun’s attention.
“Oh, I-!” Sun clears her throat. “I’ll come with you, Zelda!” she says in a tone that is not at all natural.
Flora sighs deeply before muttering to herself, “Why’d you call me Zelda?”
“What was that?” Sun asks innocently.
“I said let’s go now!” Flora jovially swings her fist. “We don’t know how long we’ll be there, so we should get there as fast as possible.”
Artemis looks between the two of them, narrowing her eyes. Flora almost buckles under her scrutiny. “Alright, you two. Be safe, Dusk and I will be keeping an eye on you.”
“Yeah sure,” Dusk says, more focused on her nails than whatever Artemis is saying.
The climb onto the ice pillars is a bit slippery, but Flora and Sun are able to find their footing once they’re squarely on top. Slowly yet surely, they make their way towards the tallest of the island shards. They’d decided on it ahead of time, since it seemed like the obvious choice.
Occasionally, Sun keeps glancing back, meeting Artemis’s gaze every time.
“I think she’s onto us,” Sun whispers, tugging lightly on Flora’s cloak.
“Keep with the plan,” Flora assures her, though her voice is shaky. “Everything will be fine.”
Once they’re at the halfway point between the islands, Flora suddenly stops. Finally, she turns back, facing Sun.
“Are you ready?” she asks, holding her Slate up slightly.
Unable to bring herself to speak, Sun nods.
Without any hesitation, Flora pulls up the Rune once again. But this time, instead of creating a new ice pillar, she breaks the three they’re standing on.
For a brief, helpless moment, they’re weightless. Then gravity rushes in, and the two girls plummet into the sea below.
“Flora! Sun!” Artemis shouts, her hands on either side of her head in horror.
“Oh no!” Flora shouts, purposefully keeping her head just above the water. She thrashes with her arms around wildly.
Sun kicks up to the surface as well. “Dusk! Artemis! Save us!” Dramatically, she raises a hand to the sky.
“Idiots! You can swim!” Dusk doesn’t bother to stand, just cups her mouth as she yells at them both. “You’re not hurt or anything!”
“Uh.” Flora and Sun exchange a glance, temporarily pausing their drowning.
“There’s a sea monster!” Flora tries.
Artemis’s shoulders sag, and just barely, the two of them can hear a groan. “Get back on land! Both of you!”
“Naydra’s fucking ice!”
“Language!” both Artemis and Dusk reprimand Flora.
  △ ▲△
“Oh no, I’m bleeding to death!” Flora theatrically collapses into Sun’s waiting arms. “I need both of you to donate blood!”
“Flora,” Dusk deadpans. “You literally aren’t bleeding.”
  △ ▲△
“I got stung by a bee,” Sun pouts, holding up her finger. “I need medical attention from two great queens of Hyrule, please.”
“Why can’t Flora help you?” Artemis asks, noticing that said queen is poorly hiding behind the tree.
“She died.”
  △ ▲△
“Dusk, Artemis,” Flora solemnly approaches the two queens, both of whom were previously busy tending to camp. “I have decided to grant upon both of you a great honor. One that, previously, I’ve only given to my dear knight Link. And, as you know, I am heartbroken over the fact that it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and I mourn his presence everyday. Desperately, I wish for his safety and hope to reunite with him soon This is a task that I hope you will take up in his name, for he is no longer here to-”
“Spit it out already, Flora,” Dusk commands, her hands paused in the middle of sewing her blanket, because she did accidentally slash it when she was working on her dagger. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Flora presents the Sheikah Slate to the two of them. “I want you to make dinner tonight.”
“No.”
  △ ▲△
“I give up!” Sun throws her hands into the air in the middle of dinner. Having suddenly lost her appetite, she pushes her fried wild greens to the side.
“Oh thank goodness,” Dusk sighs in relief, leaning back against their lone tree. She takes another bite of her meal. “I thought you’d never stop.”
“What exactly were you two doing, today?” Artemis questions, pausing her own dinner. “Were you trying out acting?”
“No,” Flora grumbles, crossing her arms.
Gently, the moon rises into the sky. Tonight, its left half is missing, like an incomplete puzzle.
Something inside of Sun snaps. How dare they?! Whether she’s Hylia or not, she’s their ancestor! And here they are, treating her like a child?! She isn’t even that much younger than them!
“Do not speak to me in that tone,” Sun’s words are sharp, like a knife through wool, and directed towards Artemis and Dusk. “I am your grandmother several times over, and I don’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect! You reap the benefits of my kingdom to this day!”
“Oh, like I’ve enjoyed leading your kingdom!” Dusk snaps back. “Do you know what I’ve done, what I’ve sacrificed for Hyrule? Don’t hold it over my head!”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Flora covers her ears.
“Can it Dusk!” Sun throws her words right back at her. “All day, Flora and I have been trying to get you two-” she points between Artemis and Dusk. “-to get along! We’re family, this shouldn’t be so hard!”
Artemis gives Dusk a pointed look. “Well maybe if some people were a little more open to my ideas, we wouldn’t have issues in the first place!”
“Oh since we’re going there!” Dusk stands, directing an accusatory finger at Artemis. “Maybe if you didn’t try to control everything, I wouldn’t have a problem with you!”
“Both of you, stop!”
Flora peeks one eye open, hoping desperately she doesn’t find one of her ancestors choking the other. But, in reality, it’s not any of her counterparts that catch her attention. No, it’s something past them, past their small islet…
There’s something on the water.
“What in Hylia’s name is that?!” Flora points at it in horror.
Shocked out of their argument, the three Zeldas all turn to follow her finger. Floating on the water, there it is.
A ship, bathed in a ghostly blue light.
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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years ago
Text
Linktober Day 1 - Monster/Beast
2391 Words
Warning for a mention of blood
Huzzah! I did it, Linktober is here and I actually wrote something of decent quality! Please enjoy Urbosa being a badass...
- - - - - 
“I heard your screams the other night, when you tried to consume my people.”
A shrill cry pierced the air. The night a bruising purple, the moon bleeding blue.
She stepped closer, and the screech of the desert grew louder, the echoes fading into wisping sandy grains. “Quite difficult, wasn’t it? Trying to burrow through Gerudo walls?”
The moon slipped beneath a midnight cloud, the horizon fading to foggy haze. Despite this, her head piece glistened gold, embers that glowed amidst her fiery hair. The glint of jewels adorned on her ears, shield, and scabbard was only rivaled by her flickering emerald eyes. She gazed at the desert, daring it to tremble once more. 
“Resilience is etched in the history of my people, to even the first of our endeavouring ancestors. Their walls, their craft, their blades, their legends— all of unyielding strength.” 
Another step forward, a hand resting on her hip; the Chief’s face was calm, yet determined. She looked around, but nothing moved. All was still as stone. 
“Perhaps time has made you forget, little worm.” She raised her voice this time, trying to get a reaction from the void.
“I will be happy to give you new peace of mind, when I pry your skull upon my steel.”
The world shook, another scream was let loose somewhere beneath her. The warrior pivoted her step, the metal sound of her blade unsheathed rang through the air. A confident note to a familiar song…
There you are.
The good thing about the desert is that it’s easy to spot things out of place. Amidst the towering ruins of forgotten sandstone monuments, one would assume that a moving pile of sand was out of the ordinary. 
It slithered by the corner of her gaze, disappearing just as she fully turned around— but it was enough, she had it. 
It was a mass of sand creeping, the sound of each grain slowly falling like water, settling back down to even earth as the warrior felt the shudders from underneath the ruins. The faint clicking of a blind wretch was all the confirmation she needed. This was the same beast.
“It is tradition to prepare for your demise, before each battle. A will, a tomb, a final wish…” She strutted carefully towards where she last saw the sand shift. “Such is the way of each warrior before me. I can only trust you’ve made your own plans.” The wind suddenly sighed deeply, and the shadowed clouds parted for the silver of the night.
“But if you have forgotten, you need not worry…”
Urbosa raised an arm to the sky, moonlight revealing her newfound smirk.
“For I will carve your grave.”
Snap.
BOOM!
A crack of thunder, a flash of green. The hair on her neck rose as lightning struck. The spot of sand Urbosa had targeted suddenly exploded upwards in a wave of earth. 
It screamed in pain, escaping towards the sky. As stray thunder struck in the ruins around her, the moonlight was suddenly obstructed by a monstrous silhouette, the shadow painted her and the sands grey.
The Molduga arched back towards the earth.
It thrashed and wailed as it dived, the momentum of its sudden plunge through the air made a thunderous noise of its own. The beast connected to the earth with a loud thud, before it attempted to burrow back under the ruins.
Oh no you don’t!
Urbosa ran forth to strike a blow, the winds behind her are her black skirt fluttering over the shivering ground. She could already feel the sweat trickling against her metal armour. Good, she thought, perhaps this night will be more of an interesting challenge after all. 
Even in the haze of night, she could determine her proximity to the beast from smell alone. The stench was ripe of muck, sulfur, and blood. Urbosa let loose her momentum and jammed her blade into its underbelly, another howl escaping the beast.
Quickly dodging its swiping tail, she jumped back and wiped her brow. The Molduga burrowed with newfound speed, escaping to the darkness below. A trail of oozing blood across the land was the only evidence of its existence, before the beast was completely swallowed by the sand.
The warrior scoffed. “What’s wrong? No chomping today?” Urbosa crowed, “As cowardly as your tactics are, I’d expect you would at least try to nip me!” She turned in place, eyeing the East Barrens for some sign of her foe. 
It was weak, that was for sure. Two nights ago, it had rammed its mighty and witless face against the walls of Gerudo Town— presumably in order to get inside. But the stone did not budge, and a fleet of warriors led by Urbosa were able to send the monster fleeing towards these ruins. 
An itch in the back of her skull told her there was more to the story...after all, Molduga don't seek people unprompted. They’re an ambushing species, preferring to wait for prey to walk over it before striking. Why it was agitated enough to seek out a populated town...Urbosa didn’t know. But at the end of the day, her mission would be the same— the beast won’t live to see the setting stars.
She had come equipped with her trusty Daybreaker and scimitar, her heels swapped for sandboots that better moved across the sinking earth. Not that it was incredibly necessary. All it took was a direct blow of lightning, and the thing would be nothing more than a tale for the tavern. But Urbosa knew better than to underestimate her enemy. 
The Gerudo Chief crept through the night, keeping her footsteps quiet and unassuming. The pillars of the East Barren towered with consuming shadows. The chiseled peaks that separated her and the distant Gerudo Valley stabbed the blackening sky with bronze. 
Feeling a charge stirr in her soul, Urbosa called out again. She had to find it before it found her first. 
“Won’t you grace me with your soothing song again? I promise to give you a thunderous applause!” 
The clouds billowed against the moon, shadows from looming structures flickered in and out. The ground quivered in response.
And in the distance, the desert exploded. 
A mass of sand swam towards her with violent speed. A ruined column in its path collapsed in a mess of sandstone and broken brick, falling pathetically in the sand. A sickening whine could be heard all around her, resonating from the earth, but undoubtedly sourced from the approaching foe. 
Now that’s more like it…
Urbosa stepped to the side, moving away from where she had last taunted the beast. It may be able to detect the vibrations of her voice and running, but her careful footsteps, with aid from the sandboots, would be nothing more than a whisper to the Molduga. 
She summoned the electric charge that stirred within her, she could already feel the air crackle and tense. As the mass of sand beckoned closer, she snapped her fingers once more, this time directing it towards a broader area in front of her. 
Thunder cracked like a whip, lightning striking around her. However this time, the energy was dispersed, focusing on three areas— far left, far right, and far center. The disturbed sand in their respective locations erupted as a result, before crashing back down nearly as quick as her own snap. 
The desert mound hesitated, slowing cautiously. 
Urbosa laughed to herself. Where will you go, little worm? Where do you think I am…
The Moldaga’s hulking figure didn’t hesitate for longer than a minute. It regained it’s moment, quickly veering to the side. It seems to have made its choice, assuming Urbosa was near where the far left lightning had struck. 
Urbosa readied her free hand, while adjusting her grip of her sword in the other. The Molduga approached her trap, sinking deep into the sand, and freeing the view to the horizon. 
And for a moment, Urbosa could see a forgotten sunset, on the faintest edge of the desert’s endless expanse. It winked faintly against the canvas of stars. The gentle slopes, carved with the delicate brush of the cool night breeze— for a moment you could forget the lurking dangers of this world. 
Then, the sunset erupted with fury.
The Molduga rose like fire, opening its jaws wide for an unseen prey. The last silver of the sun was stolen away by the beast’s enormous frame, and the sky bruised purple once more.
As it hung, suspended in mid air, the world was silent except for cascading grains of sand, and the Molduga’s shrill and deafening scream.
Snap. 
The sky flashed green, to white, and back.
The air charged, ready to crack into a boom. 
But thunder never shook the earth.
The Molduga’s cry was muffled by the resonating rumble in its throat. 
Urbosa sprinted forth, a grin stretched wide across her face.
She had struck true. 
The Molduga collapsed onto the ground, another explosion of sand filled the surrounding air. Its mouth crackled with static, its body twitched and convulsed. The smell of blood and sulfur was now a thousand times worse, it was as if someone had burned a whole graveyard. The sensation nearly made her eyes tear, but Urbosa did not stop to weep.
There would be no pity for the lightning eater. 
Urbosa let out a cry, before stabbing her sword straight through the Molduga’s lower jaw, pinning it to the sand. Its wail and horrific breath swept directly in her face, but the warrior did not flinch.
“I hope you enjoyed the view up there,” Urbosa walked towards its beady, useless eyes, leaning in, “It’ll be the last good thing you’ll see.” 
Urbosa studied the creature's face. It’s eyes glowed an eerie blue, luminescent in the night. Peering back towards the Molduga’s mouth, Urbosa frowned in confusion. 
Blue…?
Well that’s new. She furrowed her brow. As far as she could remember, the beasts of sand were amber, or brown in color, or at the very least some sort of hue that resembled the sand. They definitely weren’t of a stark lapis or cerulean, unless this was some sort of icy...snowy variant?
Urbosa shook the thought out of her head. Such a thing was impossible, Moldugas thrived on the depths of the desert sand, and such a feat could never be replicated in the tundras of Gerudo Highlands. Still, the beast’s mouth and eyes glowed mysteriously...new questions brewing in the Gerudo Chief’s mind.
But now was not the time, any moment, this monster would regain its strength and attack. 
Urbosa suddenly turned towards the beast’s upper back, noticing a different hum in the air. A thing and long stick protruded from one of its fins, and she climbed up to investigate. 
Using it’s tiny head as a stool, Urbosa lifted herself up and walked upon its back. The stick she had heard humming was growing faintly louder as she approached. Grasping both hands and it’s end, she pulled with great strength.
A glowing blue spear head emerged from the fin, flickering hot like fire. It’s hue was the same of that of the Molduga’s eyes and inner mouth. Could this be why this creature glowed…?
She balanced the spear in each hand. She wasn’t much of a spearman, preferring the balance of shield and blade. But her Scimitar was busy pinning it’s mouth to the ground, so it would have to do. 
Urbosa walked back over the Moldugas back, before positioning herself above the beast’s head. It was time. She let out a breath of adrenaline, and she could swear the thing had sighed in response. 
“I am no monster,” Urbosa steadied her grip, grazing the blue tip of the strange spear just above it’s skull. 
“I promise this will be swift.”
- - - - - 
“Ahem! Lady Urbosa...”
The Hylian advisor spoke again, cutting through the chief’s thoughts.
“When you say you used this strange spear, how certain are you of its effect? Did it truly slice through this new monster like...how did you say it...butter?”
Urbosa sighed, she’d been in this political meeting for what felt like a century. At this point, the Yiga were better company. 
“New in nature and color, but I assure you, the Molduga is as equally dead as all other beasts I have faced. The threat is gone.”
The Hylian clicked her tongue. “Yes, I understand the blunt of it, but I need the details specifically, if I am to reveal this information from Her Majesty, the Queen.”
The mention of her childhood friend renewed her interest in the conversation. “You have thrown the Queen of Hyrule’s title around quite lazily this evening, so perhaps we should cut to the point and not have you return to her empty handed? Hmm?” Urbosa raised an eyebrow with a smile.
The woman stammered for a moment, readjusting the bun of her brown hair. The throne room was probably scorching to this stuffy Hylian. In different circumstances, Urbosa might have felt pity.
“Very well,” the Hylian finally responded. “But I just need you to be absolutely sure that the glow was of Sheikah origin.” She gestured for probably the fifteenth time that night at the set of Ancient weapons on the table.
The weapons flickered blue, hot as fire, and as lightweight as air— were they not relics, Urbosa would have liked to keep the one that was shaped like a giant axe.
“Yes, I am positive.” Urbosa said sternly.
“It is my, and Her Majesty’s, belief that you do not endure a fight, but a trial. A trial planned by an ancient civilization.” the advisor spoke carefully, acknowledging that her words caused confusion for some of the Gerudo guards standing by the door. “Similar events have happened in other sections of Hyrule, beasts and signs that direct at certain individuals.”
The Gerudo Chief rubbed her chin thoughtfully, before shaking her head. “I’m afraid I don’t fully understand…”
The Hylian advisor pulled out a scroll, Urbosa could recognize the cursive handwriting of her royal friend. The other guards murmured at the royal wax seal on its surface.
The advisor spoke again. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it consumed the people’s attention nonetheless.
“Chief Urbosa, a new prophecy has been revealed, and I think you would find its contents quite interesting.”
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orangepeelers · 5 years ago
Text
it’s you
my boys go to the beach and are a little very slow on picking up hints
***
Remus awoke to a text from Sirius.
As he saw his name on the screen, excitement bloomed in his stomach and made his toes curl. He felt elated for a brief moment, before forcing himself to punch the feeling down into the recesses of his mind. He couldn’t feel that way about Sirius. He wouldn’t feel that way about Sirius. He’s just your friend, he reminded himself. 
His heart didn’t really get the memo.
Remus rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced over at Peter’s sleeping form. The four of them were staying at the Potters’ beach house, spending the hottest days of the summer eating ice cream on the boardwalk and swimming in the ocean. He hated that despite the fact that Sirius was in the room next door with James, a text from him could still have such an effect. 
He unlocked his phone to read the text, anxiety and excitement mingling in his chest. Hey Moons. I woke up a little early today. Proud of me?
Remus grinned and rolled his eyes. Sure I am Pads. Of the four of them, Remus was the only early riser, a fact which he never let them forget. He found Sirius’ gesture endearing, if a little strange. Waking up early was so out of character for him. 
His legs jiggled nervously as he awaited a response. He couldn’t help but wonder whether his waking up early was for a specific reason. Running through his head in an attempt to tamp down his overactive imagination was a constant stream of shutupshutupshutupshutupshut-
Wanna go for a run on the beach?
Remus’ fingers moved of their own accord. Sure. Breakfast at 3 Broomsticks after?
Of course!! See u in like 2 seconds. Love u Moons 
At the last three words, Remus’ heart did a little skip rope routine. He knew it was just Sirius being Sirius, but the words still found the nooks and crannies of his brain and filled him with warmth. They stoked the fire of false hope he had burning in his mind, like vodka on their weekly beach bonfires.
He got dressed quickly, overthinking between his choice of old t shirts before settling on one from some event his parents had organized. Taking care not to wake Peter, he crept to the door and stepped into the hall, easing it shut. Sirius was already in the living room, long hair tied up into a ponytail. Black strands framed his face, bouncing against his cheekbones as he turned to look at Remus.
He flashed the grin that Remus had pictured so many times while trying to fall asleep. “Moons! Ready for our run?”
Remus smiled back. “Shocked that you have this much energy this early.”
Sirius shrugged, still smiling. “I was just in a mood today. C’mon!”
The two walked out the door into the oppressive humidity of the east coast. The orderly streets full of pastel-colored beach houses were quiet in the early morning, the people inside still sleeping off the previous day of swimming and sunbathing. Sirius immediately stripped his shirt off, tucking it into his waistband.
“Fuck, it’s hot.”
Remus pretended to shake his head in disapproval, but his eyes were tracing the sloping lines of the other boy’s biceps, wondering how it would feel to wrap his hands around them. He swallowed the thought before also stripping his shirt. Sirius grinned cockily.
“And I thought you were judging me.”
Remus mock-bowed. “Why, never!” 
They started running, following the unpopulated streets to the beach. It wasn’t too far, and when they got there the sandy plains were mostly empty except for a few people walking. A bubble of laughter and conversation surrounded them, disrupting the early morning silence. They ran along the beach, listening to the waves lap against the shore as they sun came up. By the time they got to the Three Broomsticks, they were soaked in sweat and panting hard.
Sirius pushed his hair off of his forehead and mopped the sweat with his t shirt. “Hell, I’m never waking up early again.”
Remus laughed. “Hey, what about Belgian waffles?”
Sirius considered the waffles for a moment. “Hmm... You do make a very valid point. Maybe I’ll do it once more. As a treat for you, of course.”
They laughed before slipping their shirts on and going inside. The Three Broomsticks was Remus’ favorite restaurant on the boardwalk. The inside was quaint, with blue-checked tablecloths and pictures of patrons and vintage posters lining the walls. Natural light streamed in through the big windows facing the beach as a few other early customers ate and chatted. The brunch rush hadn’t started yet, so they were able to get a table close to the big windows.
Remus studied the boy sitting across from him. His eyes were gray and studious as he read the menu, with a hint of mischievous humor, like he might order blue eggs and burst into laughter before the waiter could say anything. Dark hair fell across his face before he pushed it back, still reading through the list of pancake varieties. 
Sirius glanced up before Remus could look away. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something in my teeth?”
Remus just smiled, hoping the flush of embarrassment would be written off as a result of their run. “Just wondering why you’re reading this more intently than anything else I’ve ever seen you look at.”
“Hey, I take my breakfast very seriously, Moons.” He pointed a finger at him, pretending to be stern. “And you should too. It’s an important part of the growing boy’s regimen.”
“Okay, okay.” Remus put his hands up in surrender. “But I know you’re just going to order what you always do.”
“I also like routine, Moons.” Sirius said, shaking his finger before returning to the menu.
A waiter walked over and introduced himself before taking their orders. 
Sirius pretended to think. “I think I’ll have... Chocolate chip Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream.”
Remus shook his head at him. “I’ll have the same.” See, told you so, he mouthed. Sirius just rolled his eyes and smiled. 
The waiter took their menus and walked away. Sirius turned his full attention to Remus. “So, Rem. Lily tells me you have a little summer romance up your sleeve.”
Remus’ heart beat double-time. He’d confessed his crush to Lily, because he just had to tell somebody and he trusted her to keep her mouth shut. Technically, he supposed, she hadn’t told Sirius, but his legs bounced nervously like his deepest secret had been discovered.
Remus laughed awkwardly. “Well, I guess you could say that.”
Sirius cast an analytical look before sinking back into his chair. For a moment, Remus swore disappointment flickered across his face. Impossible, he reminded himself. Silence hung in the air thickly.
“Well, not quite a romance. More like useless pining.” He amended. He met Sirius’ gray eyes, and for once, they were unreadable as he studied him across the table. 
“Well, I think anyone would be lucky to have you.” Sirius said sincerely. “You should tell them. Who knows? They might feel the same, and you can have an actual summer romance.”
Remus smiled, a little sadly. “Yeah. Maybe.” He studied the tablecloth intently, a heavy layer of quiet laced with tension settling over them. They each pretended to be very interested in the cloth napkins.
Sirius cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, trying to break the tension. Thankfully, their waiter arrived with two plates stacked with thick waffles and glasses of fresh, bright orange juice. The arrival of food dispersed some of the binding silence and conversation flowed again as they dug into the hot, crispy-yet-soft waffles. 
They finished up their meal and paid the bill, setting out to walk back to the house. It was about nine, which was still relatively early in beach time. A few people were laying out towels and umbrellas on the beach. The sun was properly up, beating its hot rays down on the morning and dispersing the dew. Sea breeze carried the scent of salt as it ruffled their hair and scattered their laughter. 
As they got onto the more quiet streets, their conversation turned, once again, to talk of summer romances.
Why does he keep bringing this up? Remus thought. The last thing he needed was a reminder that the person he wanted most in the world was unattainable. The constant thought hung about his head like vines in a jungle, and he didn’t want to see those words personified as Sirius rambled on.
“I was really hoping this summer would finally be the one where I wasn’t afraid to speak my mind.” Sirius’ clear voice led Remus back to their conversation. 
A lump formed in Remus’ throat as he nodded. “Me too, honestly.”
They walked side-by-side, spilling out a little onto the lawns of the houses. Remus saw Sirius glance over, almost nervously, as he continued. “Yeah, I’ve sort of had this major crush on someone for a while. But I’ve never been able to tell them.”
Remus laughed, a little bitterly. How ironic that they were each in the same situation, yet Remus knew that Sirius could get anyone he wanted. He probably hadn’t told this mystery person because he wanted to see how long he could drag it out. Not that Sirius was cruel, but he couldn’t see any situation in which he simply couldn’t tell somebody he liked them. It just didn’t make sense. 
“Well, I think you should tell them.”
“Yeah?”
Remus swallowed thickly. What matters is that he’s happy, he reminded himself. All the useless pining in the world didn’t give him a right to impede Sirius’ happiness, or decide who he dated. “Well, if you’ve liked them for a while, then either they’ve figured it out or they’re too stupid to realize. Either way it would be a push in the right direction. And, you’re Sirius fucking Black.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Remus pushed him lightly and smiled. “You know what it means, you egoistic dolt. Like you told me, anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Sirius smiled faintly, as if adding Remus’ words to a mental list. They continued walking until they were about a block from the Potters’. By now, Peter and James were probably being woken up by Mrs. Potter opening curtains and humming. Remus smiled to himself at the thought. He looked over at Sirius, who was deep in thought, brow furrowed. He wished he could see what the other boy was thinking.
All of a sudden, Sirius stopped. He grabbed Remus by the hand and pulled him so they were facing each other. Their chests were bare inches from each other, which Remus was hyper aware of as he looked down into his face. He was a few inches taller than Sirius, and being so close made that feel like a few feet. He could feel his soft breath as they looked into each other’s faces.
Sirius’ gaze was intense as he took a deep breath. He was still holding onto Remus’ hand and he gave it a subconscious squeeze, as if trying to gather confidence. They stood like that for several seconds until either of them remembered to talk.
“What-”
“Rem, I-”
They laughed a little breathlessly. Remus seriously thought that his heart would explode. All he wanted was to close the distance between them. But he restrained himself and settled for saying, “You first.”
Sirius hesitated a moment, before resolve hardened in his eyes. “It’s you.”
“What?”
“You’re the summer romance person. You’re the person I’ve liked for a while.”
Remus blinked. The words floated around his head before he was able to string them together. All he could do was stare back at Sirius, unable to believe what he was hearing. He felt like a fish gasping on a dry dock, unable to suck in air to form words. “I- um, I-”
Sirius stared back, expression alert as Remus floundered for words. Finally, he was able to peel the letters from his throat and force the sentence out. “It’s you too.”
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, as the realization of their words settled around them like snow. Slowly, Sirius placed his hands on Remus shoulders, the around his neck, fingers tracing the muscles there gently. His hands shook Remus out of his stupor and he pulled Sirius closer, hands on his waist.
Then Sirius kissed him.
The kiss was everything a kiss should be. Deep in his stomach, Remus felt the same excitement from earlier in the morning return a hundredfold. Sirius’ mouth was soft and sweet from the waffles. They were so close, bodies pressed together despite the summer heat. He felt like a body of stars, constellations blooming on his skin wherever Sirius touched him. Adrenaline raced through his body as Sirius pulled back to look at him.
He smiled, softer than Remus had seen him before, a smile just for him. “I’d say this is my summer.”
Remus smiled back, hands intertwining behind his waist. “I’d say so too.”
92 notes · View notes
p4lparker · 5 years ago
Text
Practice Makes Perfect
Tumblr media
                                                    A Touch of Lips;
                 Birds twittered outside the window, and sunlight leaked through the slits in your blind. You could feel the warm body underneath you. Head resting on a chest which rose and fell peacefully, you tilted your head up, hands coming to rest underneath your chin as you stared at the blonde. His face was so peaceful, still marred with painful looking bruises and cuts; his eyes covered from you in sleep, but his mouth was quirked slightly a smile painted on them even in unconsciousness, his lips looking so inviting that you couldn’t restrain yourself. You pushed up on your hands on his chest and placed a gentle kiss upon him. It was only supposed to be a peck, but when he began to respond it soon turned into a lazy series of smooches.
               “Well that’s an amazing way to wake up..” JJ whispered against your lips, not wishing to part from you for too long, you both were smiling into the kisses. You shuffled off of him slightly, wrapping you arms around his middle and snuggling into him, as your arms rearranged around him you brushed against his lower body- feeling his hardness against you made you blush madly at the memory of last night. You could remember the way he felt in your hands and the desperate noises he whimpered out as you pushed him closer to his release. As the hay images flittered across your mind’s eye you felt a rush of heat flow through you and settle in between your legs. JJ stiffened at the brief contact, the slightest brush of hands or lips and it sent him in to a bubble of lust. His lips moving more furiously over your own- hands ventured along bodies- whispered moans filled the heady air surrounding you both. Until there was a knock on your bedroom door, you pulled away from JJ quickly, rolling to the side and off him before pushing him off the bed as the door opened to reveal your father.
               “Morning sweetheart..” He smiled, his eyes caught on the black boots at the foot of your bed and cargo shorts. He rolled his eyes and wiped a hand over his face tiredly. “Morning JJ or John B.. “ Your Dad kind of growled out; it wasn’t that he disliked the boys, he just didn’t take kindly to the fact that she was either sharing a bed in with one of them in the chateau or one of them was crawling in to her bed here, and no father wants his little girl sharing a bed with horny teenage boys.
“Breakfast is in the kitchen, I have to go to the station and don’t know what time I’ll be back later so I’ll see you when I see you sweetheart..” Your dad smiled at you softly, which you returned meekly, as JJ’s head popped up from the floor and peered at your dad stood in the doorway. You dad shook his head as JJ tried to not look to embarrassed at being caught out.
“And you… Get clothes on and get outta my daughters bed… You better not have defiled her Maybank or I swear to god..” He pointed a finger at the blond who flinched at the threatening voice.
“DAD! Get out! Go to work!” You cut your father off, mortification racing through your system quickly. You covered your face in your hands, you couldn’t tell if the room was hot or if your embarrassment was burning you alive from the inside out. You could hear your Dad grumbled as he closed the door and slam around the house before leaving for the day. The engine of the cruiser coming to life outside and driving away- but the shame unfortunately didn’t follow. The bed bounced as JJ jumped up on it, pulling you so you could bury your face in his warm chest instead of your hands.
“Has the ground swallowed us up yet?” You whispered and JJ just chuckled dropping a kiss to the top of your head and letting his hands rub up and down your back soothingly.
“Hey, at least we’re both kinda dressed and he didn’t walk in like ten minutes later.. cause then I think we’d all need therapy..” He laughed, your head flying up to stare at him mouth open and cheeks aflame. Your hands left his waist and felt for the pillow behind you before flumping him in the face with it. He sat and stared at you shocked. Eyes wide, mouth dropped open before grinning madly at you and reaching for his own pillow. And thus began “..the pillow fight to end all pillow fights” as JJ had dubbed it, the two of you running around the room wafting pillows at each other, laughing wildly as you both made contact. You were both to enthralled with whacking each other with pillows you didn’t notice John B crawling through the open window, until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and toss you onto the bed- a scream leaving your lips as JJ howled louder with laughter. You looked to your assailant and threw a pillow at him.
“You scared the shit outta me John B!” You crowed, before joining in laughing with your boys. The fight soon became an all out battle, unfair for you as you were being pummelled by the pair of them- your laughter was raucous and loud, and it continued until the two boys collapsed on the bed beside you worn out and breathing as heavily as you were. You all laid together, the boys entwined around you- trying to calm your hearts and guffaws of laughter to chortles, you swept your hair from your face with a huff before realising the contentedness that encapsulated you. You were happy here- buried between your boys, having ridiculous frivolous fun, them entwined around you happily, both just being there. You looked to JJ and waited for his merry blue eyes to find you, you stroked a hand over his face, you then looked to John B and grinned at his tan, freckled face and let your finger poke his cheek. The two leaned in and pecked each of your cheeks, causing you smile to widen into a grin that nearly split your face.
“I heard there is going to be a killer storm in the next couple of days so the swell is going to be immense.. So I was thinking we grab our boards and make the most of it before the tourons ruin our beach?” John B stated, as his fingers found your own and they began to wiggle play with the appendages. His calloused tips tracing over your own and around your palm and wrist- tickling the delicate skin there- you looked to JJ who just grinned, and so it was decided that was what the three of you would do. You patted John B’s stomach and moved to stand from the bed, JJ pinched your side playfully as you moved making you yelp. You collected the abandoned pillows from the floor and tossed them back onto the bed with the boys; they groaned at the impacts but laughed along regardless. You moved around the room; searching through drawers for a fresh bikini, you couldn’t decide between the yellow or pink one, holding part of both suits in your hand thoughtfully.
“Yellow..” JJ murmured from behind, you looked to him over your shoulder- watching as John B nodded emphatically. You smiled lightly and put the pink one back- then moved to your closet and collected some shorts and a t-shirt before turning back to the boys and gesturing for them to leave. They both just stared at you not understanding the issue, you sighed and rolled your eyes.
“Dude, leave so I can change..” You stated exasperatedly, the boys fumbled to get up and leave you to do as you said. You got yourself ready and piled your hair into a messy bun on top of your head as you tugged on the bandeau bikini and other clothes, you slipped your feet into your sandals and ventured out to the boys- grabbing one of each of their hands and pulling them behind you to the kitchen. You shoved a cooler into John B’s arms and began whirling around the kitchen making sandwiches and collecting soda’s and beers before popping them into the cooler. JJ helped pass you things and close cupboards etc as you whizzed around. When you were closing the lid to the cooler, you pushed John B to the front door and JJ jogged to grab your board from the back porch, the three of you venturing out to the Twinkie- and the moment you stepped foot out the door, the sun began slamming its heat into you. You all settle into the van and set off for the beach; you had raced JJ to try and get shotgun, but the blonde had won, and now you sat in the back of the bus, head propped between the two as John B concentrated on the roads which were beginning to become busy with summer-fun-seekers and JJ concentrated on slipping a new juul cartridge into the pen before breathing it in. He held it to your lips, letting you take a hit and smiling as you took it like a champ.
The ride to the beach was filled with tunes and chatter- and before you knew it you were pulling to a stop in a parking space and the three of you sprung from the van, you tugged the cooler with you as you hopped out. JJ had already climbed up onto the roof of the Twinkie and was handing the boards down to John B, once JJ was back on the ground and not precariously leaning half off the roof; you all jogged down to the sandy beach. The air was warm, and the breeze was gentle- it was a glorious summer’s day, but the ominous black clouds pulling themselves from the horizon slowly told you the waves today would be sick. You all ran close to the shore line; spreading out a couple of towels and propping the cooler between them; you watched as the boys stripped off their shirts and shoes, you eyes watching their movements making your mouth go dry, as they stood before you in all of their tan gloriousness. You mind quickly reminding you how those taut muscles felt under your hands and the palms of them tingled.
“See something you like Y/N?” JJ asked teasingly, his face donning a grin fit for the devil himself, John B stood beside him- equally as taunting. You huffed as the flush ran through your body- you’d been caught ogling them, and you couldn’t even play it off. You ignored the comment with a sniff, and proceeded to tug of your shirt and shorts- feeling their eyes on you, you raised a brow before turning to your board- grabbing it and jogging off to the water. Wading your way into the cold waves you stood and let your body regulate to the temperature before sliding onto your board and paddling out to wait for a wave. The boys followed close behind, the three of you floating on your boards as you waited for the waves to begin roiling. The wind picked up as the sky began to darken; you turned your gaze to the once busy shoreline, and watched as the masses began to pack up their belongings and flee the sand as the first few drops of rain splattered onto them, you tilted your head to the sky and let the rain drizzle onto you. As the waves began to get more wild, you waited and began paddling back to shore- the crashing wave chasing you down, when it was upon you- you leaped up to your feet keeping low to keep your balance as you felt the wave take you. Arms out to the sides to keep your balance, you swayed your body with the waters movement below- cutting turns and twists into the wave. Letting out a whoop of joy as you rode the wave for as long as possible before the swell dumped your body in the water below. The boys followed your lead and began chasing and riding their own waves.
You stayed in the water for as long as you could- before your skin was beginning to turn blue from the pouring rain and the freezing ocean. The heavens had opened and the rain poured over you all, but it didn’t stop your laughter or joy. You let the waves push you further into the shore, sliding off your board and wading through the knee deep water until you were able to collapse on the soggy sand- waves lapping at your feet. John B followed you out, dumping his board next to yours before sitting behind you; his wet chest to your goose bump covered back, legs either side of your own, arms locking around your shoulders, face nuzzling into your neck- the both of you watching JJ surf more waves, he was the better surfer out of the three of you. John B brushed his hair back with on of his hands before reaching round and pulling your face towards him and kissing you gently.  He smiled into the kiss, before swaying the two of you to an unheard song. He pulled away and pecked the tip of your nose making you giggle- the rain still poured over the pair of you, both watching and whooping as JJ showed off his skills. You sighed happily and leaned against John B’s chest, resting your hands around his forearms- both watching on as the waves became more and more wild, when JJ was dumped from a wave for the fifth time in a row he decided to make his way back to shore to you both. As soon as his foot stepped back on soggy sand, sinking in slightly- thunder cracked and lightening flashed over head. You felt your heart start at the surprising noise- your breathing gasping as you flinched further into John B’s chest. He laughed at your reaction and pressed a kiss to your wet crown before tugging you up- reaching for both of your boards as you collected the cooler and your soggy clothes. You all ran to the van- you diving inside the back of it and wrapping a blanket around your shivering frame, after hoisting the boards back into place on the roof, JJ joined you. Slithering into the blanket with you and wrapping himself around you, as you both shivered together. John B jumped into the cab, starting her up- shaking his long curly hair from his face like a dog before urging her out of the parking spot and down the much quieter roads.
The storm was becoming more violent outside, thunder crashing and lightening flashing more frequently, you could all feel the wind push against the sides of the Twinkie as John B steered her down the familiar path to JJ’s dwelling. As you neared the house you could feel JJ stiffen behind you, and it had nothing to do with him being cold- it wasn’t a home, it could never be called that. A home was filled with love, not terror. The chateau was home, with you and John B- and as he pulled into the dirt track drive you all breathed a sigh of relief as it was empty. Meaning the elder Maybank was working so JJ would have some peace and safety for the night. JJ kissed your cheek laughing as John B raised a brow and pointed to his own, before leaning forwards and dropping a kiss on the brunettes cheek also- he grabbed his gear and an to the door, waving wildly at the pair of you before disappearing behind the door. You slide yourself forwards and clambered into the passengers seat next to John B who began the drive back home. One hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh- covered with goose bumps, he turned up the heat and tried to get the radio to play, but the storm interfered with the signal. The music being drowned out by whitenoise and crackling- as the monster of a storm raged outside. You noticed visibility out the windshield was getting worse, and it made you wonder how John B was able to even see.
Thunder bellowed overhead, and John B swerved to the side of the road; a gasp and a yell leaving you both at the sudden movement. And then pained groans as the Twinkie dipped over the shoulder of the road- lurching you both forwards uncomfortably, you continued to roll forwards until John B remembered to slam the breaks on. The jarring impact of you stopping flung you back against your seat. John B lifted his hands from the wheel and looked over you with worried eyes. When he was sure you weren’t harmed in any way, he wrangled the bus into park and switched her off. You couldn’t see through the wind screen; the rain was coming down in thick sheets. The clashes of thunder were coming every other second and rumbling so loudly within your chest it felt as if your heart stopped beating regularly.
“I can’t drive in this! It’s not safe… looks like we’re camping out here for a while ‘till she passes…” John B called to you, trying to be heard over the cacophony just outside. You nodded and moved to the back of the Twinkie, he followed; the two of you piling all of the blankets and pillows back there in to some sort of comfort, it was like building a fort. Once you were content that it would be comfortable, you flopped yourself down into the blankets, making grabby hands at John B until he laid next to you. You giggled as he snuggled in wrapping himself around you like a blanket himself. He reached one hand from you to your phone- abandoned on the floor, scrolling through it until he found your music, he chose a playlist and let it play aloud. The then switched out of the app and opened up the camera one; holding the phone to face you both, he pushed his face against your own until his lips were pressing into your cheek. He snapped the pic, the tell-tale shutter sound shielding the music momentarily- before moving his lips to cover your own, in a gentle kiss. Again the shutter sound echoed, and you laughed at his cheesiness. But let him have his mini photoshoot all the same. Secretly enjoying every moment as your heart swelled and a warm, fuzzy feeling settled within your stomach. When he was happy he’d captured the moment well enough, he let the music play and let your phone rest near your heads. He let his eyes close and laid on his back before snuggling your head to rest on his chest, you laughed, leaning up and pecked at his cheek before settling back on him once more.
The wind howled around you, the rain pattering down quickly and never-ending upon the roof above, thunder booming making it feel like it was shaking your very being and lightening flickering, lighting up John B’s peaceful face in a darkly beautiful way. He had his eyes closed still, but his lips quirked.
“You’re staring…” He whispered, turning his face to you, before opening his dark eyes and staring back at you. You just smiled gently back at him and he let a huff of air pass through his nose- almost like a laugh. You could feel yourself relax and your breathing slow, and sleep was calling to you both, dragging you towards it peacefully. Until a particularly loud burst of thunder ripped through the sky, making a yelp leave you as you clung to John B.
“Hey, you’re okay.. I got you..” he murmured, one of his hands raising from your waist to tilt your face up towards him- he then leaned down and kissed you. Trying to let his lips calm you, but as his supple lips met yours, and his tongue swept along your bottom lip- they did the exact opposite. The gentle kiss became the spark that ignited flames within you, and his gentle hands smoothing over your skin only coaxed them into an inferno. You manoeuvred yourself to hover above his lips, legs straddling his waist- one of your arms supporting you, the other resting against the side of his face as his lips danced with your own, you pulled away slightly and his pouted lips followed you- making you giggle before meeting him again and kissing him with fervour. You opened your mouth and let your teeth nip into his plump bottom lip, making him groan as he opened his mouth and let your tongue in. You explored his mouth, tongue stroking against his. Hands began to wander, his large ones cupping around your bikini clad backside and squeezed- pulling you closer to him, moving you back and forth on him. You could feel him, and from what you could feel he was feeling the heat all the same- your bottoms becoming damp as your arousal settled there. Your ground yourself on him- languidly, this whole entanglement was leisurely and passionate. His fingers trailed up you back and tugged at the material covering your chest from him- you leaned away and pulled the bandeau top up and over your body and head. As more skin was revealed his eyes marvelled at you, focusing solely on you, taking a mental photograph- memorising the ethereal way your skin glowed in the striking lightening. His hands moved slowly ghosting over your soft skin and cupping your breasts, thumbs moving over your hardened nipples and toying with them gently, the moan slipping from you made his pupils blow and mouth drop open.
You lunged forward again and captured his mouth- kissing again, his lips always welcoming. You hands venturing down his body, tracing over his abs- feeling them contract under your palms- then lower to palm his growing hardness. He stiffened and whined at the contact; the storm outside almost drowning his noises out, you fingers fumbled with the waist band, tugging until he got the message. You pulled back and helped him push his shorts off his body, when he was free you scanned your eyes over him. He was different to JJ, not bigger, not smaller- just different but non-the-less pleasing. Your mouth went dry as you saw the blushing head leaking pre-cum. You let the pads of your fingers trace over it and spread it around, lifting it to your mouth and suckling the taste of him from the tips. You had to fight the urge to go back for more. And John B jut watched you eyebrows so high in his hairline you wondered off-handedly if they would ever return to their usual place. His mouth was wide in an O shape, but no sound escaped him, but he could’ve watched that image of you on a loop in his mind until the end of his days; as he was positive nothing would ever be that enticing. That sexy. You licked your hand thoroughly before letting it wander along his shaft- his head falling back against the floor of the Twinkie with a thump. You let your hand squeeze and run along him building up a smooth pace; not too fast or too slow, and he seemed to appreciate it, if the moans leaving his plush lips were anything to go off. You pressed kisses against any flesh your could; nibling and sucking your mark into his left pec. Smiling at the blossoming bruise that formed- you watched as he was lost in the throes of ecstasy.
You moved your lips down his body kissing and licking against the tan skin, soon enough your face was where your hand was working him. You don’t know what made you do it, but your mind couldn’t keep up with your body- as you surged forwards and let your lips meet the blush head of him. He was lost in the sensation, until he felt something new but not unwelcome- his head popping up and staring at you eyes wide- brows furrowed. You were looking at him for his reaction, and you weren’t disappointed, the look on his face spurred you on, as you wracked your brain for anything you could remember from watching porn. You tentatively opened your lips and left open kisses on the tip.
“F-f-f-uuuuck!” john B whispered, his hands pushing his hair from his face. His response pushed you on. Your mouth opened and took him inside, you bobbed your head down as far as you could before hollowing out your cheeks and sucking on him. You watched him from beneath you lashes, his hands were fisted in his curly locks and tugging at the ends of the strands and his face was screwed up beautifully in pleasure. You moved slowly, taking him in and out of your warmth- moving your wet hand over the parts of him you couldn’t fit into your mouth. His moans made you hum in appreciation- you picked up the pace slightly and pushed him further into the confines of pleasure. And he was so close, so, so close to that delicious release- he wasn’t lasting long, especially when you swiped your tongue over him teasingly as you gained confidence. As he could feel the familiar tightening in his stomach, he tried to let you know to pull away. When his frantic hands tapped at your shoulder you pulled back- he sighed out and took himself in his hand and pumped himself quickly.
“mm gonna cum..” He grunted out as he pumped his hand quicker until spurts of white coated his hand and some landed on your chest. His eyes couldn’t decide whether to screw shut tightly or stare at you wide eyed. He was wrong, this was the most beautiful and sexy thing he’d seen; you covered in him. Once he had ridden out the aftershocks of his release he lunged towards you and kissed you furiously, passionately- his lips slowing until it became more his more familiar languid style. His fingers found their way to your bottoms and began to stroke you over the material. Before slipping underneath- you moved your hips against his hand and tried to gain more friction; chasing your elusive high. John B began shifting his weight until he could roll you beneath him; his hand slipping from the front of your bottoms to the sides and began to tug them down. Once you were bare for him his fingers returned to our most sensitive area- and yours began their exploration of him once more you could feel him begin to harden again, as you both teased eachother. Lips fused in a never ending kiss. You lifted your legs, and began to wrap them around his hips, dragging him towards you. His fingers working you to your end swiftly- pads of his fingers circling and drawing figure eights on your clit, your peak came and you rose with it moaning out loudly at the sensation. He pulled his lips from you, your eyes focusing on his features he looked directly into your eyes, panting slightly.
“Wait!” You gasped out, as your mind began to clear- the look on John B’s face surprised you, you had expected disappointment, not the gentle smile he was sporting. He nodded, not needing an explanation- he pulled his hands from your core, licking your taste from them before rolling off of you. He pressed his lips against yours lazily and kissed you- the way you were beginning to love. He tugged you to rest against his chest once more, pulling blankets around you both as you snuggled together and listened to the raging storm outside and let it ease you both to sleep.
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xbellaxcarolinax · 5 years ago
Text
Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) Epilogue- Home
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)
Word Count: 5105
Warnings: Only that Ivar likes to monologue like a super villain.
AN: And we've finally reached the end! Again, thank you to those who stuck around, liked, reblogged, and left such lovely comments 💙
28- New Beginnings
...
The gods had blessed their journey with fair weather.
The mountainous skyline was finally in their line of vision after months of travel. The sun followed them, searing them through their wool lined clothes. Most of the men grumbled, removing the layers of heated fabric and leather to find some relief under the sweltering heat.
The water was bluer than Artemis remembered, the colorful fish swimming beside their ships as if greeting them. Their surroundings were vivid and full of color, far from the gray skies that dominated the sky in Norway. The Mediterranean skies were full of unimaginable life.
She brings her eyes to the shadowy figures atop the cliffside. One by one foreign men mounted on impressive horses lined up on the edge of the rocky hill watching the ships head closer to their captured coast line. She was hoping it was a lie, or that perhaps these men had left back to where they came from. But those were childish thoughts, and she couldn't hide her disappointment. She grips tightly at the wool covering her knees, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
"Andalusian's." Ivar comments beside her, the hood of his cloak hiding the seasick look on his face. He watches her features harden, her eyes holding a reckless darkness to them. He reaches over to cover her hand with his own, successfully loosening the tension between her fingers and laces their fingers together.
She lets out a breath through her nose, muttering something that was most certainly insulting towards those men, but remains silent after that.
"They will come to greet us at shore," He says after a moment, "And they will try to threaten us." Artemis finally turns to look at him, tightening her grip on his rough hand.
"Are you worried?" She wanted so much to tease him, but only succeeded in revealing her own concerns. She was the worried one.
Ivar scoffs.
"I command the most powerful army in the world," He boasts, waving his hand about, "There is nothing to fear." Artemis smiles. She always did admire her husband's courage and ambition.
Under Ivar's command was an impressive fleet, accompanied by his best warriors such as Dafi and Whitehair, alongside Bjorn and his men. The oldest Ragnarson joined their expedition without hesitation, honoring the alliance between Kattegat and Hedeby, as well as honoring his own ambitious heart. He loved the Mediterranean.
Bjorn too had his eyes on the cliffside, commanding his men to have their shields at the ready, and Ivar followed suit with his own warriors.
Artemis struggles to remain calm, closing her eyes as the salty wind caresses her heated cheeks, her ears focusing on the soft grunts of the men steering their ships. For a moment her mind wanders back to Kattegat, to Hvitserk who was ruling over the Kingdom in their absence, and most of all, to their child that was left behind for safety. The image of their little princess appears behind her lids, and she wanted so much in that moment to hold her.
"Baby bird," Ivar calls out to her, releasing the hold she had on his fingers to tug the sleeve of her simplistic tunic, "Our daughter is fine." He reassures her. Even now he always seemed to know what she was thinking. He pulls her closer in an embrace so that she may settle against him, planting a kiss to her brow. "You know Hvitserk is protecting her. He loves her as if she were his own."
"Yes, I know." Was her mumbled reply.
"And I'm sure she is having a wonderful time with Asa and Heracles." Artemis listens, but her eyes go back to the men on the cliff side.
"But she is so young, and if we don't return..."
"Artemis." Ivar reprimands her as if he were reprimanding their own child. He never once thought that his daughter would become orphaned while they went on this journey. It was simply a scenario he refused to mull over. He vowed to return to her, no matter the circumstances.
"I miss her." Was all his wife said, resting her head against his shoulder in comfort.
"I know, I miss her too. We will reunite soon enough, hmm?" He lays his head atop of hers, stroking his fingers over her hair, "I promised you long ago we would journey to your homeland. I did not intend to break that promise." Artemis lets out the smallest hint of a smile, lifting Ivar's large hand to place a kiss on it.
The hours passed slowly, until finally they neared the shore. The ships hadn't quite settled onto the sandy bank, and before Ivar could blink, his wife was already splashing into the water, her bow and quiver in hand. He watches her struggle, the water seeping into the material of her thick breeches weighing her down but still, she pushes forward.
Ivar grunts, swinging his legs over the edge of the small boat before stabbing his crutch into the wet sand. He pulls himself up, moving through the shallow water as quickly as he could manage before the waves could set in. He barks out orders, telling his warriors to be alert in case of attack, their swords and shields on hand. Ivar himself was covered in his weapons, his axe and sword hanging from his waist, as well as his usual daggers hidden within his trousers.
Bjorn settles beside his youngest brother, surveying the familiar area as quickly as he could. The nature surrounding them was just as breathtaking as the first time he had seen it.
"Well?" Bjorn questions him, "What do you think?
"You always did dream of sunnier places," Ivar tells him, "I now understand why." The brothers stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the sound of the waves and the squawking of the seagulls soaring above.
"I took her away from her home and you've managed to bring her back," Bjorn comments. He crosses his arms, licking his dry lips before casting down a look towards his brother.
"She deserves it." Ivar replies, not wanting to disturb his wife's peace. They watched her as she reached down to touch the sand, grabbing a handful of the grainy stuff only to watch it slip through her fingers. Quickly she bends to remove the boots from her bare feet to feel the hot sand between her toes.
With a smile he looks on before whispering to himself,
"Welcome home, my love."
...
Ivar's suspicions were correct. The entourage of men from the cliffside met their own, their horses stomping around in an act of intimidation. That didn't work out too well. Ivar, finally within his chariot, smirks. He leans against the railing, already looking like a predator waiting for its prey. It has been quite some time since he's killed anyone.
"Do not taunt them, Ivar." Artemis mutters a warning as she moves to stand beside his chariot, casting him a look when he scoffs in reply before bringing her attention towards the well dressed leader.
He was a man of a darker complexion with equally dark eyes lined in khol. He immediately recognizes Bjorn, the smallest hints of a sneer forming on his lips. It seemed Bjorn had left an impression in the past, and from the looks of it, not a very good one.
"I see you're back, Bjorn Ironside," He grunts, his accent heavy on the northern tongue, "There is no mistaking those ships." Both Ivar and Artemis look at the man before turning to Bjorn in disbelief. Bjorn was not at all phased with seeing this particular man again.
"A pleasant surprise, Abu Hafs," The oldest Ragnarsson says the man's name as greeting, "The years have been good to you," The man barks out a laugh, tilting his head in amusement.
"I can't say the same for you, Viking." He proceeds to rake his eyes over his companions.
"My brother, King Ivar of Kattegat, and his wife, Queen Artemis." Bjorn answers the silent question. The man makes a low noise of confusion, eyes scrutinizing them. How could they be king and queen looking the way they did? The King was quite tall, but leaned heavily on a crutch. Metal wrapped around his legs like iron serpents. The Queen had on as much leather as a man would, wearing the gear of a warrior. The Arab man blinks, thinking what an odd pair of royalty they were. He did not miss the look they both held in their eyes, though he noticed the King's gaze promised far more danger then he let on.
"It is a pleasure, King Ivar, Queen Artemis," He politely greets them with a tiny bow of his head, and the pair return his sentiments. He then shifts his gaze towards their warriors behind them bearing their weapons. "I don't suppose this is a friendly meeting?"
"We're not here to raid." Artemis responds in her native Greek, far too tired of fake pleasantries and small talk. She approaches the man with careful steps, being mindful of the large horse he was mounted on. The horse whinnies, but does nothing more at her presence. Said man was taken aback, his brows shooting up so high they could have hid under his bright orange head wrap.
"You're Greek?" He asks in disbelief, wondering to himself how he hadn't noticed it before.
"Yes," She answers, "From this very island." Her tone was far from agreeable, it could have been picked up from anyone in hearing distance. The leader narrows his eyes, not appreciating her insinuation. He mutters something in Arabic that she couldn't make out, causing his men to snort in quiet laughter.
"Then what are you all here for, woman?" Artemis scowls, pushing down the strong desire to shoot this man with an arrow. She could already sense what he was about and what he thought of the opposite gender. Crossing her arms, Artemis lifts her chin up to look at him directly despite how much shorter she was.
"I seek a blacksmith in one of the main villages in Chania."
"You've come all this way for a blacksmith?" The man replies to her, finally jumping off his horse. He wasn't very tall, much shorter than anticipated, but still, he towered over her.
Ivar immediately moves his chariot forward in response. He picked up on a few words in their conversation, getting a sense of what was being said, and he did not like the sound of it. He steps off the chariot, masking his discomfort well, and stood behind his wife, ready to defend her if need be.
Bjorn stares between the Arab leader and his sister in law, catching very few words as he did not pick up Greek as well as Ivar had.
"We've come for my father."
"Ahh," Then Arab man quickly sweeps his eyes over her again before coming to a conclusion, "You were taken by these people as a slave."
"With all due respect, that is no concern of yours."
"How cunning you must have been to become queen of a foreign people." Artemis blinks, not sure how she should retaliate without potentially endangering them all. She glares at him, and the Arab man smirks back.
"Should I kill him?" Ivar asks her rather loudly, his fingers lightly dancing on her waist, "I could kill him."
"Ivar." Bjorn warns, but is cut short when Artemis removes a hidden dagger from Ivar's side, bringing the pad of her finger to the tip.
"Or I could do it myself." She says casually, speaking as if the man weren't there. She teasingly points the dagger at the Arab man, waiting for him to react. The Andalusian warriors immediately point their weapons at them, swords and bows just a few feet away. Ivar's men did not hesitate in reciprocating their actions, axes glimmering in the sunlight.
Bjorn stomps over to snatch the dagger from Artemis's hand with a hard yank.
"Enough," The older Ragnarsson says, putting a hand up in a form of surrender, "When did you become as impulsive as my brother?"
Suddenly the Arab man barks out another laugh, clearly amused. He orders his men to lower their weapons before putting his hands to his hips.
"I see you both make for better company than Bjorn ever did," He jokes, watching Bjorn furrow his flaxen brows in displeasure before bringing his attention back to Ivar, "Your wife is very vivacious, King Ivar. An admirable trait."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Ivar bites out a quick response, a smirk settling on his lips as he holds her tight.
"Very well, I will accept you are here in search of someone, a certain blacksmith, but what have you to offer in return for allowing you and your men into my lands?" Artemis scoffs, rolling her eyes at the sheer audacity this man had at calling the island his. Before she could spit out a sarcastic comment, Bjorn interjects.
"We wish to trade," He tells him, "I'm sure you will be satisfied with the items we've brought." The leader hums.
"Go on."
"We bring furs from all over Scandinavia," Ivar continues, "The best pelt's of brown bear from Norway." He motions to Dafi, ordering him and a few men to drag a crate off one of the ships. Once opened, Ivar digs a hand inside, pulling out a shiny pelt of fur belonging to a large brown bear. He runs his thumb over the soft hairs, offering the pelt to the Arab man, who took it from him with eager hands.
They all watch the man inspect the fur, impressed with the fine quality. He nods with a grunt of approval, handing Ivar back the pelt.
"Very well," He says, "I will grant you my hospitality," He mounts his horse, steering the beast round with his men following his lead. Picking up the reigns he turns to glance at them, "I humbly welcome you all to the Emirate of Crete."
...
The Emirate of Crete.
Artemis thinks bitterly, her eyes glaring daggers at the Arab leader's back. She didn't like him, she didn't like his men, and she most certainly didn't like his arrogance.
"I fear your face will remain that way." Ivar jokes, peering up at her with his charming smile. It was his attempt to calm her nerves.
"I don't like him."
"Neither do I, my love," He mutters, "Though he trades with us decent goods."
"Slaves?" She mutters defensively, and Ivar thinks that perhaps Bjorn was right, she was taking after him.
"Some slaves, yes," He responds, "Among other items." Artemis only grunts in response. "Such is the way of the world, Artemis, you know this."
"And they will not be as lucky as I." She says, finally deciding to rip her eyes away from the offending man and towards their surroundings.
Part of her didn't want to be there.
How long had she dreamt of this very moment, only to feel like she wanted to run and hide?
4 years?
4 years of sadness, pain, happiness and peace all in one congested mess of emotions that had her questioning her sanity in such moments.
She remembered that day vividly.
It was as if it all occurred just days ago. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could reimagine it all again, the screams, the blood, the tears.
She chooses to watch Ivar's face taking in the foreign sights. It was a lovely distraction. He'd never been this far from home before. Ivar wouldn't admit it, but he was fascinated to be in such a land so unlike his own, where the sun never seemed to set and the heat was beyond anything he'd felt on his pale skin.
He seemed so childlike, like a curious babe entering the world.
Artemis wanted to appreciate such a moment, the rare sight of her husband being absorbed into his surroundings was adorable. He swore no lands could outshine Kattegat, but judging by his curious eyes, he found something close to it.
Finally, her eyes catch the sight of the monastery. That was when the dam of her emotions broke, and she couldn't hold herself together any longer. She fights with herself, the stubborn tears already pooling at the rim of her eyes, threatening to spill. She sniffles, wiping the falling tears angrily. Her hot tears fall against Ivar, droplets landing on his hand.
He gazes up at her again, seeing how she wiped at her face furiously, skin flushed from fighting her emotions. Ivar frowns, taking up her hand to brush a kiss over her knuckles. He lets her have a moment to herself, deciding to wrap an arm about her waist in simple comfort.
Keeping a tight grip on the reigns, he turns to look at the infamous monestary, made of white stone and now donning a symbol that he knew was not that of the Christian's.
Abu Haf's men led the procession along into the bustling village, the roads small and rocky under the wheels of the chariot. It looked war torn, signs of battle and struggle through every corner. The people gaze at Ivar's men with wide eyes. Many glared, and many others hid in their homes and shops. Just like the Andalusian's, they were not welcomed.
It was a short ride. Bjorn took it upon himself to stay back and watch over the ships with a few of his own warriors under the watchful eye of the Andalusian men.
A few moments later and the procession stops in the main square of the village.
"The blacksmith," Abu Hafs says from atop his horse. He points to the familiar shop, but Artemis already knew the way. She grips Ivar's shoulder tightly in her nervousness. Everything appeared the same, though the stones were a bit eroded since she was there last. Smoke escaped from the chimney above, a clear sign that someone was at work.
"Artemis?" Ivar questions, moving to push a few stray hairs behind her ear. She turns to him with shining eyes, a look of fear settling within the dark pools. She hadn't looked that frightened in such a long time. It broke his heart to see her in such grief.
"Are you ready?"
"No," She whispers, "No, I don't think I am." Her feet seemed rooted to the base of his chariot, and it appeared she wouldn't be moving for a while. Ivar stood with a grunt, quickly placing a kiss to her cheek before stepping off into the direction of the shop.
"Ivar?" She calls out to him frantically, "What are you doing?"
"Going to meet my father in law, is it not obvious?" He turns around to look at her with a smile, "He is part of the family, no?"
"Yes but-"
"You come in whenever you're ready, hmm? Dafi, watch over her." Ivar orders the warrior, giving a quick glance to Abu Hafs, his eyes sending a warning.
Once he pushes the door, he immediately catches sight of an older man. He was of moderate height and quite burly for his age. He worked as every blacksmith would, dipping a sword into a bucket of cold water. The steam rose and cleared before Ivar decided to speak.
"Giannis?"
The older man turns around, immediately stiffening at the sight of him. He stares at Ivar long and hard, raking his eyes over his form before whispering.
"Viking."
Ivar smirks, hobbling in to get a closer look at the man who truly had a strong resemblance to his wife. It was unmistakable.
He searches his mind for the proper words before speaking.
"Your daughter has been waiting for this moment a long time," He tells him, finding a stool to sit on, "And in some ways, I have as well. She speaks fondly of you." It was quite amusing really, to see the man as frozen as a deer moments before its death by an arrow.
The man says nothing, his hand twitching over the pommel of the sword left to cool in the bucket. He scrutinizes the northerner before him and his calm actions. Ivar doesn't bat an eye when the man lifts the sword in a defensive stance, pointing it towards him.
"I want no trouble." The man, Giannis, says, thick brows furrowing when Ivar scoffs, waving his hand about as he usually did.
"I'm not here to cause trouble." The blacksmith was even more confused, slowly lowering the sword cautiously. Isn't causing trouble what Vikings did?
"You know, she is a queen now." Ivar tells him, choosing to observe his surroundings. It was a quaint little forge, supplied with what was necessary, similar to the one back home. He could already imagine Artemis scurrying about in there once upon a time.
The man blinks, quite stunned into silence. Frankly, it appeared as if he were struck in the face. He couldn't fathom what was more odd, a pillaging Northman sitting before him, or the fact that he spoke Greek. Both were equally odd.
"You understand me, yes?" Ivar questions him, eyebrows raised. He leans his arms on his crutch, waiting for the man to answer him. The blacksmith nods, placing the sword atop the table before removing his gloves. He then glances at Ivar's braces and crutch, finally bringing his gaze to look him in the eyes. The same eyes of his wife.
"You like them?" A smile begins to curl at the corners of Ivar's lips, "Your daughter's creation. You taught her well."
"How do you know my daughter?" The man's voice was suddenly like a whip. Any normal person would have flinched, but Ivar was far from normal. Ivar lets out a chuckle, as it became clear to him where Artemis had inherited her temper from.
"She is my wife," Ivar articulates as best he could, enjoying the way the man's face went from panic, to an even greater panic, "And that makes you my father in law."
"What?" The blacksmith sneers.
"As well as a grandfather." Ivar continues his chatter. The man was greatly overwhelmed. He runs a hand through his graying hair, his aged skin seemingly more pronounced as he ponders the situation.
"I don't understand," He says, "My daughter was killed by your people."
"She was captured," Ivar corrects, though not very happy to have said that, "And is very much alive." The older man grunts, picking up the sword and placing it back into the bucket with a force that surprised Ivar.
The blacksmith says nothing, walking toward the far corner of the forge and quickly producing a clay jug along with 2 clay cups. He pours himself wine, quickly gulping it down before filling the other cup and handing it over to Ivar.
"Drink."
Ivar sniffs at the wine out of habit, not much a fan of the fermented grape drink as his wife was, but decides to take a sip.
"It has been nearly 4 years," The man begins, bringing a stool over to sit a few feet from Ivar, "Artemis is dead. I have come to terms with it." He pours himself another cup and downs it with a deep grunt, holding the cup so tightly Ivar thought it might shatter in his grasp. "We haven't seen your people around here in quite a while, so tell me, has a man of the North come to kill me, or pester me, hm?"
"Neither." Was Ivar's simple reply.
"Then what is it you want? Weapons?"
"Just a man wanting to reunite his wife with her family." The older man was skeptical, looking at Ivar with narrowed eyes.
"If what you claim is true then where is she?"
"Right outside."
As if on cue, Artemis bursts into the forge, her chest heaving as if she ran for miles. She swallows thickly, her throat feeling dry from the anxiousness.
Both Ivar and her father turn to look towards the outburst, only to find a nervous young woman wringing her hands together as she slowly steps forward.
She didn't know what to think, what to say, what would he-
Her fathers eyes found hers instantly, and the cup fell from his hand, shattering across the floor in pieces. She takes a step back on instinct, her eyes following the shattered clay pieces that scattered towards her feet.
"I must be dreaming," The blacksmith says, shooting up from the stool, yet makes no movement to approach her, "The devil tests me." Ivar snorts immediately, bringing them both out from their haze.
"This is no work of the devil, I assure you." He tells him.
Father and daughter merely stare, eyes battling each other, waiting to see which one of them was the illusion.
"Father," Artemis's voice cracks, "I thought you were..." She stops herself, choking back a sob. She couldn't speak after that, giving in to the grief of painful separation. It hurt Ivar to see her in such a state. He hated it. He attempts to reach for her but stops himself short when her father finally strides forward, grabbing her into a tight embrace.
"My sweet girl." He struggles to say through his own sorrow, enveloping his daughter in a tight embrace. This was the moment that Artemis had been waiting for, the moment she thought impossible. To feel her father's touch again was almost bittersweet, as her new home was worlds apart from his.
After a few moments her father pulls away from her.
"Let me get a proper look at you," He says, holding her at arm's length, "You've not changed, though your state of dress is certainly different." He gives her a teary smile, hearing the tiny hiccup of a laugh within her sobs. Her delicate face hadn't changed much, but it was obvious to him that she had matured. She was far from the young girl he remembered. Her eyes held many tales from across the seas.
"This Viking says you are a queen, that you are his wife." Her father's tone was gentle as he was known to have a soft nature by those who knew him well. His previous panic with Ivar had subsided and was replaced with a new found curiosity. Artemis nods, wiping her face free of tears.
"His name is Ivar," She begins, "It is true...I am his wife. We rule a kingdom in the far North." She tries to keep her voice leveled, wanting to be strong. She was proud of being wife to her husband. Turning to look back at Ivar he offers her a reassuring smile. He was listening intently, making sure to follow their conversation. She smiles back, feeling much more confident.
"I thought I would never see you again," She admits, turning back towards the older man "And when I was told about the Andalusian's, I assumed nothing but the worst for you." Her father nods, running a hand down his face.
"It has been a challenging few years," He admits, "But we still persevere. We always do." He then turns away from them for a moment to collect his thoughts, a question burning in his mind. He turns back round with a sigh, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I was told you have a child?"
"A daughter, Sól," Artemis smiles at the thought of her little girl, "She is back home with Ivar's brother for safety." Her father hums in response, though he was saddened at his daughter's idea of home.
"Home? Is it not here in Chania?"
"This place is just a memory of what it once was. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing for you here either, father." Her father frowns at her response. It was true. Though the Andalusian's ransacked their island, it was still home.
"Her home is where her family is," Ivar finally interjects, "And her family is in Norway." The older man gives Ivar a stern look.
"Tell me, Viking, do you know the pain of losing a child?" His voice was calm, but behind the cool exterior was a slow boiling rage. Ivar clenches his jaw, his lips forming into a tight line. He gives the man a hard look before bringing his gaze towards his worried wife, and then towards his hands gripping his crutch.
"No," Ivar answers bitterly, "I do not know of such pain. Nor do I ever wish to feel it with my own child."
"I have lost a wife, a son, and for 4 agonizing years I believed I had lost a daughter," The blacksmith explains, grunting as he sits back down upon the stool opposite of Ivar, "Your people have caused damage to many hearts here." Ivar remains silent, fingers tightening over his crutch while he listens to the words of the old man.
"Forgive me for wanting my daughter to return home." He raises his eyes to glance at his daughter, who stood beside the northern as if she were always meant to be there, "But I could already see that remaining here is not part of her plan," He sighs with smile and a shake of his head," Artemis has always been a force to be reckoned with."
"Oh?" Ivar grins, bringing his eyes to his wife. Her cheeks burned red.
"Father-"
"Did she ever tell you of the butcher boy? Scared the poor boy to death when she tried bringing a hammer to his head. Put me in much trouble with the boy's father." Ivar grins hearing the tale, his fingers trailing over Artemis's lower back.
"I would very much like to hear more of these stories." He laughs at his wife's embarrassment, squeezing her tight from round her waist.
Her father beckons his daughter forward, offering his aged hand for her to grasp,"Oh daughter," He stands, embracing her again, "My heart both sings and weeps for you." She hears the pain in his voice, the grief of an old man at wits end.
"You mustn't worry for me. I am well and Ivar takes good care of me."
"He treats you well?"
"Like a queen." She responds, and the father could feel her smiling against his tunic.
"And your daughter?"
"Takes after her mother," Ivar answers, "She is the jewel of Kattegat." The blacksmith smiles, quiet content with the answers received. They stayed silent for a few moments before he lets out another sigh, speaking with slight amusement in his tone.
"Well then," He begins, looking down at Artemis, "I suppose I can't threaten to marry you off to the butcher's boy anymore, hmm?"
Artemis breaks out into a smile more blinding than the Mediterranean sun.
...
@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @leilabeaux​ @jzr201​ @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @rastakami23 @ostra814​ @zumzum96​
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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago
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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]
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Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃
And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  
The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜
Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.
This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.
Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.
Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).
Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE
Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​
Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊
“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”
“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”
You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”
“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  
“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”
He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”
“Oh my god.”
“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.
“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”
You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”
“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.
It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.
“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”
He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”
“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”
“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”
“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”
“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.
“Rog...I don’t know.”
“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”
“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.
“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”
“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.
“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”
“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”
“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”
You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.
“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.
You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.
~~~~~~~~~~
His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.
Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.
“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”
“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”
Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”
Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”
Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”
“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”
“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.
“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.
John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”
“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”
“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”
“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?
“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”
“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.
Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”
Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”
The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”
He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.
“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.
“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”
“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”
“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.
Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”
She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.
“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.
“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”
“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.
“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.
“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”
Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”
Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.
When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.
That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.
“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”
“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.
“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”
Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.
“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.
Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”
He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.
“Let’s go to bed.”
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.
“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”
“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”
John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?
Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”
He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”
John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.
“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”
“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”
“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”
“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.
“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”
I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”
John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.
With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.
“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”
“We’re going straight to the party?”
“We certainly are.”
“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”
John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”
John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.
You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”
He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.
“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”
“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”
Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.
John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.
“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”
“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.
“You look incredible, baby.”
“Roger, what’s going on...?”
“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”
“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.
“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.
You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.
It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.
But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.
It doesn’t mean anything.
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thran-duils · 5 years ago
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Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 9)
Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 9) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 1,399 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence
Chap 8 || Chap 10 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost
Flicking through articles online, you searched for something that smelled of a case. The last couple of weeks, you guys had laid low and to be honest, all nervous to venture outside now that you were aware Castiel knew exactly where you lived.
Sighing, you closed another article, growing agitated that you had not found at least something yet. You decided to branch out, looking at the southeast coast.
“Nothing?” Dean questioned from across the table. He was doing his own search on his laptop, lazily twirling a beer bottle on its end on the table.
“Not yet,” you admitted. “At least not anything close by. I’m looking at Louisiana.”
“Haven’t been out that way in a while.”
“And it has sandy beaches,” you quipped, throwing him a smirk that he returned.
Article after article. You were growing tired of staring at the screen. You would rather be staring at the bottom of another beer bottle.
Something caught your eye.
You groaned.
“What?” Dean asked.
Turning your laptop around to show him, you said, “I’ve had enough of werewolves this year. Haven’t you?”
<> <> <>
Sam shouted in pain as he was slammed up against the rock wall behind him. The werewolf was in his face, getting too close, chomping at his arm as he tried to grab his knife since his gun knocked out of his hands. Dean grabbed it by the shoulder, tearing it away with enough force to give Sam the room to drive his machete into the wolf’s neck.
It howled in pain when Sam tore the knife back out and kicked t to the ground. Dean cocked his gun and aimed directly for the head.
You were at Sam’s side quickly, “Did it bite you?”
Shook, it took him a few seconds to register what you asked. He shook his head, “No. No. I’m good.”
He held out both his arms as proof.
You and Dean instantly relaxed.
Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean said, “Well. We got the son of a bitch. Let’s go to the beach.”
<> <> <>
Running a towel again over your wet hair, you left the motel bathroom. You were the last to shower, considering Sam had been beaten up the most and Dean had taken some hard hits too. They must have gone to the beach to have some beers already because the room was empty.
Tossing the towel on your bed, you slipped your shoes on. You were wearing boxers and a sweatshirt, and you hoped the sweater was enough to keep out the ocean breeze.
Grabbing the room key, you left, locking the door behind you.
As you walked down the porch to go downstairs, a group of younger men – obviously drunk – were coming up them.
One low whistled eyeing your legs and you locked eyes with him, your annoyance evident.
“Where are you going? The party is back that way,” he said, blocking your way. He held up a handle of hard liquor, waving it in your face.
He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, you guessed. His brown hair was tousled, his arms covered in tattoos. If he was not acting like an absolute douche, you might actually flirt back.
Considering that was not the case, you tried to sidestep by him without a word.
He advanced, blocking your way again with a hand on your arm.
You noted his wolf tattoo and almost scoffed at the coincidence.
“Yeah, can you move? I’m meeting my friends.”
“Well,” he said with a wide smile. “How about you invite them too, gorgeous?”
Smirking, you said, “Unless you’re into mid-thirties men, I don’t think you’ll be getting what you’re asking for.”
The guy leaned back, examining you with a drunken look. “You a prostitute?”
This time, you actually did scoff. “No. Now move, you overgrown jackass.”
You shoved past him, his friends laughing at the exchange. You wanted to pistol whip the group of them.
“Whatever, bitch. You’re not even that hot anyway,” the guy called after you.
You merely answered with a finger over your shoulder, which caused another round of howling laughter from the group.
<> <> <>
Another package waited by your car. You had only been home for a few hours at most.
Gingerly, you removed the lid from the box and stared inside. It only took a few moments for you to register what you were looking at.
A shrill scream erupted, and you tossed the box away from you. Your gaze was locked on the upturned box, your mouth hanging open in horror.
Over the blood rushing in your ears, you heard Sam and Dean rushing out of the bunker door from behind you.
“What? What happened?” Sam shouted, his hands on your shoulders trying to get you to focus on him.
Your breath shuddered as you raised a shaky hand to point past him at the box in the gravel. Tears pricked at your eyes.
His eyes followed your direction and he swiftly turned to swoop the box up. You let out a low moan seeing the piece of skin had fallen out, sitting in the setting sun.
“What the hell…” Dean asked no one in particular, staring in revulsion.
Sam backed a few steps away, not taking his eyes off of it.
Your voice shook as you said, “It’s that guy.”
“What guy?” Sam demanded.
“That douchebag from the hotel! The one I told you about that was messing with me when I was trying to come down to the beach. I recognize that tattoo. Oh my god.”
Castiel had been in Louisiana. He had been watching you still, quietly hiding in the shadows. You had been basking in the false sense of security. Once again.
It was too much.
You leaned against Sam for support, not trusting your knees to not buckle beneath you.
<> <> <>
Ringing roused you from your sleep. Drowsily, you answered, “Hello?”
“You were sleeping, kitten.”
Your eyes snapped open wide hearing his voice. You had not even checked the number before answering in your sleepy state.
“Y/N?” he questioned when you did not respond.
You pushed yourself up onto your elbow, “What?”
“I woke you.” It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“I am sorry. I despise being woken up.”
“Why are you calling me?”
You caught the slight scoff before he asked, “Did you get my gift?”
“I wouldn’t call that a gift, Castiel.”
You heard him exhale curtly this time.
“A token. A sign to show you I will not allow you to be disrespected.”
Rubbing your eyes, distressed, you felt a bubble of anger rising. He had invaded your space, the one space that was supposed to be yours. To be secret. And then he had done that heinous thing.
“How? How long were you there? How did you manage to be there? In Louisiana?”
You wanted answers to this madness, and you wanted them now.
“Now, if I showed all the cards up my sleeve, how would I keep the element of surprise in our relationship, kitten?”
“We… we don’t have a relationship, Castiel!” you blurted. Your voice trembled as you fought tears, “You cut some guy’s arm off and left the skin of it on my doorstep! That’s not a relationship, that’s sick! Do you realize that? Or are you that daft?”
Clarity rang that you had in your tired stated let your emotions get the better of you. You were poking the bear – the exact thing you had pleaded with Sam and Dean to not do. Stupid. Impulsive.
Breathing shakily, you wiped at your eyes waiting for his reaction.
“Well. Our first spat,” Castiel laughed, void of humor. “I did not think it would resort to personal jabs but in a whirlwind of emotion…”
You were silent, more flabbergasted than anything at his blatant disregard of your words accusing him of his insane behavior.
“Right. No more body parts as gifts. I will keep that in mind, kitten. Thank you for being honest, most would be too afraid to with me.”
Anger boiled back up to the top, your clarity for civility moments ago was discarded. “I am going back to sleep, Castiel.”
You did not even say goodbye before hanging up your phone. And turning it off completely for good measure.
You stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to fall back asleep.
~~~
CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass
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flowersandskeletons526 · 5 years ago
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“Come Home With Me” - Glitra Fanfic
Guess who needs a break from angst! Plot twist, it’s me! This is a future AU that is really just baseless fluff because I can. Enjoy!
----
Glimmer perched on the edge of a balcony overlooking Brightmoon. Thunderheads toiled over the mountains in the distance, the fresh scent of rain hanging in the air. The tail end of summer brought a cool breeze throughout the kingdom that trailed its fingers through Glimmer’s hair, raising goosebumps along her arms as she watched the sun fall to the horizon. Golden light cascaded over the castle behind her. 
She pulled one leg up to her chest and rested her head on her knee. Footsteps clicked on the marble tiles behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Adora smiled and swung her legs over the railing beside Glimmer. 
Her sandy hair was pinned away from her face, free from the ponytail she always used to wear. Her pale blue eyes were calmer, wiser, her face hollowed just a touch by the years. It was enough for Glimmer to notice how mature she looked now. A simple longsword rested on her hip. The old Horde coat was gone, replaced by a red leather jacket with She-Ra’s tiara in gold on the back. A long scar ran from her forehead to her cheek and skirted around the outer corner of her eye, a reminder from the last battle of the war. 
Glimmer could hardly believe six years had gone by so fast. 
“Hey,” Adora said. 
Glimmer smiled. “Hey.”
“How long have you been out here?” 
“Not long. Just enjoying the golden hour.”
“You really should wear a coat out here. It’s starting to get cold.” 
Glimmer shrugged and looked out over the landscape. “It’s not bad.” 
“Still.” Adora took a deep breath and blew it out through her mouth. “Are you going to see her today?” 
“I think so.”
“I would get going if you’re going to. I don’t want you flying home in the dark.” 
“Oh please, I’ll just teleport if it gets too late.” 
“Still.” 
Glimmer chuckled and gave Adora a quick squeeze. Her smile faded as she looked towards the whispering woods, fiddling with one of her silver helix piercings. “You should come with me,” she suggested. “I know how she gets sometimes but you guys have made up and I think she really would like to see you.” 
Adora shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s okay, Glimmer. That’s your guys’ time with each other. Besides, I know Catra likes her space. If she wants to see me, she can have you tell me where she is and I’ll go find her.” 
“She does want to see you. She just doesn’t know how to say it.” 
“I know.” Adora put an arm around Glimmer’s shoulders and ruffled her hair. Glimmer laughed, combing her hair back into place as she swatted at Adora’s hands. Adora nudged her shoulder against Glimmer’s. “The rest of the princesses and Seahawk are coming over for game night later. We’ll be in the conference room when you get back.”
“You mean the war room?”
“Can’t really call it a war room now.” 
“Thank the stars for that, right?” 
“Yeah, no kidding.” Adora stepped back onto the balcony and hugged Glimmer. “Are you going to stay the night at her place or will I see you later?” 
“I’ll probably be back.” 
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” 
Glimmer stood on the railing of the balcony as Adora disappeared into the castle. She took a deep breath. Glittering crystalline wings appeared in a flash of light behind her. They were bright and ethereal like her mother’s, only she could will them in and out of existence. She smiled, remembering when Angella first taught her to conjure them. 
Entrapta, in her desperate race to understand the portals, found a way to reach into the space between dimensions that trapped Angella when the first portal was opened. After the war ended, she had nothing more to do with her research. Glimmer thanked her for it every day. 
Although both her parents were back, they all decided she would keep her position. Glimmer had proven herself as a queen, organizing relief missions and rebuilding the fallen kingdoms around Etheria. The princess alliance needed their leader, and the citizens needed consistent leadership in the aftermath of the war, especially after Angella’s sudden disappearance. They would help her govern, but the kingdom was hers to lead. 
“Besides,” Angella had added when they discussed it. “It’s time I retire. The new princess alliance ended the war, and now it’s your turn to lead.” 
And they did. Etheria prospered now in the wider universe, more than it ever had before. Glimmer thanked her lucky stars for that as she watched the world go on around her. It made her happy to see the people living their lives free of fighting, free from the constant threat of raids and sieges. For the first time in her life, the world was calm. 
A breeze caught her wings. With a grin, she leapt off the balcony and soared through the air. She glided over the forests surrounding Brightmoon, relishing the wind on her face as she headed for a little patch of woods at the top of a sheer mountainside cliff. Spiraling down, she slipped through the canopy and landed outside a small clearing. 
A squat cottage sat between the trees, decorated with flowering ivy that climbed up the walls. To the side, bordering the house, was a flourishing vegetable garden and a fruit tree a little taller than Glimmer. A figure clad in black pants and a flowy red tank top stooped over in the garden, a mane of messy brown hair obscuring their face. 
Glimmer smiled as she leaned against a tree and crossed her arms. “Perfuma would be proud of what you managed,” she said. 
Catra bolted upright. A bright grin lit her face. “Glimmer!” 
They leapt into each other’s arms, and Catra lifted Glimmer off her feet and spun her around. Setting her on the ground, she caught her lips in a gentle kiss. Glimmer wrapped her arms around Catra’s neck and grinned up at her. 
“Miss me?” she teased. 
“I didn’t know you were coming today,” Catra said. 
“I figured I would stop by and check up on you since you’re all alone out here.” 
“I have Spike.” 
“Spike is a bunny that sometimes comes around because you give her carrot tops.”
“She still counts.” Catra took Glimmer’s hand and led her towards the cottage. “Come inside. I was just about to head in for the day.” 
Glimmer followed Catra into the cottage, a fire crackling low in the hearth in the small living room. They fell into the bed together, laughing in each other’s arms. Catra pressed a kiss to Glimmer’s jaw and rested her head on her chest. Glimmer smiled as she brushed her fingers through Catra’s mane, giggling as Catra kissed her neck and wrapped her arms around her waist. 
“I missed you, Princess,” Catra said. “I haven’t seen you in like a week.” 
“I know, I’m sorry,” Glimmer said. “There’s a new village being built and I’ve been dealing with all the problems coming out of that.” 
“How are things besides that?”
“They’re good. Things are good now.” 
“Don’t I know it.” Catra pushed herself up on her arms, smiling down at Glimmer. The queen cupped her face and smiled lovingly. “Can you believe it’s been four years already?” 
“They’ve gone by so fast.” 
Their first truce was made on Horde Prime’s ship, isolated together and trying to survive in the face of an enemy greater than either of them had ever imagined. The progress of their relationship wasn’t fast by any means after the war ended. It took months for them to make up, to apologize for everything they had done to each other, and another year and a half before anything blossomed between them. Catra made her home in the forest long before them. 
Glimmer thought of their first kiss on the edge of the cliff. She thought of Catra apologizing to Angella after she returned, apologizing to Micah and all the other princesses who now considered her a friend. She led relief missions at Glimmer’s side and helped rebuild Etheria. She fixed things. 
The queen pulled Catra into a long, easy kiss. “Come with me to the cliff. I want to watch the sunset,” she said. 
“Okay.” Catra helped her to her feet, and they walked through the trees hand in hand. They sat cross legged a short distance from the edge, watching the sun as it slipped beneath the horizon. Glimmer leaned her head on Catra’s shoulder. Catra took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and holding their clasped hands in her lap. “What are you thinking about, Princess?” 
“Adora and I were talking about you earlier,” Glimmer said. “She says that if you want to see her, she can come out here and so you two can visit.” 
Catra straightened a touch. “I see her when I come to Brightmoon.”
“You haven’t come to Brightmoon in months.” 
“Princess, you know why I don’t come into the kingdoms.” 
“I know, but still. Scorpia and Adora miss you. Double Trouble asks about you when they’re around. I know Entrapta misses you, in her own weird way, and I…” Glimmer squeezed her hand. “I miss you. I just wish you weren’t living out here on your own.” 
“I miss you too, and them, but I have no problem living out here. I’ve got my garden to work on, I’ve got the flowers, I’ve got Spike. This place, it… it’s mine. I’ve never had that before.”
“You would have a place in Brightmoon, with me.” 
“With you, but not in Brightmoon.” Catra stood, staring out over the sunset as the sky turned purple and gold. Glimmer stood beside her. “We’ve gone over it a thousand times, but I still don’t forgive myself for all of it. I’ve told you that. Being in Brightmoon, living in a place I tried to destroy, it just doesn’t seem right to me.”
“I love a girl that I tried to kill.” Glimmer hugged Catra from behind, feeling her ropy muscles shift as she relaxed into her embrace. “Things change. We’re not teenagers fighting a war anymore. Everything is different now.” 
Catra sighed and held Glimmer’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about that. I just can’t.” 
“You could always come visit more. Spend the night with me.” She squeezed Catra’s waist, drawing a laugh from her. 
“Tempting. Maybe I’ll try to get over there more just because you promised me that.” 
Glimmer giggled and kissed the nape of her neck. “And I’ll try to come out here more often.” 
“Good.” Catra paused and lifted her head towards the darkening sky. Stars appeared in the wide expanse of navy blue, thousands upon thousands twinkling above them amidst the swirling clouds of the galaxy. She turned and stepped out of Glimmer’s arms, taking both of her hands. “Come live with me.” 
Glimmer’s eyes went wide. “What?” 
“Right here, just you and me and Spike. We can build a bigger house if you want. There’s running water set up. We’ve got the garden and the tree and I already hunt for anything else I need. You wouldn’t even be that far away from Brightmoon! We’ll tell Adora and Scorpia and all of them where we are so they can come visit, and any time you want to go back, you can just teleport us there.” Catra squeezed Glimmer’s hands and leaned in, her mismatched eyes soft and hopeful, pleading with her lover as she smiled. “We could be happy here. Together.” 
“Catra, I…” 
Glimmer sighed, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to say this. Even after so long, she didn’t want Catra to think that yet another person was leaving her. She promised herself that of everyone Catra ever loved, she would be the one to stay. She promised. 
“I can’t,” she finally said. “I’m a leader. I have responsibilities in Brightmoon, I can’t leave.” 
“Your mother and father can rule. And it’s not like you would be far from there. I can practically see the castle from where we’re standing.” 
“My parents aren’t leaders anymore. You knew about my talk with them. People need a leader that’s going to stay and after everything that’s happened… they need a queen.” 
“Well, I need Glimmer. Not a queen, just you.” Taking one of Glimmer’s hands in both of hers, she fell to one knee. Glimmer covered her mouth, eyes wide as Catra looked up at her. “I want a life with you, Glimmer. I want a home with you, a place just for us. I love you.” She held her breath. “Will you make a life with me?” 
Glimmer grinned as tears welled in her eyes. “Of course, I will.” Placing a hand under Catra’s chin, she pulled her into a passionate kiss, wrapping her arms around Catra’s neck as she held her tight. “I love you. We’ll find a way to make this work.” 
“I can try to come into Brightmoon more. Spending a few nights in your room won’t hurt, as long as I’m with you.” 
Smirking and rolling her eyes, Glimmer traced a pattern on Catra’s cheek. “You know, we could always build a little house separate from the castle if the place itself bothers you. At least we would be a little bit closer so I could still be present.” 
“Maybe.” Catra kissed her gently. “I just need some time getting adjusted to Brightmoon. We’ll see how that goes first, okay?” 
“Okay.” Glimmer rested her head on Catra’s chest, watching the sun disappear. “I love you.” 
“I love you, too.” Catra rubbed her back. “We’ll be okay. You and I can make anything work. We’ll figure this out.” 
“Promise?”
“I promise.” 
“Good. Oh!” Glimmer pulled back, slipping off a simple silver ring from her hand and putting it on Catra’s left ring finger. Catra raised an eyebrow, and Glimmer smiled. “Rings are a tradition. My parents have them, too.” 
Catra smirked and planted a kiss on Glimmer’s forehead. “Whatever you say, Princess.” 
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padfootagain · 5 years ago
Text
Queen Of Narnia
Here I come with my third fic for this event! Today, we're going to Narnia ;)
This is sweet, but maybe a a little emotional too? You’ll tell me what you think of it :)
I hope you all like this :)
Gif not mine
Word Count : 3136
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"I used to love it, you know? The rush of wind through my hair, the salt on my skin, the boat creaking under my feet, the sun warming my cheeks, the waves breaking before us…"
"What changed?"
Caspian turned his attention to the girl next to him. Although, his daughter was hardly a child anymore. She was a young woman more than a girl now.
How time flew by… he remembered still the first time he had hold her. A fragile thing in his trembling arms. Crying, her skin reddish, but still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He remembered how light she weighed in his arms. It was almost like holding nothing. And so, so fragile…
She was much stronger now. A young woman, her dark hair matching his and her wonderful eyes exactly like yours. 18 already. His baby girl was a woman now…
Her gaze rested upon the untameable sea as they sat side by side on the sandy beach, a boat sailing in the distance, the warm sun making its white sails shine against the blue of the sea and sky.
He could recognize both himself and you in the details of her features, in the way she held herself, in the way her eyes shone against the light of the sun. It felt like the day before that he had hold this tiny baby in his arms… now, his hair and beard were turning grey. When had all these years gone by?
A dreamy, almost melancholic smile formed on his features.
"I met your mother."
But Rayana laughed his answer away.
"How romantic!"
He raised a surprised eyebrow.
"It’s just the truth."
She finally looked at him with a perplexed frown.
"You changed for mother? Did she ask you to do so?"
"No… of course she didn’t ask me. But she has changed me tremendously over the years. Only for the better, of course. She’s made me a much better man than I was when we met."
The wind blew through his greyish hair, the locks a complicated mix of dark and white curls, falling a little before his eyes. It was his turn to rest his gaze upon the wild sea.
As she stared at her father, from his locks dancing around his head to his features wrinkled by time and battered by worry, sun, waves and responsibilities, she couldn’t refrain a smile. She had never met a man holding a heart as good as her father’s. And she was fairly certain it was because there was no such thing.
"What happened? Why did you abandon the sea for her?"
He heaved a sigh.
"Your mother was pregnant. 5 months. Four months left until you came to the world. I had to travel to the Lone Islands, and I have to admit that I was rather happy to sail once more. I hadn’t left the shore since your mother told me she was expecting. She… she didn’t want me to sail, and I didn’t understand why. She kept on saying that it worried her, and I only laughed her remarks away every time. I decided to spend some time at sea before your birth, and we set sails for the Lone Islands. We were caught in a storm after our fourth day at sea."
He paused, just to take in a breath, maybe because his lungs just needed the air, maybe because he remembered how drowning felt and the memories brought back the water covering his mouth and nose at that moment.
His eyes still rested on the waves, but he saw them much higher than they were now, and instead of the blue sky, he saw clouds so full of rain they turned the day into night, and the ship with its white sails was gone, replaced by only more waves and a pitch black horizon.
"I almost died. I… I remember all the while I thought… it was so foolish of me to leave when I hadn’t even met my own child…"
He sighed and finally closed his eyes, letting the vision of the roaring sea subside.
"We were declared lost at sea. The boat was destroyed, but we had taken the longboats, which no one on land could know, eight men did not survive though. For a handful of days, to Narnia, we were all dead. They were ready to officially announce my death, puns were started to be moved for a game of power chess. And your mother… she almost died too. The… everything, really. She thought I was dead for three days. If you ask her about it she will say these were the longest days of her life. But you know your mother, too brave and stubborn for her own good. She went at sea herself, she guided the search, she was restless. She said she couldn’t admit I was dead until she saw me with her own eyes. She searched for me until the emotional shockwave struck, and she fell sick, and we almost lost you too. You were not born yet, if she had died, you would have too. This storm almost killed all three of us. Or well… I almost killed the three of us…"
He shook his head, turning to Rayana again.
"I gave up on the sea after that. Haven’t sailed in years. And I am not planning on starting again any time soon. I can’t scare your mother again that way. I can’t do this to her. To both of you."
He gave his daughter a tender smile, brushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear.
"Besides, I would hardly trade a day spent by your and your mother’s side against a day at sea."
A sad smile formed on the young woman’s face.
"You know… when I listen to you talking about her, and when I see how bright mother’s eyes shine whenever she looks at you… I can’t help but envy you. You really do love each other so much."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned in the embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You’ll find the right person for you."
"How can you be sure?"
"I found your mother, didn’t I?"
He pointed at the horizon.
"All this, as far as the eyes can see… it will be your responsibility, one day. Defend it, care for it, guide it… Narnia will need you once we’re gone. And I do hope that we were good enough parents to teach you all the humility and strength you need to do so. But whatever may happen, you must always remember, Rayana: love is what binds people together. Not hate, not anger… oh, these make alliances and break allies but they are fickle things. No, the real bond that keeps people united is love. Love and hope. They shall always win, in the end. For sure, hatred might tarnish it, destroy what we have worked so hard and for so long to build. Make us doubt, and break us… but sooner or later, it will wane. People will see what they have in common again, instead of their differences. They might even realize that two different things do not have to mean that one is better than the other. They are simply different. And different is enough to define them. Then, they will learn from each other again, from their mistakes, and from this hatred they will sense a greater need to love."
They exchanged another smile, father and daughter against the blue sky and turquoise sea.
"Besides, there is only one person we love more than each other in this world, your mother and I. And that’s you."
They exchanged a warm smile.
"I love you too, father. I hope… I hope I’ll make you proud."
"I already am."
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------
 He could see the way she looked at him, and the way he looked at her. It was far from subtle.
She was the heir to the throne and he was a mere soldier. Obviously, she had to choose a man that would rise the most vibrant protests.
You slipped your fingers in his palm, and he held your hand without even thinking about it, out of habit, a mere reflex by now. He didn't look at you, he didn't need to. He could recognize your presence, the feeling of you being near him, anywhere, even in a crowd of a thousand souls.
"Do you think they're serious about this?" he asked you in a whisper, making sure no one but you could hear his words.
"I do… yes. I think they love each other."
"Oh, by Aslan's name…"
He shook his head, his grey hair falling before his dark brown eyes. You chuckled.
"It was bound to happen, sooner or later."
"She's barely 20…"
"She's an adult, now. Even if, for us, she will always be our baby."
"I'm not ready to let her go…"
"Me neither."
You and Caspian exchanged a glance, meaningful and tender and a little sad. Your daughter finally reached you and your husband, abandoning her longing stares towards the guard to join you in the garden.
Caspian wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, and guided both of you further on the quiet grass.
"Is everything alright, father? You're so quiet…" Rayana asked after a couple of minutes of intense silence.
"Sit down."
Caspian's voice was a little colder than usual, and your daughter immediately froze.
"Father…"
"Sit down."
You all settled under a large oak, in the grass, in the Castle's gardens, the shade of the leaves offering you protection against the warm sun of summer. The fragrance of blooming roses and cherry trees enveloped the three of you in a sweet cocoon. But Caspian's expression was preoccupied, and now so was your daughter's.
"We ought to discuss an important matter," your husband let out in a voice he didn't usually use on either you nor your daughter Usually, he wore it only as a King, not as Caspian.
She looked down at her hands, a sheepish expression on her face.
"How did you learn about it?" she merely asked, knowing perfectly what the matter at hand was.
"You are both quite obvious," you smiled.
She struggled to swallow.
"I guess you are about to order me to stop seeing him," she let out in a breath.
"Why would I do that?" Caspian asked back in a softer tone.
She looked up at both of you, taking a deep breath and holding back the tears that shone in her eyes.
"Because he is… a soldier. He owns no title. But… nevertheless… I've found that he has a heart much kinder and more… worthy than many princes that have been seeking for my hand and… And we love each other. And on this point, father, I am ready to argue with you, despite your wisdom."
Caspian raised a surprised eyebrow, and you exchanged a glance, that made you smile.
"Well… are you certain of his intentions for you?" he asked her.
"I am."
He nodded.
"Don't send him away," Rayana asked, almost begged.
"Do you love him?" you asked, a few tears blurring your vision, but you didn't let them escape.
"More than anything," she answered, and it was obvious that she spoke only the truth.
"What about him?"
"He loves me too, he… He wants to marry me. But… I… I was afraid of what you would say."
Caspian remained silent for a moment, and nor you nor Rayana dared to break the veil he had wrapped around his frame. He was intensely thinking.
Slowly, after a long while, he nodded, and rose to his feet.
"Let's talk with him then."
Rayana stared at him with panicked eyes, jumping to her feet to follow his lead.
"His name is…"
"Lucas. I know."
You chuckled as your daughter stared at her father with wide eyes.
"You didn't think that we would let a man court you without making sure that he was harmless…"
"You knew… but for… For how long have you known?"
"Since the beginning," Caspian answered matter-of-factly.
"Did you spy on me?"
"No, just on him."
"Father!"
But he turned to her, and his dark eyes held a hard gaze now.
"You are my daughter. I will always do whatever I judge necessary to assure your safety. He could have been a murderer, someone sent here to kill you."
"But he isn't!"
"I know. Why do you think he still has a head resting upon his shoulders despite courting my daughter?"
She heaved an exasperated sigh as you resumed your walk towards the main building of the Castle. Inside, Lucas was still on sentry, right where Rayana had left him.
You saw the look on his face slowly decomposing as the King and Queen of Narnia advanced towards him. You saw the fear in his eyes. Maybe he expected the worse. Being sent away. Being thrown in a dark dungeon to be forgotten there. Clearly, he did not know your husband well yet…
"Lucas, is it?" Caspian asked the man, wearing his kingly tone once more, the distant, polite, neutral and yet authoritarian voice he hated but needed.
"Y… Yes, sire."
"Come walk with me."
Lucas and Rayana exchanged a glance, and if the soldier held doubts still concerning the meaning of the king's behaviour before, he had none left.
"My Liege…"
"Come. The garden is quieter to talk."
"I must tell you…"
"Now, I am the one to ask questions, and your role here is merely to answer them, do you understand?"
"Yes, sire."
He followed Caspian outside, Rayana and you right behind them. Your husband wore a neutral expression, but you did notice the light tremble coursing through his right hand, and you intertwined your fingers together in response. He gave your hand a grateful squeeze.
"Leave us alone," he asked you and your daughter.
He gave you a reassuring smile, stroking your cheek.
"Just a minute."
You pulled your daughter away despite her protest, reassuring her.
What could Caspian do anyway? He wouldn't hurt the poor lad…
… unless he hurt his daughter of course. He would unleash all the fire of his wrath then.
But for now, he merely turned to the man standing before him. How old was he? Caspian guessed not older than 23. He stared into his eyes until he reached the young man's soul. He didn't see any evil inside. Merely fear.
"For how long have you been stationed in the Castle?" Caspian slowly asked.
"For a year now, sire."
"And courting my daughter for a little over half of that time, if my information are correct."
"Indeed," the soldier mumbled.
"What do you want?"
The man before him merely frowned.
"I don't understand, sire."
"What will it take for you to leave?"
The soldier stopped dead, staring at Caspian with a mixture of emotions that drowned his brown gaze: fear, outrage, acceptance, anger…
"Your Highness, if I may…" he spoke in a slow voice, choosing his words with great care. "I know that I have no title, but… I beg you to hear me out. I truly love Rayana, and I wish to marry her."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I will not give up on her."
"Money? How much? Or a title of your own perhaps? I could give you some land."
The soldier clenched his jaw and stood a little straighter.
"Please, sire, do not insult me. I do not want money, or a title, or power, or anything of the kind. I only wish to be with the woman I love more than anything on this earth. I also know though, that this is impossible without your blessing. She will be queen one day after all, and there are responsibilities that go with her birth that we cannot ignore. It is why we've kept our courtship secret, I thought it best if she was the one to talk with you about us. I can reassure you on my intentions, and I have never behaved in any way that could bring any of us shame though," he hurried to add, afraid to choose his words too clumsily. "But the only way that would make me give up on her would be for her to ask me to do so, and I can only imagine it happening if you or the queen refused our union. And even then, I would want to take nothing with me but my memories with her, and the love I hold for her that I shall keep with me till my last breath."
Caspian smiled.
"Good answer. What about seven for dinner tonight?"
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
 You were crying. Both you and Caspian were crying. Rayana was so beautiful in her long silvery dress. She was grinning, and Lucas was in bliss as well.
You could see it in their eyes. It was true love. What else could you do but cry of joy and melancholy as you stared at your daughter saying I do to the love of her life?
By your side, right behind your daughter, Caspian discreetly dried his eyes. You took his hand in yours, and he answered your supportive gesture with a thankful squeeze.
The vows were exchanged in the throne room draped with golden decorations and the most radiant flowers. The crowd in the room was in tears too. Then came the signing of a very special document that Caspian wrote himself, along with a new law he passed before the wedding: that a female firstborn was recognized as heir to the throne, and would be the only one granted the rights of the rightful leader of the kingdom once the time would come. Her husband would have no more rights or duties than the spouse of a king.
Caspian would have been damned if he saw anyone else than his daughter lead his people.
Lucas's family, although humble in appearance, were shining with pride and joy.
The king of Narnia turned to his daughter again, right when she looked up at him too. The gesture was spontaneous as they both rushed inside each other's arms.
He had made sure she would be the one leading the kingdom once he was gone, and now that Lucas was by her side, he knew she would never be alone. He could still see her fragile form in his arms as he held her for the first time, newly born, beautiful, the image flashed before his eyes as he closed his eyelids. She wasn't a baby anymore, but she would forever remain his baby, just like she would stay your baby too.
One day, Narnia would be in her hands. And what a kind and fair pair of hands it would be held by too.
 ***************************************************************** 
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