#no way why would i ever do that. i still owe it to dane to finish it. i promised i'd finish it. i'm gonna finish it for you.

[pyrriax]

oh i am shaking like a sick dog <- desperately needs to finish writing wtds because i NEED to make an animatic for the ending sequence. i need to share how it's supposed to look. the sinking feeling.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Teensy Little Crush

kai parker x shy!reader | requested by @luckyvampyr ; the other idea from when i asked for fluffy prompts!

summary: you have a crush on kai you haven't been able to shake for weeks. unfortunately, you're too shy to do anything about it, either. but luckily, elena steps in with a plan, and helps you win over the witch's heart.

tags: fluff, crushes, alcohol, gifts, anxiety, slightly awkward flirting, mystic falls gang (+ reader) friendship, bad planning, cooking, bad-ish childhood memories, teasing, first kisses

word count: 6.6k

a/n: this is the one i've had written for centuries & haven't been able to title. i got antsy and gave it a silly title so that i could post it 😅

You don’t know what it is, something about him just makes you giddy. Ever since the merge, he’s mellowed out immeasurably, and while he still annoys your friends, you’ve found something endearing about him. Kai, of course, is still Kai. He’s reckless, and troublesome, and doesn’t make a lot of considerations before doing things, but he’s getting better about it. He has somewhat of a grip on his emotions now, which is helping as he integrates himself into life in Mystic Falls. 

Initially, Damon assumed he’d go back to Portland after the merge, but something told you that wasn’t a possibility. Everyone knows how the Parkers grew up, either from Liv, Luke, Jo, or Kai himself. The story varies between siblings, but at least two truths in the matter remain the same: their family is tragically dysfunctional, and the coven always comes first. So why would Kai, hated by his family and his coven, return to his hometown?

Damon heaves a big sigh when you remind him of this. 

“So what do you suppose we do about him?” The man ponders out loud.

“Keep an eye on him; see how this goes. But let him figure things out here, I guess,” Elena says. 

“Ugh.”

“What other options do we have?”

You and Bonnie look over to him, and the couples’ gaze quickly follows. Kai drinks alone at the bar, scrolling his phone and bouncing his knee. He’s turned in such a way that you can see one of the dimples in his cheeks everytime he smiles. When he catches the bartender’s attention to show him something, Bonnie groans. You bite your cheek to not smile. 

“We can’t just kill him?”

“Not without killing Jo,” Elena reminds her friend. 

A collective groan now rings throughout the table, but your eyes are still on him. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go to the girls’ room. Drank too much at once.”

Elena’s words register with you as she stands. You then stand up, too, putting your napkin on the table. “I need to go too.”

She smiles, and the two of you leave Damon and Bonnie alone. 

You wash your hands side-by-side, and then Elena starts to fix her makeup in front of the mirror. You take the extra minute to touch up your own. 

“I can tell you have a crush on him,” she says suddenly. 

“What?” A jolt runs down your spine, and you poke your eye with your mascara brush. “Ow!”

She has the nerve to laugh. “You okay?”

“Not funny!”

“Case in point - that reaction.”

“I do not have a crush on him.”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t!”

“You’ve been watching him all night. I heard your heart rate calm when I said to let him stay here, and it sped up when Bonnie suggested to kill him. Not to mention, I can see the way you bite your cheeks to not smile at him. And don’t think I didn’t catch the glossy, lovesick look in your eyes yesterday when he winked at you from across the grill. Your heart sped up then, too.”

You can only blink at the slew of evidence stacked against you. The fact she noticed all these things and compiled a list of them takes you aback. 

“I see all, Y/N,” she jokes playfully. 

“Fine. I might have a minor crush on him.”

“It is not minor.”

“Might have a Corgi-sized crush on him.”

“I see more like a Great Dane sized crush, but okay.”

Your eyes widen. “Elena!”

She only laughs. “To be honest, I’m kind of offended that you don’t think I can read you. We’ve been friends for how many years…?” She starts counting on her fingers. 

“Okay, point made, you can read me! What are you gonna do about it?” Your tone is much more concerned than challenging. 

“What?”

“My, y’know,” you lower your voice, “crush. What are you gonna do? Tell Damon? Bonnie? Hell, Kai?”

“Of course not, that’s between us. But I think you should tell him.”

“Who?”

“Kai.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“Why not? Because he’s a sociopath, or because you can’t approach him without blushing?”

“Elena!”

“Which is it?!”

“I don’t know! Both, I guess. Mostly the latter.”

“Well you’ve said it yourself a hundred times, he’s getting better with his emotions. Understanding them more. You could have a chance.”

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“I am! It happened with Damon.” Your eyes narrow, and she continues. “Damon was borderline sociopathic only a couple years ago, remember? When they first arrived in town, and I was with Stefan, and he wreaked absolute havoc everywhere he went. But I still developed a crush on him, and he fell for me, and I then fell completely for him, and look at us now. If you want him, the least you can do is talk to him.”

The reminder gives you hope. Maybe Kai could follow the same path Damon did. Maybe you could have something with him. Elena’s apparent support of it helps. Still…

“‘Lena, I can’t go up to him and start a conversation, or tell him that, I’m not as confident as you.”

“Then just start by talking about other things. Or start really simple and wink at him from across the bar like he does at you. Or, here’s an idea, get his attention in little, somewhat anonymous ways. Give him little gifts, or notes, or something like that. That, or Pavolv him with offering candy, and then whenever he sees you, he associates you with something sweet.”

“That sounds like manipulation, ‘Lena. I can’t do that. And I don’t know how he’d take it, either.”

“Don’t think of it that way, think of it that you want his attention, but don’t know how to get it straightforward, so you find it with other ways. Trust me, he won’t be offended. He’ll probably be elated that someone’s giving him little things. He’ll probably think it’s cute, too, that a shy girl such as yourself can’t look at him without blushing but is secretly, deeply craving something with him.”

“Oh my god, Elena.”

“Oh, stop being shy about it! If there’s anyone in this town who would enjoy the game in corrupting your shy, innocent ways, it’s Kai.”

“I’m not innocent, I’m just shy.”

���And you can show him that once you get his attention.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me anymore after finding that out?”

“How could he not like you? You’re sweet and kind, but I know you have that badass side to you, too. He’ll see it and love it the minute you show it.” She applies more red lipstick, then smacks her lips together. “And don’t forget, we’re talking about Kai, who has never been shown any kind of affection in his life. He’ll fold the minute you offer it.”

“Who’s to say he wants it from me?” You see her point, but still have doubts.

“Me,” she answers easily, “who has never seen him wink at anyone but you at the bar. Who has watched his eyes follow you throughout the grill, and watched them get heavy with disappointment when you leave. I’ve even seen him adjust himself in his seat more times than I can count.”

“What does that mean?”

“Remember that time you spilled your drink down your shirt and had to napkin-dry your chest by reaching down your shirt?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, well when I did a grill-sweep to make sure no one was watching, he was. And when we made eye contact, his heart rate accelerated faster than a rollercoaster and he had to move his legs around because something tells me those jeans were a little too restricting.”

“Elena!”

“I’m just telling what I saw! But I’m serious, you have a chance with him. Just give it a try.”

“Okay. But if it backfires, it’s on you.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Good.” 

You both finish up your makeup, then go back to your table. 

“That was a long bathroom break,” Damon says as soon as you arrive.

“We had a little girl talk. Sorry Bon.”

“No worries, we’ve been talking, too,” she replies.

“About?”

Damon answers his girlfriend. “The weasel and his wandering eyes. Watched you guys go to the bathroom, trained them on the door waiting for you to come out.”

“Where is he now?”

“Well we’ve officially entered the hour of the frat boy,” Damon nods to the clock, which reads nine p.m., “and he’s been buried in the sea of them.”

“I say we go before they start a racket,” Bonnie says. You agree. 

“Alright, time to head out. Bon, Y/N, see you tomorrow. Elena, you coming with me?”

“For a little, yeah. But I’ll be back to the dorm by eleven.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, I’m gonna get a shot to go,” you say to the group.

“Ooh, get me one!” Elena asks, putting on her coat. 

You head to the bar and order two bourbon shots.

The bartender rings them up with a smile. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, um… Can I pay for his?” You poke your pinky finger in the direction of Kai. 

“Him? With the phone?” Kai’s the only one with his phone, unlike the ten college boys crowded around him. 

“Yeah.”

“Sure. Anonymously?”

“Just don’t give him my name.”

“Okay. That’ll be $21.30 total. $5.33 for your shots; $15.97 for his. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Friend of yours?”

“Kinda.” The sudden blush on your cheeks tells him all he needs to know.

He chuckles. “Got it. ‘Kay, you’re all set.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

You and Elena take your shots before heading out into the cold. You part ways, divided into two at the door, and send her a wink that you’ve already started on her little plan. 

Around the same time you leave, Kai decides he’s had enough of the noise. He waves the bartender over to pay, but furrows his eyebrows at his words.

“You’re all set.”

“What?”

“Someone paid for your drinks.”

“Who?”

“Asked me not to say their name.”

“Point them out.”

“Sorry man, already left.”

Kai looks to the door anyway, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of someone outside it. He sighs, out of luck. 

“Did you recognize who it is?”

“Seen ‘em in here before.”

“You’re not gonna give me anything?”

“Scout’s honor not to tell.”

Kai glares, but then ultimately gets up to leave. He’s determined to find out who it was; what their intentions are by doing such a thing. If he doesn’t, it’ll itch at him all night. 

Three days later, Kai has yet to find out who paid for his drink, but when he enters the grill that night, the bartender offers him a cheesy smile.

“What?”

“First shot’s been paid, what would you like?”

“What? Who?”

“Scout’s honor not to-”

“Okay, okay, don’t say it again.”

“What will it be?”

“Gin,” he replies, then immediately begins to look around the restaurant. 

Nothing’s out of the ordinary in terms of customers. The usual group of geezers and their beers are in one giant booth. A couple early frat boys play pool in the corner. The unofficially-named Mystic Falls gang occupies the table to his left, and Tyler and Matt chat on the other side of the bar. Kai eyes every person individually for hidden answers within their eyes. Granted, most of the people in here would probably dodge his gaze, but he still tries. 

After a while of searching, he grows frustrated. The bartender chuckles, then receives another glare. 

“Still looking?”

“Would be easier if you’d tell me.”

“Maybe they don’t want to be found.”

“Why not?”

The man shrugs. 

Kai only seems to get more agitated at that. His jaw tenses, but instead of pushing, he just orders another shot. 

Meanwhile, you watch the interaction carefully from your table. When Bonnie leaves for the restroom, you poke Elena’s arm. 

“He looks mad.”

Elena spares a glance. “He’s probably just confused,” she whispers.

“What are we talking about?” Damon asks, also whispering. 

You wrinkle your nose, but give Elena a nod to let her tell him. 

“Y/N’s finally acting on her little crush.”

“Eugh,” the man reacts, “on Kai?”

“Mhm.”

“Not just gonna let it die out? Give it a week or two, I promise, it’ll die out.”

“Damon!”

“And why are you encouraging this?” He asks his girlfriend.

“Y/N could be good for him. She’s been curiously crushing on him for weeks, it hasn’t ‘died out’ at all, and maybe she could help him. Besides, it’s not that far off from you and I. Remember when you were the psychotic killer in town?”

Damon rolls his eyes. “But this is Kai. He’s a scrawny little, magic sucking, weasel-looking, chatterbox, and is quite possibly the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s rude.”

“It’s true!” He exhales rather loudly. “Does Bonnie know?”

“I haven’t told her. Figured that wouldn’t go down well.”

“Smart. But you should.”

“I will, just not yet.”

“So what have you done? Why’s he look upset?”

Elena answers, “she’s anonymously paid for his drink twice now. We get the feeling Kai knows it’s someone in the bar, but neither of us know how much the bartender has let on.”

“That man is a secret-keeper extraordinaire. Kai knows nothing.”

You nod. “I need to steer off the alcohol path soon, but I don’t have any other ideas. Elena?”

Damon answers instead, “pork rinds. Or any food, really. But pork rinds especially. Went through a whole bag in a day in the prison world.”

Elena makes a face. “Maybe also, like… something he could wear. Or something that would remind him of you.”

“What about a ring? He wears a lot of those. I don’t know what could remind him of me.”

“Does he even know you exist?”

“Damon!”

Before you can react, Bonnie returns. “What’d I miss?”

“Y/N has a crush on Kai,” Damon says, smirking. “She’s trying to get his attention in miniscule ways through tiny little gifts.”

You plant your forehead into the table. A fraction of a second before you do, though, you see Bonnie’s eyes going wide. 

“Y/N!”

“Please don’t.”

“Are you insane?”

“Please talk quieter.”

“Are you insane?” She whispers.

“She might be,” Damon offers.

“Guys, it’s not the worst thing that could happen. And I do think she can help him.”

“Help him? Elena-”

“Kai would be a much easier ally than enemy. Dating Y/N, or at the very least, being friends, would help with that. Plus, she likes him. It’s just like when I liked Damon.”

“And I didn’t support that either,” Bonnie reminds.

“I know, but you’re best friends now.”

“Are you suggesting Kai and I will be besties after a couple weeks? No. We won’t.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Just… Kai will be around regardless if we want him or not. Y/N has had a crush on him for the last two months. Might as well give it a chance.”

“And if it doesn’t work out? If he attacks her?”

“He won’t! Just give it a chance, Bonnie.”

She glares at you, and you look up just a little. 

“I’m not helping your little endeavor to get his attention, but I won’t actively work against it, either. Just… be safe.”

“Of course.”

“Damon, what are your thoughts?”

The man shrugs. “I just wanna see what happens.”

You glare at him, but then raise your head and smile at Elena. “Thanks, guys.”

“Get him a ring, Y/N. He mostly wears silver… which you probably already know.”

You giggle, then drop your attention down to your food to avoid her teasing. 

In the meantime of finding the perfect ring, you give him a bag of his favorite snack, per Damon’s suggestion. He mentioned he ate them a lot, and even said the boy was snacking in their first interaction. 

“He would chew them very loudly, it was so annoying,” he said, “so make sure you give it to him and high tail it out of there.”

“Oh I’m not sticking around at all, I’m ringing the doorbell and running.”

Your shyness earned a chuckle from the man. 

And you do exactly that. Kai has nothing close to a schedule, but you’ve observed him well enough to know he’s usually in his apartment at three in the afternoon. It’s the time in between his morning walk, afternoon lurk, and nighttime drink. When you drop off the bag in your hands - a brown paper bag of pork rinds, with a posy of red gerbera flowers - you have to be quick to find a close hiding spot.

For the record, the flowers were your idea. Deciding which type was a little difficult. You and Elena went back and forth between gerberas and chrysanthemums for ten minutes, liking the deep, red shades in both. After a bit, the florist approached and helped. Ultimately, you liked the symbolization of ‘desire’ behind the gerberas, and Elena was convinced the daisy would make him smile. 

After assembling the gift, you creep towards his door, knowing he’s often on edge and listening intently. You can hear his footsteps inside, along with sounds coming from a phone. For a moment, he laughs, but then his heavy boots retreat again. 

You almost run away, filling your own head with thoughts. This is such a bad idea. This is cheesy. This is pointless.

But then Elena texts, “you better not be talking yourself out of it.”

You take a deep breath, put it on his doorstep, ring the bell, and then hurry to the stairs. Luckily, you have a knack of getting out of situations quietly; it’s a perk of being introverted and shy. 

In the stairwell, you stop to try and hear his reaction. You don’t dare look up, but you do wait just a moment. Even from a distance, you can hear his excited reaction. He sounds like a little kid given Legos. It takes everything in you to not poke your head up and see. 

His boots start to sound down the length of the hall, possibly looking for the person who left it, and you take that as your cue to leave. As tempted as you are to see him in this moment, you’re not quite ready to expose your crush. 

Kai hears movement in the stairwell. He quickens his pace towards it, acknowledging whoever it is seems determined to keep their identity a secret. They should know he’s equally determined to learn who it is, though, and Kai always wins. 

As you hurry around the corner, he catches a glimpse of your hair flying behind you. He bites his lip, fighting a smile. He could recognize your hair any day. 

Instead of calling out, he keeps to himself. He’ll give you this victory today; he’ll let you think he’s still totally clueless, for both your sakes. You clearly aren’t ready to face him, and Kai kinda likes the game you’re playing. Besides, he needs more time to sort out his own feelings. He’s known he’s liked you for weeks, but knowing he might have a chance with you is a game changer. As confusing as it is to recognize he has a crush, he finds himself excited, too. 

For the rest of the day, he takes to the couch with the pork rinds, and lets his mind run wild, thinking about you. 

When you finally find the perfect ring, you really haven’t been looking at all. It catches your eye through a window of a jewelry store, while your best friends are debating on whether or not to go into the neighboring store. The four of you are having a much needed break from the chaos of your local town. It was Caroline’s idea to drive an hour away to somewhere new. 

A foot away, you can hear their musings. 

“I think I might just go in for a minute,” Elena says, “I feel like if I walk away, I’m gonna regret not at least looking at that shirt.”

“I’ll go in if you go in,” Bonnie nods to her, “mostly to get out of this loud entryway.”

“But after, we need to find fries. Like, seriously,” demands Caroline, for the third time. 

“We will! Shirt first.”

“Fine!”

“Caroline,” you wave for her attention, “you know a lot about jewelry.”

“Yes I do,” she agrees, leaving to join your side as the other two go into the store. 

“You know what I’m doing with Kai, right?”

She narrows her eyes and a suggestive smile forms on her lips. “Doing with him?”

“Not like that! I mean-”

“Calm down, I’m teasing. Yes, you’re trying to get his attention because you have a crush.”

“Right. Do you think he’d like this ring? ‘Cause like, I know he wears silver, but I don’t know if he’d care about the little sliver of green in there, but I happen to know a lot about crystals, and know that is malachite, but I also know he hates his name, so I don’t know if that would be well received, or if he’d be upset.”

Caroline lets you ramble. As soon as you’re done, she begins to giggle.

“What?!”

“You’re so overthinking this, it’s adorable!”

“Caroline!”

“I don’t think he’d be upset, I think he’d like it.”

“But do men even care about color in rings? What if he only wears silver ones and doesn’t want any color? Let alone a crystal with his name in it!”

“Omg, Y/N, calm down. You’re stressing yourself out over this. Do you want to go inside and ask to see it? Let’s do that.” She takes your hand and goes immediately to the counter. A moment later, you admire the ring in your hand. “It’s pretty,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah… What if he thinks I’m trying to propose or something?”

Before the girl can erupt in more laughter, the salesperson replies, “this isn’t an engagement ring, actually. Are you looking for those?”

“Oh no, not at all!”

“My friend here has a crush on a boy who wears similar looking rings-”

“Caroline!”

“-and she wants to get him one instead of just telling him she likes him.”

“Ah,” the woman smiles. 

“And she particularly likes the green on this one.”

“Well this is actually a crystal known as malachite.”

You nod, “his name is Malachai.”

“That’s fitting!”

“You should get it,” Caroline nudges your shoulder. 

“This is one of our less expensive rings, but that doesn’t mean the quality isn’t as good as others. The malachite is ethically sourced from Australia, and the ring itself is made here in the US,” she starts her spiel. 

“Okay, I’ll get it.”

“Perfect. Size?”

“Uhhh…”

“Average size for men is 10.”

“He’s six foot,” you provide.

“We’ll do a 10. It’ll be easy to size if he needs to.”

“Okay.”

She goes to the back to pack it up for you, and meanwhile, Caroline snickers.

“What?”

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Y’know, this is probably going to be the most expensive thing he owns.”

“It’s not even that much, Care.”

“Still… probably stole his other rings somewhere.”

You’d be upset at the accusation if it wasn’t most likely true. You whisper, “probably stole them off someone after killing them.”

She giggles. “And yet here you are, crushing on him.”

“Can’t help it. And you’re one to talk,” you refer to Klaus.

“This isn’t about me!”

“He wears rings, too. He might like that one over there.”

“Shush!”

The woman comes back and you both hush. “Here you go. That’ll be $43.50.”

You swipe your card. “Don’t tell Bonnie.”

Caroline snorts. 

“She already thinks I’m insane for crushing on him.”

“This is quite the gift for a crush,” the woman mentions.

“Oh crush is a light term. Y/N won’t admit it, but she’s totally in love with him.”

“Care!”

“He likes her, too. But he’s just as shy about it as she is.”

“Stop talking,” you say through gritted teeth, face hot with blush.

“Well I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.” 

“You girls do too.”

Bonnie finds out immediately by way of pressing why you took so long in a jewelry store. Incidentally, she then becomes part of your plan in getting it to him. 

The four of you decide you’re going to “run into him” by accident, where you’ll then present it as something you just “came across” in passing. It’s a horrible plan, but it’s the only one you have. And, it’s not entirely untrue, which will minimize the amount of stuttering you’d have while giving it to him.

At seven, Damon texts Elena that Kai had just sat down at the bar. He then calls her and loudly invites the four of them to dinner. Minutes later, you join the smirking vampire at his table.

“Nice shit plan you guys have.”

“Shh!” Caroline scolds, “it kinda needs to be shit if these two are ever going to actually talk to each other.”

Damon gets the point immediately. You’re too anxious to register Caroline’s words. 

“Okay,” Elena turns to you, “I need a shot. Y/N, can you order a round?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t stutter!” Elena smacks her boyfriend. “Kidding,” he tells you. 

You roll your eyes. As you near the bar, you take a couple deep breaths. Your friends watching this whole thing is certainly not helping your anxiety, but it’s now or never to act on this plan. 

“Y/N,” the bartender nods as you slide up to the counter. You take the seat beside Kai, but don’t look at him yet. “What can I get you?”

“Five shots of bourbon, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kai bounces his knee nervously as he thinks of what to say to you. After a second, he blurts out, “hi.”

You face him. “Hi.”

“You here with someone or are all those shots for you?”

You laugh. “Nah, I’m here with all those,” you gesture to your friends.

Kai follows your hand. “Ah.”

“Hey, um…” three of your shots are poured. “I know you wear rings, and I saw this one the other day, and it looked like something you’d wear, maybe, I don’t know. But um,” you produce it from your pocket, “I got it for you anyway.”

The way his eyes light up warms your heart. He takes it gently and admires it.

“The green is malachite,” you say quickly, “I didn’t know if you’d like it, because I know you don’t like your name all that much, but still thought it was kinda cool.”

“It is cool,” he confirms, “I love it.” He slips it onto his right, middle finger, then smiles up at you. “And I like the malachite. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Your shots, Y/N,” the bartender hands you the five on a small plate.

“Thanks.” You turn back to Kai. “And, um, you’re welcome.” For a moment, you sit in silence, wishing you had the courage to confess, but you don’t. “I’m gonna go bring these to them.”

“Okay.”

You climb off the barstool, but of course stumble over one of the legs on your way down. Kai’s hands reach out to stabilize you. One grabs your shoulder; one’s under your arm, dangerously close to grazing your breast.

As soon as you’re stable, he pulls his hands away. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget your shots.”

You smile, give him one more awkward “thanks”, then grab your shots and return to your table. 

“Smooth,” Elena says immediately.

“Shut up.”

It’s been three days since you gave him the ring. You haven’t gone to the grill, nor seen him otherwise, partly in an attempt to avoid him. The ring was the first time you actually went up and talked to him, instead of indirectly giving him gifts or slipping in a hello during group conversations. And then, of course, at the end of your interaction, you managed to embarrass yourself. Kai was nice about it, which says a lot because he has little patience with most people, but you’re still embarrassed nonetheless. 

So the next time you run into Kai, you’re not expecting it at all.

You’re in the kitchen of the boarding house with Elena, when one minute you look up, and he’s standing right across the counter from you. 

“Well hello,” he greets, dimpled-smile wide. 

Elena pops up from the floor, a cooking skillet in her hand that she just dug out from the lower cabinet. “Hello,” she greets questioningly.

“Hi,” you finally say. Short and sweet.

“What brings you here?” She nods to him.

“Bored. Wondering what’s going on in the big, giant mansion.”

“Just us cooking.”

“Ooh, fun. Y’know, I happen to be a pretty good cook.”

“Really? Prove it.”

You glance at Elena, silently cursing her for inviting him even closer to you. She smiles. 

“Really?”

She nods at him. 

“What were you making?”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

“Ah. I used to make that for my siblings’ lunch. There’s a spice you’ve got to add in the soup that you wouldn’t think about, but it makes all the difference.”

“Impress us. We’ll make the sandwiches.”

Kai starts on the stove, and all you can do is stare. His back is turned to you, but everytime he reaches, you get a glimpse of his hands. The veins on the back compliment his long fingers. Two rings adorn his left; one is on his right - yours. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight. He turns around suddenly. “Where’s your spice rack?”

Elena points to the pantry. “On the door.”

“Thanks.”

“I remember you saying you could cook when you kidnapped me. The memory’s starting to return.”

“Awh, I did say that, didn’t I?” He smiles. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Yeah… who taught you how?”

“My father, surprisingly.” As he moves back to the stove, Elena nods at you to retrieve the bread, butter, and cheese. You do, as she turns on the fire. “Taught me how to measure with my eye. Taught me what spices do best with what dishes. He was more of the cook than my mother.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she was busy wrangling six kids.”

“Were your siblings all close in age?” You ask, hoisting yourself on the counter. The more he talks, the more your confidence grows, even if just a little at a time.

He looks up at you before tending back to his soup. “When Liv and Luke were toddlers, the oldest aside from Jo and I was thirteen. Pretty close.”

You nod.

“Interesting to me that your dad did most of the cooking,” Elena says, “usually men make their wives do all the work, especially in the time you grew up.”

The boy smiles at her subtle prod at him being way older than he looks. The reminder makes you gulp and shift your legs. 

“Yeah, well, he loved her. He would’ve done anything for her. They both did the chores around the house. Jo and I, too, if I was allowed. I mostly cooked, though. They put up a baby gate so the toddlers couldn’t crawl into the kitchen when I was in there; they trusted me that little.”

“Was that for a reason?”

“I siphoned them more when I was younger, sure. By the time I was sixteen-ish, I had mostly learned my lesson not to do that anymore. As a kid, though, it was hard to resist. Sometimes I’d still steal from my oldest younger brother when he’d piss me off. He wouldn’t tell because he knew he deserved it.” When Elena gives him a quizzical look, he explains. “Early nineties, we had a computer, and Joey was obsessed with this wizard game that my mother hated. She thought it was too violent. So he’d wake up really early in the morning to go play it and would always wake me up. He’d let me siphon so I wouldn’t tell on him.” Kai winks. “Sometimes, too, we’d roughhouse when we weren’t allowed. He would always start it. He’d come into my room and throw something at me, or would slap me for no reason. Or, would just stand in the doorway and stare. If I caught the upperhand, we’d wrestle on the floor until he apologized. Then he’d let me siphon so I wouldn’t tell mom that he went in my room, because he wasn’t allowed to do that.”

You both nod, somewhat understanding. Sibling stuff. It’s familiar, siblings coming into your room just to piss you off, and then bribing them not to tattle. Kai just happened to use his lack of magic as his bribe; desperate to have something he was born without, despite all his siblings having unlimited access. You couldn’t blame him, really, especially with his brother teasing him as much as he seemed to have. 

Kai turns off the stove as his soup begins to bubble. He looks up at you again, then chuckles. “You look cute up there.”

Immediately, you blush hard. You tuck your knees up, resting them on the edge of the cabinet door below you. “Thank you.” It comes out in a whisper, and he replies with a wink. 

“Bowls?”

Elena points to the cabinet beside you. 

“Ah, great. Watch your head,” he mutters, opening the door. You duck a little as he reaches into it. His shirt rides up slightly, skin rubbing into the counter’s edge. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, holding your hands out to grab a bowl.

“Yeah, thanks.” He hands you one after another, then shuts the door. Elena turns off the stove, then nods at him for plates. “Which one?”

“The one she’s blocking.”

“Ah.” You start to get down, but Kai insists, “no, I can work around you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you duck and shift to the left. Within seconds, his body is centimeters from touching yours. The softness of his gray shirt brushes against your exposed knee. “Hold,” he hands you a plate. You take it and set it down, then grab the other two from him. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

As you recover, he starts to organize the dishes. Elena goes to the fridge for drinks, but then clicks her tongue. “Gotta go to the basement fridge. Out of coke in this one.” She winks. She’s gone before you can say a word. 

Kai finishes his task, then comes back to your side. He puts a hand on your knee, his right one, and then offers a smile. 

“I like my ring. Thank you for it.”

You force a smile as you try to calm your racing heart. “You’re welcome.”

“And the pork rinds, I enjoyed those.”

“I didn’t do that.”

He chuckles. “The shots, too. Plus the pretty little daisy.”

“I didn’t do that, either.”

“Oh come on, princess. Admit it.” You tense up at the nickname and he can see it. “You can’t hide from me anymore.” He hooks a finger under your chin, but you refuse eye contact. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t even know where to buy pork rinds.”

“You’re so cute when you’re trying to lie to me.” You blush even more at that and he smiles. “Y’know, the shade of those daisies reminds me of the blush on your cheeks.” He licks his lips. “You can’t deny it, just admit it.”

“Kai, I can’t.”

“Can’t what? What’s wrong?”

“What do you even want me to admit?”

He laughs, as if the question is crazy. “Admit that you did it. Gave me cute little gifts and paid my ever-growing bar tabs.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Fine. I did. Happy?”

Apparently not. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I thought you just wanted to know if I did it.”

“I did, and know I want to know why.”

“Kai-” you start, whining. He’s still holding your chin and it’s getting harder to not look at him. 

“I like the way my name sounds on your lips, cutie,” he whispers. “Why don’t you just admit it and I can put something else on your lips?”

You finally look at him, eyes wider than a mouse’s. 

“Awwh, there you are. Hi.” You stare, speechless. “Can I ask you something?” You only nod. “Is it safe to assume you have a little crush on me? Is that the reason for all this?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“No? Really? Find that hard to believe.”

“Kai-”

“Princess, this’ll be so much easier when you just admit it.” He cocks his head. “What if I told you I have a little bit of a crush on you too, hm? Would that affect you at all?”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sweet, and shy, and just so cute. I mean, look at you. Perched on this countertop, and I could so easily grab you and hold you in my arms.” He smiles. “I’ve seen you moving around out of the corner of my eye. I know there’s a reason you’ve given me all these little gifts. Like this ring,” he shows it to you, “only you would care enough to do that. Not to mention the crystal inside it being part of my name.” You bite your lip in response and he grins. “See, I got you.”

“The food’s getting cold, we need to eat it.” You try to slide off the counter, but he catches your waist. 

“Ah, ah, ah, not yet, little girl. Admit it first.”

“I already did!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine!” You give in, “I might have a tiny, little crush on you. And I thought if I give you things, you’d notice me.”

He smiles, satisfied with his win. “There it is! You have a crush on me.” You don’t look at him. “For the record, I already noticed you. And I’ve been watching you since I arrived in this town. Your gifts only told me that you were interested, too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So what now?”

“You could let me kiss you. I bet you taste sweeter than you look.” He runs a finger along your jawbone. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod. 

Kai wastes no time pressing his body into your legs and cupping your face in his hands. “You’re so cute,” he mutters. Then, a second later, kisses you softly. Your lips part in pleasure before you start to kiss him back. He takes advantage of this, sucking your lower lip in between his teeth and making his next kiss more passionate. You let your hands rest on his chest, but don’t push him off. A couple seconds later, he breaks it off himself. 

“Even sweeter than I could imagine,” he says cheesily. 

“Really?”

He pinches your cheeks. “Perfect.”

“What’d I miss?” Elena appears in the doorway, three drinks in her hands. 

Kai smirks. “All the fun.”

The girl knows immediately. “Finally?”

“Finally,” Kai confirms.

“Wait- did you two-?” You point back and forth. “Did you-?”

“Promise, I didn’t say a word to him!” Elena swears.

Kai agrees, “not a word between us. You’re just bad at keeping secrets.” He bops you on the nose. 

“You suck.”

“And you’re adorable when you pretend to be mad at me.”

You pout in response, peeling yourself off the counter. Kai kisses your cheek as you pop off, making you blush. 

“Sandwich time?” Elena asks, “I have a story about that ring that you would just love.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to need to hear this.”

“No! Elena, don’t!”

The three of you take your sandwiches and soup into the dining room, and she tells the story anyway. 

[thepiedsniper]

A huge review for A Curse For True Love (spoilers, obviously - all below the cut).

DISCLAIMER: I have read the B&N and Waterstones epilogues but not the OwlCrate one yet (I don’t think anyone has, to be honest). So possibly some of my questions will be addressed in that ending.

On the Kiss: there was a compelling theory that Jacks would turn human due to his love for Eva (per the rules established in Caraval) and that’s how they could kiss and be together without killing Eva. I thought this made a lot of sense (because if your universe has established that becoming human is the canonical consequence of an Immortal falling in love, this kind of definitely needs to happen for the prequel series readers to believe that he really loves Eva, right?). Except Jacks clearly never really became human - his tears were tears of blood and the story curse refers to him as a not-quite-human in the epilogue. This also means he's still ageless and will ultimately outlive Eva by A Lot. So, oof.

To that end - I know Jacks is a fatalist and Eva is an optimist, but did it never even OCCUR to either of them to be like "what if we just did everything together EXCEPT kiss for the rest of our lives?" I know Jacks is compelled to kiss (and it’s obliquely confirmed that the apples are his way to fighting that urge) so you'd have him struggling with that arrangement in the long term. But also, Eva seems convinced she's never been in danger of Jacks kissing her before, so why wouldn’t she at least float that idea and see if he goes for it? Why go for the kiss other than Extreme Belief in The Power of Love; i.e. the exact thing Eva found out was actually the one condition that would ensure the curse killed her, according to Aurora like five minutes beforehand. Which Eva Does Not Mention to Jacks, by the way. "Hey, you know that blonde from Valenda you thought was the one exception to your curse and caused you a tonne of angst and confusion ever since? Turns out you had your whole curse backwards these last several hundred years lol."

Eva still owes Jacks a kiss. If you even care.

No but forreal, at least address it. Do a cutesy "OK, then spend that kiss on me, right now, mwah!" bit in the epilogue, or even a juicy "I’m never cashing it in, because not only is it practical that we can still speak telepathically, but I like that you're still tied to me magically foreverrrr". But like, these three magic kisses were the main conceit of this series. Until they weren’t.

The book seemed to shy away from many interesting plot hooks and tropes. Not even subverting them, just...moving on and away instead of fleshing them out. The main one off the top of my head is The Hunt. This seemed like a really specific and interesting event, with a lot of potential tension and parallels to Jacks’ former life as a hunter, if things went wrong in interesting ways. Except we never see any of it, and instead Someone Tries to Kill Eva (turns out Petra had a lover? This plotline is Not Important and everyone quickly moves on despite the fact that I’m pretty sure Belleflower was never found or dealt with) and we get a slightly less satisfactory Hollow II with the Ye Olde Brick Inn. And even the Inn introduces the Only One Bed trope only to sort of fumble it. Jacks has some mystery gold sleep dust (providence unknown) which just kind of doesn't do anything until it knocks them both out at differently convenient times. Idk man, it felt kinda meh to me.

I love Lala. She should have been in this more because she’s honestly one of the more interesting things outside of the romantic tension (which is great, but a novel cannot live on romantic tension alone, lest it become one-note). But also, when she does appear and we finally get to find out what her reunion with her great love was like, it's just kind of glossed over and hinted that her love with Dane has gone sour. Where’s the actual development/exposition!! Who actually dumped who, and why? What did she actually see in him in the first place? The small amount he’s in this book he is a) not turning into a giant dragon (Chekov would be disappointed), and b) kind of a tool. Lala became The Unwed Bride for this guy!!! At least let her have a proper “I realised I was sabotaging all my engagements not because I still loved my unreachable First Love, but because I enjoy the idea of love more than love itself” moment and make her canonically aromantic or something.

Chaos likes/loves Lala? I guess? He also murdered a bunch of people from great houses, for Reasons. He’s around, more than many characters were, but I dunno. What’s his deal these days? Does he still hang out with his vamp friends? Was he killing all those people because his parents asked him to, or was it pure hunger, or personal vendetta? Is he like, Tight with his folks now?

Another wasted (in my opinion) trope is Aurora stealing Jacks' heart away from Eva. I thought we'd get a little juicy angst from Eva seeing the man she loves be manipulated into fake-loving another (which would have also been a little poetic justice for Tella, but that's neither here nor there I guess because the Caraval characters Do Not Matter and are in fact not mentioned At All). But instead, we don't even find out what Aurora wanted to do with the heart, because it's immediately stolen back by Jacks (which like, why didn't Aurora make him swear in blood not to immediately knock her out and steal it back if that was an option? Is she just super delusional?). Also, it was meant to seem really romantic and self-sacrificing that Jacks gave up his heart and possibly autonomy to Aurora to save Eva... except he never intended to let Aurora keep it, so it was just another selfish scheme and not a sign of actual growth/love.

The Valor children in general (aside from Castor and Aurora) were pretty much non-existent when I honestly thought they'd be more of a Thing. One of them has memory magic, but that's not important for some reason. Nah, the thing Apollo did to Eva was just a potion from Aurora or something (providence unknown). Yeah.

It’s unclear why Honora Valor couldn't have reversed Jack's original Archer curse if that's something she easily did with a bit of hair at the end of TBONA. like I guess that says more about that book than this one, but it seems kind of lame that this mythical healer is never even ASKED about Jacks' kissing curse (or anything related to healing ever again).

Cycling back to Aurora for a moment: what was her magical ability in the end? Just non-specific spellwork that seemingly anyone can do (based on the first two books)? They made a point of lamp-shading it and then never actually addressed it.

And speaking of witches/witchcraft, Marisol is one of the many characters that never reappear or get much (if any) mention at all. Eva wouldn't have remembered her stepsister while her memories were gone, which I would have assumed would make for some interesting retconning opportunities for the conniving Marisol. But no, she's just not important anymore, I guess.

Also Gone: Luc. Did he and Marisol run away together after hashing out their twisted histories? Did Luc eat Marisol and then fall of a cliff? Who cares!!!! Not Important Anymore!!!

Tiberius is also Gone (possibly because his existence would have reminded the audience that Apollo has people he Actually Cares About in his life that might have helped him back from The Dark Path). The whole Protectorate just stopped being a thing as soon as the Valory opened. Do they know, or care? Surely they monitor that sort of thing? Was someone from the Protectorate able to piece together the sudden arrival of the “Vale” family at least?

Phaedra of the Damned from the very first book (the girl who first discovered Apollo wasn’t dead after trying to steal his secrets, and also Havelock is there) never gets explained. I assume she’s one of the twins from the Vanished Market mentioned in the Caraval trilogy, but she really was just there for half a scene in the first book and then never mentioned again. OK.

Havelock, Apollo’s most loyal guard, is not mentioned after Chapter 13 (when Apollo really starts ramping up the Atrocities). Again, possibly his existence would have complicated Apollo’s evil villain speedrun, but it would have been interesting to see what he might have done (and if he decided to leave Apollo’s service out of condemnation for the monster Apollo had become, a sentence or two establishing that might have been nice).

Which leads me to Apollo. He went very evil very quickly. I actually really liked the self-delusion in his focalisation, and his whole backstory with the pressures put on him by his father made sense. But damn, dude went from No Murder to Child Murder pretty dang quickly!!! Also, his death was fairly predictable. Which I wouldn't have minded, because not everything needs to be a Surprise Twist, but it really felt like that scene was the climax/final conflict in a sea of other loose ends that got ignored, so I guess I wanted it to be More so that it could make up for all the plotlines whose resolutions got sacrificed for it.

The original fox from the ballad doesn’t matter. She doesn't ever get a name. It's Fine. She could turn into a freaking FOX, which seems like a very cool and rare ability, but sure, she was just Some Chick Jacks was forced to hunt (and then kind of fell in love with and got traumatised by killing). Why do you want to know about her?? Why do you want Jacks to address the ways his feelings for her (and Tella) are inherently interwoven with trauma, in ways that don’t specifically relate to Eva?

I’m not sure I’m explaining this properly (because on the surface, of course the original fox is an important part of Jacks’ backstory and the overall plot; but only in a “Jacks is scared to love because he killed this one girl one time, and that also makes Eva sad” kind of way. The same story could arguably have been told without the Archer ballad, and just keeping the original concept of Jacks from Caraval �� he’s the prince of hearts, doomed to kill all but his one true love. He kills many ladies that he hopes he’s actually in love with, but they always tragically die instead.

Cool twist with Aurora’s involvement in the curse, even if it was somewhat predictable (again, not a crime for a plot twist by any means), but I don’t know. It just felt like one of many things that got “resolved” with a quick aside (Eva found an expository journal entry) and then everything quickly moved on because hey, the reader knows what happened now that Eva found that journal entry, so who cares if Jacks knows too? Telling him everything important that Eva learned since seeing him would just detract from the love confession!

It's never officially confirmed whether Jacks of the Hollow's family owned the Hollow? Or what happened to his family, or the original owners if it wasn’t his family. The Hollow doesn't seem particularly attached to Jacks, nor he to it (according to the epilogues).

Eva should have gnarly back scars from her secondhand flaying and it's pretty clear they're either not there or just forgotten in ACFTL. My understanding was that The Hollow allowed Eva to become "fully healed" due to the effects of several weeks passing in the space of a day or two. So Eva's body essentially got the chance to heal naturally over time, in a sped-up way (which still would have left hella scars). Apollo, on the other hand, was healed with vampire venom (which canonically removes scars; see: Luc) but he's still got his back scars for some reason. Both of them healed in different ways during the period when the mirror curse wouldn't have mattered. I personally think it would have been interesting to give Eva horrible back scars she can't explain due to her amnesia. But alas.

All in all, it felt like the kind of book that wanted to be third of four instead of third and final. It wanted to introduce new and interesting concepts, but still had to rush to put a conclusion (satisfying or otherwise) to everything that had come before. I had fun reading it, and all the usual romance/drama/angst with Eva and Jacks was still super fun, but pretty much every other element felt lacking (and even a lot of the EvaJacks stuff kind of just Happened and then Kept Happening without a strong plotline to run along). I look forward to reading a lot of fanfiction addressing all the missing bits. Or a new trilogy series from this rich universe, maybe (even though I doubt it would follow Eva and Jacks directly).

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

ok first of all, The Ninth Hour musical (on yt & spotify) is INCREDIBLE. It's a retelling of Beowulf (ofc), however the actress playing Beowulf and the actress playing Grendel's Mother sound more or less exactly alike, which gives the whole thing an additional layer of OW OOF OUCH MY EMOTIONS.

Grendel himself is also phenomenal. If I could recommend you one song to get you into this musical, it would be this one:

also highly recommend "Grendel's Mother" by The Mountain Goats. lyrics can get a bit cheesy but it still hits like a punch in the guts

okay, next up..... shit, where do I even START.

Sam & Dean are the best portrayal of Grendel & his Mother that I've EVER seen- and I'm saying this as a folklorist/beowulf scholar first, and spn fan second. The more you get into actually studying these creatures/characters, the more fascinating spn becomes because

1) it tells a story that desperately needed to be told, and does it amazingly well

2) IT DOES IT UNINTENTIONALLY. Nobody on spn's writing team sat down and said "hey. this is a show about Grendel". It just HAPPENED and its UNIRONICALLY WONDERFUL.

3) this is more of a thing that matters re: folkloric & historical context, but I cannot stress enough that Sam & Dean canonically de-christianized themselves. that is. fcking fascinating. like I don't even have words for how cool that is. what a choice for these characters. it's been 1500 years and Grendel & Mother finally had enough, packed up and left back to whatever pagan belief system they came from.

ok anyway. tangent here, but re: what you said about liking/being DEEPLY fucked up by the idea of their souls never being allowed to settle or find peace... please look into The Wild Hunt. Overly Sarcastic Productions on youtube has a very good video on it that covers most of the points that you would be interested in. the idea of a ghostly hunter damned to ride eternally across the sky in early/midwinter kinda Hits Different the past two years yknow?

(and yes there are connections between the Wild Hunt and Grendel's Mom. not direct connections, but they're definitely present. see last post's comment abt Valkyrie!Dean)

last thing for this particular longpost: the names "Sam" and "Dean" are EXTREMELY.

EXTREMELY *SOMETHING*.

IN OLD ENGLISH.

"Sam" is a common prefix in Old English (the language Beowulf was written/originally told in) that is used with many words. However, depending on pronunciation/accent it has two different meanings:

"half, partial, lacking, incomplete"

or

"together, concordant, combined, same"

...ow. ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow. that's. ouch

"Dean" doesn't have a direct equivalent, but "Daene" "Daen" "Dane", "Dene", etc all have translation variants (Old English translation is NOT an exact science. I'm taking a class in it next semester, pray for me lmao) that mean the same thing

"Danes" or "People of Denmark"

why is this relevant? Because the first 2/3 of Beowulf is set in Denmark. Grendel & Mother are FROM DENMARK. and the people they prey upon, who Beowulf arrives to defend

ARE THE DANES.

also, this specific bit of ironic naming has actually been used before! one of the most well-lauded modern retellings of Beowulf, Maria Dahvana Headley's "The Mere Wife", is told from Grendel's Mother's pov, and set in a modern, rural/western American (though disappointingly* nonmagical, focusing on social commentary in an entirely "real-world" way) setting. This is, afaik, the first major work of Beowulf literature that gives Mother a name....

Dana. her name is Dana. as an ironic jab at her original iteration's rivalry with the Danes

or "Daene" in the Old English. or "Dane" or "Daen" or "Dene"

...I both love and hate this language. what kind of fucking names are "Sam and Dean". its almost like God hates them or something-

oh yeah right. That Part.

this is lines 102-114 of Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf, and the audience's introduction to whatever the fresh frick Grendel & Mother have going on.

and

to quote almost directly from a Supernatural post I saw on tumblr like three weeks ago, from someone with (afaik) NO idea what Grendel is:

WHAT WAS THEIR REWARD EXACTLY??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

hhhhhhhhh

tldr

*screams in agony*

Fun fact of the day, anytime someone compares Dean Winchester to Mother Mary, I take -20 psychic damage

It ruins me horrendously, keep doing it

[lazypeachsoul]

are you thanking me or your god? - u.r.

Pairing: Uhtred Ragnarsson x fem!reader.

Request: by @viktoria12 “Hey can you write a imagine with Uhtred? The content is up to you🙏”

Warnings: Nothing.

Word count: 1.601 words.

A/N: I have to admit this was a bit tricky because I've never read uhtred imagines. But it was fun, i really like uhtred as a character. i hope you like it and I'm sorry it has taken me some time to post it.

Masterlist.

To be added to my taglist use this forms or write me an ask!

Winchester was the busiest it had been in a long time. With the coming of spring, the merchants were returning to the city to trade and spending too much time around the alehouse. Spirits were high after the blessing given by the priest on Easter and the year was expected to be calm and fruitful. Except for the danes lurking in the surrounding areas. But nobody would dare talk about that when it’s the Lord’s day.

Good weather meant people would go outside more, and therefore more gossip. Every turn you took on your way to the market, you would hear a different rumour. Most were about the health of the king, some were about the threat of a battle. You even heard one about danes walking around the city freely.

But your head was too centered on the task at hand. Abbess Hild had asked you to go to the market for flour and other necessities, and you wouldn’t dare disappoint the Abbess. You weren’t even a nun and you still followed her orders like a soldier.

Your house was close to the convent and, ever since you walked past the gates and into their garden when you were young, they had treated you like their family. Sometimes too much when it came to the boys your age. But they were only trying to protect you.

Sister Hild, later Abbess, had always surprised you. Not only did she have a strong will and personality, she was also physically strong. More than what a woman of god should be. but still, with all her strength, she needed you to go buy the necessities that they couldn’t get from their garden.

Too distracted by your thoughts and the gossiping going around, you collided against someone making you almost tumble to the dirt floor. If it hadn’t been for a quick hand grabbing your dresses you would be covered in mud and other disgusting stuff.

Looking up you saw a scruffy looking man, but not in a bad way surprisingly. This man looked almost too different from what you were used to seeing around Winchester. Something about his reaction told you he was trained, and the scars in his hands and handsome face gave away he was probably a soldier. For who is what you were curious to know.

Realizing the compromising position you found yourself on, with a man holding your dress, you quickly tried to regain your balance. The man let go and you tried to stutter an apology, but your attempts were stopped by a sweet but authoritative voice behind you.

“Uhtred! I was looking for you, we need to discuss…” Her voice got interrupted when she recognized you in front of the man. “What are you doing here, darling? I thought you would be in the market by now.”

“I tried Abbes, I just had a little-” You tried to speak but were interrupted by a deep voice. In a normal situation you would be angry at such interruption, but when you heard the voice you couldn’t really care about it.

“We had a small incident, Hild. Don’t worry, nobody is hurt.”

The voice fit the man perfectly. With a deep voice he spoke calmly and yet you could pick up a joking tone towards the Abbess. Who is this uhtred man? Why is he joking with Hild? But wait, how does Hild even know a man like him?

Full of curiosity you realized you were still standing between them. Clearing your throat you nodded at Hild and turned around with a smile to your saviour.

“Thank you Lord for helping me. I’m in your debt.” Nodding your head you moved past them, not missing the small smile on the man's face.

“You owe nothing to him, young lady. He's heathen. He doesn’t deserve your compassion.”

A loud laugh was heard from the man along with what sounded like a smack, probably to the leather of his armour. The words of the Abbess circled your brain for the rest of the day. So he was a heathen, a friend of Hild and incredibly handsome. Great, what a mysterious man.

After your chores were done and you took some time to relax outside of your house, the world seemed to dissipate around you. The soft sound of quick steps and panting made you look up from your dress, breaking the peace of your surroundings.

Eanflæd was running towards you, people looking her way either worried or weirded out by your young friend’s race. She reached you just in time to ungracefully collapse on the bench you were sitting on.

“Is everything okay, Eanflæd? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that fast. Not even when the chickens escaped.”

She was trying to regain her breath, but took the time to pinch your arm for the reminder of the chicken run.

“You...you…” She panted before taking a big breath. “You weren’t going to tell me you have been seeing the Dane-slayer.”

“Who?” You couldn’t hide your surprise.

The only person you had seen outside your family was the man who sold you the produce for the abbey. And also that man…

“Are you talking about Uhtred?”

“You know him enough you don’t even talk about him like a lord?”

You tried to hide your laugh but a small snort came out.

“I don’t know him. He merely saved me from an ugly fall this morning.” Shrugging you tried to dismiss the gossip. “But you do seem to know about him, so tell me…”

The next day didn’t allow for much thinking about ‘the Dane-slayer’. You had been working non stop in your father’s farm and everything hurt. But your mother has asked you to take some fresh eggs to her friend, and you couldn’t say no to your mother’s gentle face.

It was late enough for the ruckus of the market to have died down, but not enough for it to be dangerous or improper for a young woman to be walking around unaccompanied.

Too absorbed in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the neigh of the horse until it was too late for you to react. Looking at the animal getting closer you couldn’t help but try and pray that you would be saved, but no prayers came to your head at that moment.

Just when you were about to give up and close your eyes, something yanked you out of the way making you barely dodge the horse and the man on the cart who was yelling at you. Your heart was hammering in your chest, ears ringing and hands shaking. The eggs were no longer in your grasp but smashed against the floor, although in that moment you could make yourself care for them.

The same hand that had yanked you out of the way, spoon you around. Your saviour was none other than yesterday’s saviour. you really were in debt with this man now.

“Are you okay?” His voice was worried, a contrast to the day before’s joking tone.

Time seemed to slow while you assimilated what had happened. Probably too much time passed before you could answer but the man didn’t seem to care. When you could trust your voice to speak again, the words came out all at once.

“I was nearly trampled by someone’s horse in the street, but you stepped in just in time to get me out of the way even if it put you in danger as well.” He smiled at the jumbled words and after a deep breath you tried to regain your thoughts. “Thank you, lord.”

“Are you thanking me or your god?” Uhtred spoke and you knew he was trying to avoid your shock at the incident.

You thought about the answer and tried to smile, probably looking more like a grimace.

“Both? Yes, I think I’m thanking both.” Your voice lowered, probably to avoid other people hearing you talk that way about the Lord. “Both is good.”

He smiled and took a step back looking at you, probably checking for any injuries. The people of Winchester were used to accidents and didn’t normally care, but you could feel some stares on you. Probably because of Uhtred and his fame.

“You seem to be in one piece, can’t say the same for the eggs.” He pointed at the road.

“You have saved me twice now, lord. I might have to ignore the Abbess and ask you what I should do in return for you.”

“I wouldn’t ignore Hild. You don’t want to know what she can do with a sword.” He tried to dismiss the conversation but your curiosity only grew. “I only ask for one thing in return.”

You nodded, asking for him to continue and still trying to imagine Abbess hild wielding a sword. You knew he was a soldier, and a good one. But Hild? No, she was a woman of God.

“Stop distracting yourself when walking around. If you don’t you might end up like your eggs.”

“But if I stop getting distracted, what would you save me from, Dane-slayer?”

What possessed you in that moment to utter those words you couldn’t really say. You just knew it was not entirely proper and that if your mother heard your ear would hurt from the scolding. But the smirk on Uhtred’s face was worth it.

“So you know who I am. But I know nothing about you. Is that unfair?”

“I have my ways, Lord Uhtred. Maybe when you save me next time I could tell you something about myself.”

"Let's just hope it's not a dangerous situation then. Just to make sure you can tell me after."

taglist: @webreathfandoms

[kalyan-gullapalli]

Post # 152

"Stop telling God what to do!"

The years 1900 to 1930 were called The thirty years that shook Physics. Because, with the dawn of the new century (1900), a new stream of physics emerged that threatened to shake the very foundations of science. It was called Quantum Physics.

Till the early 1900s, the most accepted theories of mechanics were called Classical Physics or Classical Mechanics. These theories, very clearly, explained the laws governing everyday objects - objects that we see and deal with in our daily lives, like cars, trains, balls etc, as well as large objects, like the Sun, Moon, planets, galaxies etc.

Sir Issac Newton, the father of Classical Physics, explained gravity, inertia, motion, momentum, speed etc. Einstein proposed the General and the Special Theories of Relativity that explained concepts like space-time for very distant objects. That won him a Nobel Prize and made him the first ever science-rockstar.

So far so good. Classical Mechanics was doing a great job. It was precise and deterministic - means, we could predict the position of Jupiter on its orbit around the Sun, 20 years from today, using the mathematics of Classical Mechanics.

Of course, there were still many unanswered questions. And a whole host of physicists were working on them. But it was Business As Usual (BAU).

Towards the start of the 20th century, a few Europeans - Max Plank, Niels Bohr, Shrodinger, Heisenberg and many others - observed that the laws governing everyday or large objects do not explain the behaviour of sub-atomic particles (particles within an atom). The discovery of the electrons, protons and neutrons led to a spate of experiments, debates and theories, which together were called Quantum Physics or Quantum Mechanics.

Truth be told, Scientists found Quantum Mechanics bizzare! Even till date, scientists still find the theories of Quantum Mechanics hard to grasp. But none of them could or can, dispute the results of Quantum Mechanics. In fact, Quantum Mechanics is universally considered to be the most successful theory propounded by science. It ushered in the Information Age. Lasers, Semiconductors, Computers, Telecommunications, Televisions, Electronics etc, all owe their existence to the application of the concepts of Quantum Mechanics.

Quantum Mechanics works. Its math works. No problem. The only problem is - no one knows how it works or why it works that way! That's why many scientists believe Quantum Mechanics is more a branch of philosophy than of science.

Quantum Mechanics spooked the greatest mind ever believed to have walked this earth - Albert Einstein. He famously said - God doesn't play dice! You will see what he meant as you read on.

Niels Bohr, the Great Dane (he was Danish), worked to defend the theories of Quantum Mechanics. Exasperated by Einstein’s repeated attacks on the Quantum model, he is supposed to have retorted - Einstein, Don't tell God what to do!

This tension between Classical Mechanics and Quantum Mechanics went on for a long time and was also called The thirty years war.

I have been reading up on Quantum Mechanics for some time now. Like layers of an onion, I keep getting clarity on one aspect after another, all in due course. I am still a long way from getting it all, but I find it all so fascinating that I want to share it with you. And I think a good way to understand all of this is by understanding what was called The Double Slit Experiment. Here goes!

Consider a bunch of marble balls, shot through a double-slit barrier (a barrier with two holes on it) onto a board placed behind it. They will create a distinct pattern on the board, hitting it straight where they were allowed to pass through. The remaining part of background board will be untouched. Why? Because particles travel in a straight line. That's their fundamental nature. That's Classical Mechanics. Simple so far?

What if a bunch of electrons were to be shot through the same double-slit arrangement onto the same background board? How would they behave? What pattern would they create on the background board? Since all matter consists of atoms, and electrons are a part of atoms, so electrons should behave like particles, right? But they behaved very strangely. They created the below pattern on the background board.

There were stripes of alternately bright and dark patterns on the background board. Some electrons even hit the board straight behind the opaque parts of the double-slit barrier. How's that possible? The background board looked something like this.

The scientists conducting the experiments knew what this pattern meant. This pattern could only be made by a wave, not by a particle. The below 4-second video explains how a wave creates this pattern. By the way, this pattern is called an Interference pattern.

How's this possible? Was it possible that electrons were waves? But that is absurd. They were particles - sub-atomic particles.

So, scientists reluctantly came to a bizzare conclusion - Electrons were both particles and waves!

Further experiments were even more bizzare. Scientists now decided, not to observe only the pattern on the background board, but to observe the electrons also. What they found made them think they had gone crazy!

The moment their observation apparatus was switched on, electrons reverted to their particle behavior. But when the observation apparatus was switched off, the electrons took on their wave character. Look at the interference pattern on the background board.

Spooky, right? Someone articulated these observations as below.

Observation changed the nature of electrons! An unobserved electron has a wave function. An observed electron has a particle function.

From here on, it gets even more bizzare, if that is possible.

One quantum physicist suggested that the wave function of an electron suggests the probability of finding it at any particular point. If that point is a crest (a wave's highest point), the probability of finding it there is maximum. If the point is a trough (a wave's lowest point), the probability of finding it there is the lowest. But to find it, you have to observe it. And the moment you observe it, the electron takes a particle nature. With particles, life is simple. The electron is either there or not there. No probability. Absolute certainty.

When Einstein heard this, he blew his top. Probability, my foot! This is not Science, he must have thought. "God doesn't play dice!", he asserted out loud. He said this once too often, without offering an alternative explanation.

Niels Bohr, who was also struggling to reconcile with the bizzare conclusions of Quantum theories, but convinced that the consistency of the results of the experiments was proof enough that the theory was right, retorted, "Einstein, Stop telling God what to do and what not to do."

Niels Bohr was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1922 for his work in understanding the theories of Quantum Mechanics.

Almost a century has passed between then and now. In the intervening times, Quantum Mechanics has proposed many more bizzare theories like Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, Quantum Entanglement, Quantum Teleportation etc. Unanswered questions about a Unified theory of everything led modern science to propose strange and stranger theories like String theory, Multiverses (multiple universes) and Cosmic holograms.

I have just begun my journey of understanding the frontiers of modern science. And I cannot help but observe the stark parallels between what modern science is dabbling with today and the timeless tenets of Sanatana Dharma. More on it later!

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

A Cruel Game | Sihtric x OC

In celebration of @for-bebbanburg’s well deserved 100 followers.

Prompt: ‘being ordered to kill someone you’ve fallen in love with. How did you get into this situation and what will you do next?’

Tove, one of Kjartan's best warriors, is sent to kill Sihtric after he defects to Uhtred. However, her feelings for him get in the way.

Word Count: 2926

‘There are only seven heads! Go out there and tell me who is missing!’ Kjartan screamed at the closest guard. The poor man looked terrified; the last man that had been sent beyond Dunholm’s walls had been beheaded by a horseman sent from corpse hall to take all their souls. He looked like he was going to refuse but one look at his lord clearly made him remember that Kjartan was willing to inflict just as much pain on his men as any demon horseman. The great doors creaked open and the poor man scampered along the line of spiked heads, his eyes constantly darting to the tree line in case the horseman should return.

‘Sihtric, lord,’ the man shouted back. ‘It is Sihtric that is missing!’

Three days had passed since the heads had appeared outside the walls of Dunholm. Three days Kjartan had spent in a seething rage. Whether his rage was due to him losing some of his best men, his plans to finally get revenge on Uhtred Ragnarson having failed, or the unknown whereabouts of his bastard son, no one was sure. Tove thought it was probably a combination of all three.

Tove had known Kjartan her whole life. Her father had been one of his most trusted, loyal warriors who had been by his side since the days he had served Ragnar the Fearless. After her father’s death in battle when she was only nine, Kjartan had taken her in out of respect for her father. Kjartan was a terrible, evil man and deserved his title as Kjartan the Cruel, but it seemed to Tove that he had genuinely liked and cared for her father. Tove, on the other hand, Kjartan neither liked nor cared for, but he had given her food and a roof over her head, he had let her train and learn to fight, and he had prevented any of his men from using her against her will. Tove owed Kjartan a lot, without him she would have been destitute with no family to turn to; she may not like him, she despised him even, but in many ways she was indebted to him.

‘The bastard has betrayed me!’ Kjartan roared, banging his first on the table. ‘He is probably telling Uhtred about our defences as we speak! I should have had him killed ages ago, like I did his mother.’

Tove flinched. When she had first arrived, she had been terrified. Kjartan, thinking little of her, had told her to sleep with the slaves and that is what she had done. Sihtric’s mother, Elflaed, had cared for her the best she could, her kindness immeasurable. Her gory death had hit her hard, although not as hard as Sihtric, of course. They were a similar age, and although Tove wasn’t a slave she wasn’t treated much better; Sihtric had it worse, the cruelty Kjartan showed his bastard son knowing no bounds, but they helped each other through it. She had held him in her arms the whole night as he had cried his heart out after his mother’s death, and from that night on they had only had each other.

‘We do not know he is with Uhtred,’ Sven pointed out, the only man brave enough to dare to contradict his father, ‘why would he want him? He is nothing – a nobody! He would be worthless to him.’

Tove made sure to keep her face blank, she did not wish for punishment, but inside she was laughing. Sven loved to say that Sihtric was worthless, but he was a better fighter than Sven would ever be. Over the years she had known him, Sihtric had grown into a man and a great warrior. She was sure Elflaed would’ve been proud.

‘He is with Uhtred!’ Kjartan shouted again, giving his son a look that made it clear there was no room for argument. ‘The bastard has betrayed me! He must die!’

‘But how?’ Sven asked, never having been the smartest. ‘Uhtred won’t be taken for a fool twice.’

‘No, he won’t. That is why we will send someone he does not suspect,’ Kjartan snarled, turning to face Tove with a grin that made her blood run cold. ‘Who would suspect a woman?’

Tove was no longer the scared little girl who had first arrived at Dunholm. She had learnt that men would only respect her if she learnt how to fight, so that is what she had done, and now, nine years later, she was a shieldmaiden and one of Kjartan’s best warriors. This mission was not so difficult; sneak unnoticed into Eoferwic, locate Sihtric, kill him, and return to Kjartan with his head. But this was no simple mission. As she rode out of the gates of Dunholm, Tove’s heart was almost jumping out of her throat and she felt completely sick. For the first time in years, she was afraid. Afraid of what she must do. Sihtric wasn’t just a friend; over the years, as they had grown older, they had become far more to each other than that. In truth she loved him, although she had never told him that. However, her feelings meant nothing. She had given her oath to Kjartan, sworn her sword and there was no going back from that. She had her orders and she must complete them.

The only hope she had left was that Kjartan was wrong, that Sihtric had escaped and fled well away from Northumbria, but that hope soon disappeared. It hadn’t been difficult to slip into the city, especially under the cover of darkness, just like Tove knew it would be – people never looked twice at women, probably assuming her to be a whore. She had located Uhtred’s men quick enough and there was Sihtric, looking as handsome as ever. No, he was more handsome, as for the first time in his life he had hope in his eyes and a smile, a real smile, on his face. She couldn’t blame him for defecting; Kjartan had never given him a reason to be loyal to him and, by the looks of his men, Uhtred seemed to be a decant lord. But this changed nothing, Tove reminded herself.

When Sihtric stood and walked away from the other men, probably going to take a piss, Tove took her chance. Sticking to the shadows, careful not to be seen, she followed him into a side alley. She must have made a sound as Sihtric stopped dead still, even drunk his senses were better than anyone’s. Not even thinking about it, Tove grabbed him and pressed him against the wall, her knife against his throat. His eyes widened, ‘Tove?’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Kjartan wants you dead and he sent me to do his dirty work,’ she said in a flat voice, trying to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

‘You’re going to kill me?’ he asked, no fear in his eyes.

‘I do not want to, but I will,’ Tove forced herself to say through gritted teeth. She did not want to do this, but what other choice did she have? ‘Please, Sihtric, I don’t want to do this. Leave Uhtred and flee south, I can tell Kjartan that you must have escaped and ran. If I come back empty handed and he gets word that you’re here, he will kill me! You know this! You have to run! Please!’ She was begging now, her voice cracking from the emotion rising inside her.

‘I can’t,’ Sihtric whispered. ‘I have sworn to Lord Uhtred and he is a good lord, a great lord. I will not abandon him. I will not break my oath.’ Tove shook her head, her blade still against Sihtric’s skin, hating Sihtric for his loyalty, but at the same time knowing that was one of the things she loved him for. ‘Tove, you don’t have to do this. You can abandon Kjartan and join Uhtred. Join me! We can be together – isn’t that what you want?’

Tears were building in her eyes. That was exactly what she wanted but it was something she could not have. ‘I can’t, Sihtric! I have sworn to Kjartan, just like you have sworn to Uhtred! I will not be an oath breaker! I won’t!’

‘But Kjartan treats you no better than a slave! When you swore your sword, he swore to protect you in return. He is not a good lord; the Gods cannot blame you for leaving a man like that!’

‘He has protected me, Sihtric! Yes, he is a cruel, vile man. Yes, he has not treated me kindly. But if it wasn’t for him, I would be lying dead in an alleyway or selling myself in a brothel by now! Before he took me in, I had nothing! I am indebted, Sihtric!’ Tove sobbed, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks as she realised there was no way out of this situation.

‘So kill me!’ he spat.

‘I will,’ Tove spat back, trying to muster her conviction.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ came a deep, Danish voice from behind her. Before she could turn to see who had sneaked up behind her, a pain blazed through her skull and she felt herself falling to the ground, before it all went black.

When Tove woke up it was light outside, although it was unclear how long she had been out for. Her head was extremely painful where she had been hit with what she suspected was a blunt object. She was in what looked like an unused part of a stable, her hands and feet tied together with rope. Looking up, she saw Sihtric sitting not far from her, meeting her eye when he noticed she was awake. He passed her a jug of water before getting up and leaving her, not saying a single word.

A few moments later he returned with two men. She was informed that the first man was Lord Uhtred, and the other man, who was huge with arms like tree trunks, was another Dane named Clapa. It had been Clapa that had knocked her out; no wonder her head hurt so much. ‘I understand that you’re called Tove?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘The only reason you are still alive is because of Sihtric. He seems to believe that you might consider joining us. Help us against Kjartan.’

‘I’m sorry, lord.’ Tove said slowly, not looking Sihtric in the eye. ‘I’m afraid I cannot give you my sword nor my oath as they both belong to another. It is not for any love or loyalty to Kjartan that I refuse you, lord, but I cannot break an oath. I will not. And if that means I am to die, then so be it.’

Uhtred simply nodded in response. He and Clapa left soon after, leaving Tove alone with Sihtric. He came and sat on the floor beside her and took her bound hands in his. ‘He will not kill you; he respects you for not breaking your oath.’

‘Then what will happen to me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sihtric answered with a deep sigh. They sat together for what seemed like hours, simply holding each other close like they always did back in Dunholm whenever life turned against them. The spinners seemed to have played a cruel game with them, making them fall in love only to tear them apart. ‘You have always been there for me, always. When I dreamed of escaping Dunholm, it was always with you by my side.’

She looked into Sihtric’s beautiful, mismatched eyes. ‘Me too. I never imagined a future without you in it. I knew that the future was unlikely to be kind to us, but I always felt it didn’t matter how hard it got so long as we were together.’ Tears once again fell over the brim of Tove’s eyes. Sihtric reached up and gently wiped them away with his thumb. His hands moved to cup her face and slowly brought her towards him. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, the contact bringing all the emotions Tove had tried to bury and ignore for the last few days back to the surface. This would likely be the last time she ever got to kiss him, and she didn’t want it to end, but he forced himself way. He looked guiltily at her, like he hadn’t meant to kiss her. ‘I don’t know what will happen to you, Tove. I’m sorry.’ With that he left, leaving her alone with her tears.

A week passed and there was still no decision on what Tove’s fate would be. It seemed Uhtred had more pressing matters to be concerned with. She saw little of Sihtric and when she did, he barely spoke a word to her.

It was early in the morning when she heard a clamour outside. She could hear Uhtred’s voice calling a woman’s name: ‘Gisela’ – he sounded desperate. Something was happening. Something was wrong. She heard someone running towards her corner of the stables and a few moments later saw Sihtric panting above her.

‘You have to go, now!’ he ordered her, in a rushed whisper. He undid the ropes binding her hands and feet and pulled her with him out of the stables. They ran through small backstreets of the city, which she assumed was to prevent them from being seen, his hand still firmly holding hers.

‘Sihtric, what’s going on?’

‘Lord Uhtred has been betrayed,’ he replied, emotion clear in his voice. ‘Guthred has sold him into slavery. Lord Uhtred was protecting you, now he is gone, you have been marked for execution.’

‘Won’t you get into trouble?’ she asked him urgently. She didn’t want him to be executed in her place.

‘Everyone’s too busy in the square to be worried about us. Come on!’

They reached a small side gate, a horse held by Clapa waiting for them. ‘Sihtric…’ she began. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things she wanted to thank him for, but somehow all her words became caught in her throat. She threw herself at his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder to hide her tears. ‘I love you.’

He lifted her chin so that she was once again staring into those beautiful eyes. ‘I love you too.’ She grabbed the back of his head and brought him down into a passionate kiss, trying to convey everything she wanted to say but couldn’t into the action. ‘Now go,’ he urged her as they broke apart.

Tove pulled herself onto the horse and gave Sihtric one last desperate look before kicking hard and riding off into the Northumbrian countryside.

ONE YEAR LATER:

‘Every man to the walls! We are under attack!’ Tove grabbed her sword and shield along with all the other warriors of Dunholm.

Little had changed over the last year, apart from the large scar that now framed her face – a gift from Kjartan after her failure to kill Sihtric. Only the news that Uhtred had been enslaved and living a fate worse than death had saved Tove’s life, Kjartan too busy celebrating the news to bother with her too much. She had tried to keep Sihtric from her mind, but she had failed, finding herself thinking of him most days. She had thought she would never see him again, but she had been wrong.

As she ran into the courtyard towards the walls like she had been ordered to, a cry went up that there had been a breach – the enemy were within the walls. She turned, sword and shield in hand as she readied herself to slaughter the invading warriors but stopped still in her tracks. There was Sihtric, fighting alongside Uhtred.

A huge Dane came at Sihtric from behind. Sihtric was busy fighting off two other men and would be helpless to the new threat. Her feet began moving on their own accord, her body moving faster than her brain could comprehend. Before she knew what was happening, she was drawing her sword from the Danes neck and standing before a shocked Sihtric. More of Kjartan’s men came running towards them; Tove immediately moved so she stood back to back with Sihtric, ready to cut down her former comrades.

There was no time to talk. No time to explain how over the last year she had realised that she had made a mistake, that Kjartan was unworthy of her loyalty, that she should have sworn to Uhtred and been with Sihtric. All she could do was fight. It seemed she had made her choice; she had chosen to break her oath and kill those she was supposed to fight beside; but she realised to save Sihtric, she would do anything.

After the battle, Tove found Sihtric sitting alone just outside the main gates. The fortress bringing back too many memories for him to remain inside. Tove understood that. They sat in silence for a while, Sihtric’s hand in hers, their fingers laced together. ‘What happens now?’ she finally asked.

‘I go back to Wessex with Lord Uhtred. What will you do?’

‘I would like to come with you. Serve Lord Uhtred – if he’ll have me,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘I just want to be with you.’ Sihtric beamed at her and placed his arm around her, bringing his head forward so their foreheads touched. They were together, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

[jade-masquerade]

Simply Stricken

Written for @tlkfanficfest 2020 Round 2 for the prompt “Stiorra/Sigtryggr and their first kiss”

Stiorra sighed, the book in front of her no longer holding her attention. There were only so many dusty old tomes full of endless burh descriptions and donations made to the church and counts of barley yields she could read, and she glanced away from the words that had long since begun to blur together.

 Instead, her eyes wandered to the most interesting part of this dull, drab room: Sigtryggr himself.

 After Eardwulf had barged through those doors and she’d spent days listening to Brida demanding her head and all sorts of her body parts in turn, Stiorra had admitted in a moment of weakness that she felt safer with him here, and he’d spent as much time in here with her and the books and table games as outside training with swords and shields ever since.  

 She knew she should have hated him. She knew that she should have been angry and afraid. She knew he was dangerous, that he had killed. But so have Father and his men, whispered that conspiratorial voice she fought often these days. Maybe it was her mother’s strength or her father’s impetuousness, but Stiorra found she couldn’t muster a semblance of fear or ire anymore, at least not when they were here alone like this.

Once she’d been certain he hadn’t intended to harm her, she had asked if she was free to go. He insisted she was if she wished, her chambers evidently not well guarded if Eardwulf deep in his cups had managed to stagger served as proof enough of that. In that moment, though, she’d realized the entire city was full of men like that waiting beyond these walls, with nothing better to occupy their time than drinking and whoring and fighting in the streets. Besides, it was far better here than out there where she imagined Brida sat contemplating a thousand ways for her to die, and if she waited here, Stiorra knew somewhere deep down that her father would come for her. And until then, the stories Sigtryggr told were far more fascinating than listening to children whining or watching Finan and Sihtric playing dice for the thousandth time.

 Sigtryggr was an odd sort of Dane, Stiorra had to admit. He strangely seemed to have taken as much of an interest in scrolls and her stories as the sprawling palace and the chests of silver they had gathered from Winchester’s stores. Sometimes he would bring an object—a relic from the chapel, a platter with a verse inscribed upon it, a painting of a saint—from somewhere in the castle, or something to occupy himself, polishing his boots or scabbard, weaving together a hempen rope, the kind of work she’d expect a handmaiden to do, not a warlord, and he would sit and listen to what she had to say, whether it was telling him about the beliefs of the Christian faith, talking about her childhood, or teasing him about if Winchester had turned out to be all he dreamed. He entertained all sorts of her questions in turn, about his homeland and Irland and the sea and all he’d seen along the way, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into his tales of the world beyond the walls of Saltwic and Coccham.

 And she wasn’t blind either, regardless of what Brida threatened. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Sigtryggr was rather handsome, with his long hair and his armbands, clad in functional leather rather than a cape embroidered with gold or jewelry that served to do little other than belie exorbitant wealth. He looked so different from the shorn haired Saxons she’d been raised alongside, and perhaps most importantly, also unlike them he clearly washed.

 “Are you overcome with admiration?”

 She shook her head when she realized she must have been staring. “No. I’m bored.”

He smirked. Then there was that, too, those smiles that would have surely bewitched her in an instant had she been a weaker woman. “So I’ve heard.”

 She rolled her eyes. “My father’s stories made all of this seem exciting. And all that’s here is a list of dead men and their vassals and their lands and who cares.”

 “Lady Aelswith has assured me that her husband was a great man,” Sigtryggr said.

 “Oh, have you been spending a great deal of time with Lady Aelswith now?” She took her turn to smirk now, and then offered mercy at the look of bewilderment he wore. “He was, I suppose. He ruled with fairness and strength and love for his people.”

 “But?”

 She could not deny he was coming to know her well. “But it wasn’t as if he did these things all himself. He didn’t fight the battles, he didn’t bring in the harvests, he didn’t build the burhs. There’s scarcely even a mention of Lady Aelswith, either.”

 “Would there be? She tells me Wessex has no such thing as a queen. Aelflaed tells me different, of course.”  

 “Does it matter? Being a queen seems utterly boring, too.”

 The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Don’t all girls wish to grow up and become queen?”

 “No,” she shuddered. “I certainly didn’t. It seems awful, to do nothing but spend your days bowing and curtsying locked up in some palace. And I don’t want children, much less a kingdom.”

 “Oh? Have you discussed this with your intended?”

 She wrinkled her nose. “My intended?”

 “The man to whom you are betrothed. That’s what Saxons like to do, is it not? Find someone who can make them richer, give them power, or grant them lands, and marry their daughters off to them in exchange for their favor.”

 “Yes,” she admitted. It all sounded rather crude when he put it that way, and she supposed it was. Her mother had told her once of the man she’d nearly been forced to marry, her father’s cruel uncle who had stolen Bebbanberg, and how her brother, Guthred, arranged the match to solidify an alliance and receive reinforcements of men with no regard for his sister’s well-being or her wishes, and how her father had returned in time to disrupt the completion of the ceremony. Knowing her father, Stiorra suspected she left out some of the gorier details to make it fit for the ears of a child, but the passion of the act had always stuck with her, the reminder of the fierce devotion and the love they shared, and how so few were ever permitted to follow their hearts as they had. “Sometimes.”

 “So your betrothed…?” Sigtryggr prompted.

 They had spoken at length about family, hers and his alike, but this was the first time their conversation has strayed into this territory. “I don’t have one,” she said. “There’s no husband waiting for me. I’m not sure I even wish to marry, either.”

 “Ah, so you have preferred to take lovers instead, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir,” he said, winking.

 She felt her face flame. “No, I never even so much as… I’ve never taken a lover.”

Stiorra expected him to laugh, for him to look at her as a child just like everyone else, maybe to tease about her evident prudishness as she’d seen her father’s men rib each other often enough. But he only nodded, though he must have read her embarrassment, for he asked, “Are all Saxons so shy about these matters, too?”

 “I’m not a Saxon,” she said for what must have been the thousandth time, but this time she said it with a smile.

 “Then your Danish mother did not tell you of the joys that can be found with another?”

 “My mother died when I was still too young to talk of such things,” she said. “And the nuns and priests in Saltwic only droned on about purity and maintaining virtue… which makes Lady Aethelflaed herself quite the deviant if half of what they say about her and my father is true.”

 She grinned, though such a secret was scarcely one anymore, not for anyone who had seem them together with their own two eyes, and she flushed at the memory of how she had stumbled upon them kissing one time when she had come to bid him a farewell on his visit to Saltwic. Stiorra turned and ran before they noticed her interruption, and while it had been a bit awkward, she owed much to Lady Aethelflaed’s kindness and wished only happiness for her.

 “Lord Uhtred and Lady Aethelflaed? The daughter of King Alfred and Lady Aelswith?” Sigtryggr seemed amused at the prospect.  

 Stiorra nodded. “My father loved her, and she him. But they say before, she loved a Dane once. That he truly fathered her daughter, not Lord Aethelred.”

 She had never been bold enough to ask Lady Aethelflaed of it, but hearing of the tale had always excited her, and retelling it now was no different. She couldn’t help but think it romantic, despite its beginning and end and the loss of what could have been.

 “A smart woman, then,” Sigtryggr said. “Except if she loved your father, then why do they whisper he waits outside these walls when he could be the ruling Lord of Mercia?”

 “Lady Aethelflaed promised to remain chaste to placate the ealdormen and their god too, I suppose.”  

 He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Their god truly wants piety and obedience rather than free will and happiness?”

 “I don’t know what their god wants,” she shook her head. “For me to devote my life to a nunnery? Or am I instead to save myself for some repulsive old man and his bags of gold? Or some cruel lord with the right name and advantageous lands?”

 “You do not believe in their god?”

 She’d long ago lost faith in the god the Christians worshipped, the one King Alfred had tried to impress upon her to punish her father, but she’d also lost count of how many times she’d asked him, pleaded with the gods of her ancestors, begged anyone who was listening to free her from the boredom of first Coccham and then Saltwic, for someone to come along, anyone, and take her somewhere else, anywhere else, back to Winchester or Northumbria, and bring her adventure. Sometimes the gods had a funny way of showing their will.

 “I don’t want to believe in the existence of a god who takes that much interest in my cunt,” she said bluntly.

  He laughed, and soon she found herself laughing along with him.

 “It’s true,” she insisted. “I don’t care what they say about pagans, if we’re barbaric and wicked. At least our gods are not petty and selfish.”  

 “Our gods don’t care so much what we do so long as we entertain them,” he said.

 “Then they also must be rather bored with this siege,” she said, though she felt anything but now with the way she felt the air shift between them.

 Sigtryggr stood up and walked towards her slowly, nearing where she sat upon the table, books discarded at her side that couldn’t hold a candle compared to the way he seemed to study her now. “Then perhaps we should take it upon ourselves to amuse them?”

 She was struck by how he was even more handsome this way, stunning, strikingly. He was utterly compelling this close, tall, imposing with his scar streaking past his eye, and strong, her gaze following the muscles from his shoulders down to his forearms. At this distance, he was only himself, not a warlord, not more god than man as some of the others seemed to tell it.

 He hadn’t touched her since he’d taken the broken glass from her hand and talked her down from using it to mar her face, but she still remembered the way his skin felt against hers, warm and rough. He was even more hesitant this time as he reached first for her hand, and when she let her fingers thread through his, he brought the other up to stroke her cheek.

 It was nothing, really, no more than what perhaps a hundred other men had done to her, claiming they wished to admire her beauty or looking for a shadow of her father in her face or attempting to evoke a memory of her mother, yet the simple touch sent heat flooding through her.

 Stiorra wondered what he would do if she was bold enough to do the same to him, and gathering her courage, she decided to find out. She began with tracing over his scar, her fingertip lightly following the curved line, skirting around the edge of his mouth, skimming along his jaw, and then continuing over the hair that brushed his shoulders until her fingers slid against the leather covering his chest and curled around the hammer of Thor he wore.

 She found herself drawn to funny things this close: his eyelashes, the bob of his throat, the wisps of a beard gracing his chin, and when she had looked her fill, she brought her eyes up to meet his. She felt as though he saw her—not Lord Uhtred’s daughter, whether that was for good or for bad, not a captive or an enemy, and certainly not a child.

 “May I…”

“Yes.” She didn’t entirely know what she was agreeing to, nor did she care; she only knew that she wanted, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin.  

 The touch of his lips to hers was softer even than the feel of his hand on her cheek. It was strange at first, all of this, the way it felt, how he moved firm but gentle, slow and deliberate, even the fact that they stood in a room where King Alfred’s scribes had written of her father’s victories and the conquests of the Saxons.  

 It was nice, though, even as she wondered how she’d know, given she had nothing with which to compare it. She felt as though she was fumbling through the motions at first, merely attempting to mirror what he did, but then it smoothed into something even more pleasant, something synchronous as they found a sort of rhythm, and she paused only when she was certain she needed to breathe.

 This time she initiated as they resumed, one of her hands winding around his wrist, the other still entwined with his coming up to rest on his chest between them. Their kisses grew quicker, deeper, more desperate until he slowed the pace again.

 He lingered there against her, and seconds or minutes or hours could have passed, but Stiorra still was not expecting it when he pulled away, and it was so sudden she didn’t even have a chance to mask her disappointment.  

 Perhaps he’d stopped for an entirely different reason, though, and before she could stifle them, the words escaped. “Was I awful?”

 He grinned at her, his eyes darkened, and when he spoke again, his voice was deep, a low rumble in his chest, and it made her want more. “No. I simply find myself stricken.”

Stiorra nodded in understanding, her breath catching as his free hand slipped from her cheek to her hip. It had been just a kiss, but it didn’t feel like just anything as Stiorra reached up and swiped her finger over where his lips had touched hers. It felt like it could be something, could be everything.

 All her life Stiorra had been told of how she resembled her mother—in her looks, her strength, her wit—and she’d been told, too, of the gift of prophecy she’d possessed, of how Gisela could cast her rune sticks and see fate in the way they fell. That had always seemed like a strange business to Stiorra, but in that moment she wondered if she had inherited something else from her mother after all because as she looked back up at Sigtryggr again and returned his soft smile, she suspected she could see a glimpse of hers.

[alison-anonymous]

♡ speak now ♡ varian

Speak Now ♡ Varian x Reader

Requested: no, this one was all me ;) I adore Varian, so here is a nice little imagine for you all!

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of abuse, forced marriage, TONS OF FLUFF IN THE END!

Summary: reader and Varian have been best friends since they were little and have secretly been in love with one another for a long time. Literally everyone knows but them. Reader and Varian soon became almost like family to the royal family of Corona, but as the years passed, the reader soon became engaged to a very wealthy, very abusive man who threatened to kill her if she did not agree to marry him. In this, Varian and the reader are both 18! 

♡♡♡ 

       Today was your wedding day. 

       A day full of love, laughter, fluttering butterflies in the stomach, hushed whispers, and cheers in celebration. A day that was supposed to be happy and spread joy all throughout the kingdom of Corona, just like Rapunzel and Eugene’s wedding was going to bring. Only... your wedding day was the exact opposite. 

       You stood before the three-paned mirror, staring at your reflection intensely. You wore a long, uncomfortable white gown that trailed behind you for meters and a corset so tight that you had to practically gasp in order to take in one breath of air. Your hair was done up in a very tight up do, courtesy of your soon to be step-mother, who was a very angry, very scary and powerful woman. It had seemed as if though she were trying to rip the hair out of your skull as she did your hair and makeup... You couldn’t help but grimace in disgust at your reflection. Bags hung under your eyes, and were still bloodshot from all of the nights you had spent crying yourself to sleep. Of course you didn’t want to get married to Dane Kinsley! The man was a horrid beast whose only concern in life was getting more money. The only reason why he wanted you to marry him was so that he could get the money you had inherited after your father’s death. Turns out family friends can turn out to not be friends after all...

      The room was quiet around you. Unbearably so. Mrs. Kinsley had ordered you that no one be able to see you five hours before the ceremony, not even her. So after she had gotten you all done up, she placed a pair of hand cuffs around your wrists and locked you in one of the church’s towers until the ceremony was about to begin. When you were a little girl, you had always fantasized about how all of your friends and family would be crowding around you, gushing about how beautiful you looked and how lucky Varian was to be marrying you... 

      Shit... you silently cursed in your head. You weren’t marrying Varian, were you?

      A fresh set of tears sprung into your eyes as you cast you gaze towards the barred window. The cuffs were heavy around your gloved wrists and chafed against the fabric. Funny. It was supposed to be your wedding day, and it felt like you being kept prisoner. No, you didn’t love the groom. You were in love with someone else. You had been in love with someone else for quite some time, but were always afraid to admit it. Varian, your best friend and notorious alchemist of Old Corona, was the one who held your heart. And even though you were about to get married to someone else who clearly couldn’t care less about your well being, you knew he always would have your heart.

       Of course you had thought about running away or even saying no. But that simply wasn’t an option. The second Dane proposed to you, you immediately said no. But when his mother pressed a knife against your throat and he threatened to kill you and all of your loved ones unless you married him in three days time, you knew you had no way out. You broke the news to your three good friends, Princess Rapunzel, Eugene, and Cassandra, Rapunzel’s lady in waiting. The talk when a little like this...

♡ flashback

       “YOU’RE GETTING WHAT NOW?” Eugene practically screamed in terror at your shaking form. 

       “I-I’m getting married in three days time to Dane Kinsley...” your voice was barely above a whisper, but your voice had gone hoarse from screaming and crying. Rapunzel’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands. Cass simply stared at you with sad eyes.

       “But I thought you were in love with Varian,” Eugene said incredulously. But the second he saw the tear slip out of your eye, he immediately put two and two together.

       “Hey, hey, hey,” Rapunzel soothed as you broke down in a fit of tears in the middle of the hallway. Your sobs hurt and your cheeks burned with the hot tears that streamed down them, but you couldn’t stop crying. You had promised yourself to a man you didn’t love and now you could never get a chance to be with Varian. “N/n, it’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of this.” She gently pulled you in for a hug. You buried your face into your shoulder as you cried.

       “I-I love Varian,” you sniffled. “I love him more than anything and now I won’t ever get to be with him.”

       “Can’t you just say no?” Cass asked, concern dripping from her tone.

       “I tried,” you sobbed even harder. “He threatened to kill me if I refused.”

       The three gasped in horror as the words left your mouth. Cass and Eugene shared horrified looks as Rapunzel gently pulled you back, still holding onto your shoulders as she bore her green eyes into yours. “Y/n,” she said softly. “That’s forced marriage.”

       Your eyes widened a bit in shock. “W-what?” 

        “We can get you out of this,” Eugene answered for her, stepping in closer. “If you haven’t given your consent yet, there’s still time-”

        “No,” you rapidly shook your head, e/c eyes filling with tears once more. “He said he would kill not only me, but everyone I love if I don’t do this. I’m not putting you all in that kind of danger. Especially Varian.”

        “Especially me, what?” 

        You swiveled around to face the all too familiar voice that interrupted your speech. And there he was, his adorable blue eyes shimmering with confusion as he held a stack of books in his gloved hands. The second he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks, he instantly dropped the books, letting them clatter onto the floor, and raced to you. Gently pushing Rapunzel out of the way, he cupped your cheeks and wiped away the stray tears. You felt your heart stop with his closeness and the sparks ignite from just his closeness. Little did you know, he was feeling the exact same way. Only, his eyes were filled with concern as he stared down at you in worry.

       “What’s wrong, N/n? Please don’t cry,” he whispered the last part, neither of you noticing the soft, knowing smiles the three adults exchanged. You rested your hands on his forearms and leaned into his touch, savoring his closeness while you still had it. You loved him with all your heart. At first, you had thought it was just a silly school-crush that most girls had when their best friend was a boy. But as time went on, the feelings didn’t go away... and instead they got stronger. It was the same way for him, only he didn’t think anyone as perfect as you could ever love some nerd like him as more than a friend. You loved the little streak in his messy hair, the goggles he insisted on wearing all the time, his adorably crooked smile, his baby blue eyes, his voice, his obsession with science and all things alchemy, how he was always trying to help others. How he loved you for you and never judged you for it. Varian had been there for you when no one else was and he loved you even more than he loved his father. Varian was your everything... but you had to let him go. To save him.

       “V-Varian...” 

       You have to tell him. You owe it to him.

       “I’m getting married.” The second the words left your mouth, you could almost see Varian’s heart shatter. The floodgates opened up once more as you began to cry again, only now Varian’s eyes too filled with tears. The sight made your world come crashing down as he slowly pulled away from you, blinking in confusion. 

       “W-What did you just say?” His voice cracked, eyes never leaving you. You reached back out for him, only to have him take a step away from you, shattering your heart even more. 

       “Varian, please don’t do this,” you cried through bleary eyes. “I-I don’t want to marry him, but-” 

       “You’re getting married,” he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else as he cast his gaze down to the floor. “To someone else.” 

♡♡♡ 

       You felt like a half of you was missing staring out the window in the silence. Tears attempted to escape out your eyes, but you hastily wiped them away to avoid screwing your makeup up for the fifth time this hour. The chains clanged together as you rose your arm and rattled when you slumped them back down. The world seemed a lot darker now, you thought. And it was only going to get darker... 

       Suddenly, the sound of a bold unlocking came from the opposite side of the door. You turned slightly just as Mrs. Kinsley appeared, a hateful look plastered on her face as she marched towards you in a modest black dress. She looked like she were more dressed to attend a funeral than a wedding. 

       “I told you not to move from that spot,” she hissed, noticing how you had stepped away from the mirrors. You winced in fear as she stalked towards you, snatching your hands by the chain harshly and unlocking the cuffs. 

       “I’m sorry, miss,” you sighed with relief as your hands were free once again. “I just... wanted to look outside.” 

       “You won’t have time for that soon, brat,” she snarled, her grey eyes striking fear into your spine as she grabbed your wrist so tightly it made you yelp in pain. “Now come on, the ceremony is about to begin.”  

       It felt like only seconds before you were walking down that aisle. You had to walk down it alone, since your father was gone. You weren’t allowed to have any bridesmaids or maid of honors, which almost killed you when you were told you couldn’t have Rapunzel or Cassandra as your bridesmaids. The only people who stood at the altar were the priest, Dane, his mother, and Max who was the ring bearer. But the second the magnificent white horse saw your exhausted, heartbroken face, his ears slumped back against his head.

       The walk down the aisle was the most painful thirty seconds of your life. You clutched onto the tiny bouquet like it was your life source, and tried your best not to look at the faces as you passed them. People began muttering in concern the second they saw you. You didn’t blame them, you probably looked miserable. The only time you dared to look at the people was when you passed by the row your friends sat in. Rapunzel was clutching onto Eugene with tears in her eyes as she watched you stiffly walk past her. Cass was sorrowfully casting her glance aside and Varian... oh my god, you didn’t even expect him to show up, but there he was. Almost as if he were waiting to see you. You both locked eyes for the entirety that you walked past him, you even looking behind you as you walked towards the altar. His mouth was dropped open slightly at the sight of you in white, but the second he saw Dane, the heartbroken expression soon took over his features once more.

       Forcing yourself to look away from his beautiful blue eyes was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. You hesitated for a second, making the audience go quiet for a moment in shock. But the second Dane sent you a glare, you quickly stepped up to your position, jumping a bit when Mrs. Kinsley jabbed something hard into your side as a punishment. The organ stopped and you forced yourself to look up at Dane, who wasn’t even looking at you and was instead winking at one of the girls in the front pews. Max sent you a sorrow filled gaze, which nearly sent you into a fit of tears that even a horse knew this wasn’t meant to be.

       “Dearly beloved,” the priest began, causing everyone to shut up. “We have gathered here today for the union of two lovely people: Dane Kinsley and Y/n L/n.” The priest began his speech, but you slowly began to drown it out as you stood there with shaking knees. Thankfully the dress hid it. You ran through the process in your head, remembering that the option to object came after the I Dos, which was strange but was the way that Corona did things. As the priest continued, you glanced up at Dane once more, only to see him inspecting his cuticles purposefully, like the priest weren’t even speaking. You couldn’t remember the last time you had met someone as rude as this man. The first time you two met, he spilled wine all over your blouse and then accused you for the accident. 

       With the priest droning on in the background, you took this moment to glance out around the crowd. Some faces were smiling pleasantly, but most of the people whom you knew wore deep frowns on their lips. Even Rapunzel’s parents sent you sorrowful gazes when you made eye contact with them. You then made the mistake of finding Varian in the crowd again and connecting with him once again through just your eyes. You felt your heart stop when you noticed he wasn’t wearing his normal outfit anymore and was instead done up in a tux. You had never seen him dressed up before... and he looked undeniably handsome. A smile grew onto your lips without you even noticing, as a soft one grew across his as well. He seemed... nervous, you thought as you noticed his fidgeting. Something he only did when he was debating doing or saying somethi-

       “Do you, Dane Kinsley, take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Holy shit, you quickly snapped back into the horrific reality. You were at the I Dos already? A lump formed in your throat and your stomach tied into knots as you watched Dane push back his cuticles for a moment before he noticed it was his cue.

       “Huh? Oh, I do, or whatever,” he waved off the priest before going back to pricking his nails. Little did you know that Varian, who was sitting next to Rapunzel, gritted his teeth and balled up his fists in fury at the man. He just dismissed you like that? Didn’t he care that he was about to marry the most beautiful, most perfect girl on earth? 

       The priest continued. “And do you, Y/n L/n, take Dane Kinsley to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

       Silence.

       You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed as your mouth felt like cotton. You stood there, staring intensely at Dane, as images of what your future life might hold... becoming enslaved to your husband. Never being allowed to go outside without him. Having to cook, clean, and do chores for every hour of the day. Give birth to children who would only get ignored and neglected just like he would neglect you. Getting petrified by your new stepmother. Never living to see your best friends again. Never being allowed to see Varian again... 

       A lone tear slipped down your cheek, causing the crowd to gasp. Tears streamed down Rapunzel’s cheeks as she buried her face into Eugene’s chest. She couldn’t bare to see this. Varian’s heart broke as he saw your face crumple for a second. You didn’t want to do this. You would rather die than do this.

       You couldn’t do this.

       “She does,” Mrs. Kinsley’s sharp tone startled you and the crowd, as she jabbed you again, causing you to yelp a little louder than you wanted to. The King and Queen furrowed their brows in suspicion as Varian’s anger only bubbled, his brows knitting together slowly at the way they were treating his Y/n. The priest sent her a look as Dane sent you a glare that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you, Y/n?” 

       You didn’t have a choice... with tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably, you choked out, “I-I... do...”

       Surprisingly, the crowd let out small sighs of dejection at your acceptance. You felt like your heart was going to crawl up your throat and spew out your mouth, all over the douchebag’s face. The priest then gave you your one last chance to escape... you could hope that someone would say something...

       “If anyone objects to the union of these two, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The priest’s voice boomed off of the church walls. You squeezed your eyes tight as more tears slipped down your cheeks, praying to the gods above that someone say something, anything. Seconds ticked by of silence... 

       Oh no. This was it. You were about to be tied to this monster before you... forever. The priest took a deep breath to continue and-

       “I OBJECT.” At the very last second, the voice of your savior broke through the silence. Gasps soon turned into cheers as you turned to see who was standing... and your eyes soon rested on Varian. Your heart instantly melt as you saw him, standing in the middle of the aisle with clenched fists and the most determined look you had ever seen on his face. Rapunzel was off to the side with a huge grin on her face, shaking Eugene by the shoulders.

       “Varian...” you softly whispered to yourself. The Kinsley’s started growling next to you, but they didn’t matter anymore. Varian was objecting, he truly did care about you. The priest motioned for him to continue, and the boy began to walk towards you slowly, staring you right in your eyes. And in that moment, it was like everyone else in the church disappeared until it was just you and Varian. The love of your life.

       “Y/n... I love you.” You couldn’t suppress that gasp that fell from your mouth. “I have loved you for such a long time that I can’t remember when I started and I promise you that I won’t stop loving you, not even after I die. I love everything about you. You’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re selfless, you’re kind, you’re loving, you always see the best in people even when it’s not there. You make people want to be better. You make ME want to be better. You’ve always been there for me and you’ve never given up on me. Now I’m not going to give up on you. I know it’s taken me forever to finally tell you how I feel, and now I’m terrified that I’m too late but... You don’t belong with a menace like him. Please, Y/n...” tears brimmed his eyes as he came to a stop right before you, looking up into your eyes. “Be with me instead.”

       “awws” littered the room as Varian reached his hand out towards you. The priest cautiously closed his book, a smug smile on his face as he watched the scene unfold. You gratefully took Varian’s warm hand in yours, a grin spreading across your face as you let out a gaspy laugh. 

       “Of course I’ll be with you, Varian,” you smiled. “I love you too.” 

       Tears of happiness now brimmed at his baby blue eyes as he sent you his signature grin, his shoulders sagging with relief as he pulled you towards him. Cheers filled the room as you neared him gratefully, when suddenly someone’s hand wrapped around your forearm so tightly it made you shriek in pain. It was Dane, with a deep scowl imprinted on his face, which had now turned a tomato red in fury.

       “What the hell is this?” He snarled. Varian’s grip on your hand tightened as he quickly snaked an arm around your waist protectively. “She is MY wife. Get your fucking hands off of her.”

       “She’s not your wife,” Varian snapped, pulling your frazzled form towards him. You used your free hand to wrap around his neck while you tried to wrestle the other one free. “She belongs with me. Back off.”

       “Oh - hoho, you’re going to regret this...”

       And then he pulled a fucking crossbow out from his pocket. How the hell he got that in there remained a mystery, all you cared about was the very pointy, very dangerous object sitting inches away from your face. Then the screams started. Rapunzel, Eugene, and Cass were the first to reach your side, wrenching your arm out of Dane’s painful grip. Cass unsheathed her sword and barked to Varian, “Get her out of here! We’ll handle the Kinsleys.” 

       Varian nodded, and pushed you in front of him, but you were quick to grab his hand and pull him along with you as the two of you ran like the wind down the aisle. Varian had to hold part of your dress as you carried the other half as to not trip over it. Soon after you two had started running, the royal guards of the Kinsleys began chasing after you once Mrs. Kinsley ordered them to retrieve the bride. Varian pulled a couple vials out of his pocket and tossed them at the guards, causing an instantaneous explosion of varied neon colors that sent a few guards into shock. You giggled, a warm smile floating across your mouth. 

       “Smart move, love,” you panted due to the corset sinching around your waist. Varian sent you a wink as he pushed open the big doors. 

       “Why thank you, Milady,” he quickly turned around and slammed the doors shut, but soon fled off with you in tow. You both ran for a long time, still being chased by the guards until Varian sent Rudiger to distract them. You both finally came to a stop once your reached the corridor leading to Rapunzel’s room. You slowly slid down the wall, giggling like a mad woman as you crashed onto the floor. Varian slid down next to you, still trying to catch his breath. 

       You were having a hard time breathing due to the corset, and even though your breathing was quiet, Varian still caught notice of it. “Are you okay, love?” 

       “S-stupid corset,” you gasped out, gritting your teeth as you quickly dove your hand into Varian’s pockets inside his jacket, causing him to blush almost instantly at your closeness. You pulled out the pocket knife you forced him to keep on him just in case something bad happened, and used it to slice the strings open. The boards fell loosely against your stomach, and you let out a huge gasp as oxygen flooded into your lungs. Varian’s cheeks still remained a bright crimson as he gently turned your chin to face him, and brushed the loose strands of hair out of your face. A brief silence fell amongst you two as you simply stared into each other’s eyes. Memories flooded through your brain of all the time you had spent together... all the days you spent in his lab, helping him work on new formulas, the day he named a new element after you, the many times you ended up spending the night at his place, the countless times you ended up falling asleep on each other due to exhaustion... it was Varian. It was always Varian.

       “Did you mean everything you said back there?” You whispered, suddenly noticing how close you were to each other. If you inched a little closer, your noses would be touching.

       Varian let out a bashful chuckle, and scratched the back of his neck. “I mean... yeah, of course I did... do-do you feel the same? I mean it’s totally alright if you don’t want to be with-”

       “Varian,” you interrupted, not being able to help the grin that formed on your face. He stopped and stared at you with those gorgeous wide eyes of his, his bangs falling slightly over one of his eyes. You leaned in closer, and gently touched your nose against his, making him jump slightly. “I said it before, but I’ll say it again. I love you too. Thank you for saving me.”

       “It was the least I could do,” he smirked, and before you could utter another word, he swooped in and pressed his lips against yours. You froze for a moment in shock, but soon melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. Varian had saved you from making one of the hugest mistakes of your life, and you were pretty certain he was never going to let you forget it. 

       But as long as you had Varian, nothing else mattered ♡ 

♡ a.a.

[squidbatts]

your funny mouth to the clouds

Or: Fabian stresses, confesses, and gets some kisses in

((The last couple of Fantasy High episodes have been Buckwild but IN THIS HOUSE we ignore current canon happenings to write about fabian wanting to kiss ragh and then getting to kiss ragh!!! because i crave ragh/fabian content even if i have to Do Everything Myself))

{ao3}

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, knows he’s hot; it’s kind of his whole thing, being a charming, roguish pirate, as dangerous as he is dashing. So, obviously, it makes complete sense that he and Gorgug would be Ragh’s dream makeout partners. They’re all hot athletes and they spend a decent amount of time together, he gets it.

It shouldn’t even be a thing.

Except that Fabian can’t stop thinking about it. When Ragh lances a demon through the eye and then turns to grin at Fabian, manic, muscles straining his letterman jacket, he thinks about it; when Fabian’s trying to teach the party literally anything about the sea and Ragh slides in right next to him, body a point of warmth on Fabian’s left side as he points at completely the wrong part of the map, he thinks about it; when Ragh tears off his shirt and leaps into the water with Fabian, throws a glistening and sea-wet arm over Fabian’s bare shoulders, tugs Fabian into his sculpted chest as he laughs-

The point is, Fabian keeps thinking about it.

Which is why he thinks he should be excused for asking Kristen for advice; she is, after all, their “token gay friend"; the rest of his close friends are straight, so she’s really the only one he can ask.

“Kristen,“ Fabian starts one afternoon when it’s just the two of them on the roof, “You know about gay stuff, right?“

Kristen lights up. “I don’t know if you know this-“

“I do, you say it all the time-“

“-but I’m gay!“ Kristen finishes like she doesn’t come out over breakfast every morning. “So yeah, I do.“

“Awesome, great, listen, I have a question. Have you ever- hm.“ Fabian cuts himself off with a hum as he attempts to word it correctly. He decides to try another route. “Do you think Ragh is attracted to me?“

“Oh, for sure,“ Kristen says and, even though he already knew that, Fabian chokes on air in surprise at her surety. “He’s really into the whole ’straight boy jock’ thing and, I’m a lesbian, but even I know that you’re objectively the hottest person in our party. You and Fig are the hot ones.“

“Obviously,“ Fabian replies, kneejerk.

“Yeah, so, duh. Why do you ask?“ Kristen asks, and Fabian-

Fabian falters because, obviously, he wants to get to the bottom of why he can’t just forget about Ragh’s proposition like Gorgug has, but the idea of talking about it, of telling Kristen makes his stomach twist. Something about it makes him feel weird, the same way he feels weird whenever he thinks about Ragh wanting to kiss him.

“He just said something and I-“ Fabian waves a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.“

Kristen’s eyebrows furrow and she places a hand on Fabian’s arm, firm but still kind. “If you’re uncomfortable with a gay man simply being attracted to you, you’re the asshole here. But listen, Jawbone has some pamphlets about it and we can totally work this out-“

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just wanted to know if he had said anything to you,“ Fabian says, the words quick and awkward in his mouth. Maybe I am uncomfortable, He considers. Maybe the twisting how of his gut and the heating of his face are merely symptoms of his discomfort. He’s always been fine with Kristen and Tracker, he was fine with Ragh when he told them about Dane, but maybe he just thought he wasn’t homophobic until it directly affected him.

Kristen stares at him silently for a second, tilting her head as her eyebrows raise. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed that.“ She says, then, “Well, actually, I maybe would’ve because you’re like, supernaturally obsessed with your appearance, but stereotyping is bad and all that.“

“What are you talking about?“ Fabian snaps, irritated with her vagueness. He realizes that he should’ve just gone to Adaine for help, she reads books and knows about a great many things, not to mention that it certainly would’ve been less of a tax on his patience than dealing with Kristen at her… Kristen-est.

“I think… I think you should talk to Ragh,“ Kristen says, and then continues on quickly before Fabian can get the horrified Absolutely not out of his mouth. “No, listen, this is really something that would go best if you just, like, talked to Ragh about it, I think. And like, I rolled a seventeen on persuasion, so you kind of have to.”

Fabian, not blessed in wisdom, fails his saving throw and has to admit that Kristen’s point is pretty compelling. Still, “I don’t even know where Ragh is right now.”

Kristen gives him a look that clearly says We all live in the same vanboat, you have to know that he’s less than three minutes away. She leans away from Fabian and, still holding eye contact, yells into the van, "Hey, Ragh, Fabian wants to talk to you!"

"Kristen, no," Fabian hisses. Kristen just grins back at him.

"Kristen, yes!" She says, "You will so thank me for this."

Fabian is still cursing Kristen's name when Ragh climbs up to join them on the roof. He's wearing his normal jeans but has elected to leave his letterman jacket in the van. Probably a good idea, Fabian thinks, eyes involuntarily drawn to the sheen of sweat over Ragh's biceps as Ragh stretches before he sits. It's been hot all day, but Fabian would bet gold that it's gotten hotter in the past five minutes. He certainly feels rather feverish, suddenly.

"What's the problem, bro?" Ragh asks when he settles down. Kristen makes a face at him from behind Ragh's back and mouths Take my advice!!!! When he pretends not to notice and instead stares pointedly at the sea, she huffs loudly.

"Well, I'm going to go back into the van, I'm real tired," She says, obnoxiously obvious. Fabian makes a face back at her when Ragh turns towards her. "I'll, uh,see you guys later. Don't even worry about everyone else, I'll keep 'em down there."

Fabian tries to infuse enough That is absolutely not what I want! and Don't leave us alone! into a single glare to make her stay, but she just winks at him, like she's a bard or something, which of course makes Ragh turns back to Fabian, puzzled.

"What was all that about?"

"It's nothing, really," Fabian says, forcing lightness into his voice as he waves a hand, as though all this awkwardness could be as easily dispelled as Fig's cigarette smoke. "Kristen is just being dramatic."

Ragh frowns, his dark eyes are stormily serious. Fabian's heart skips a beat. "We're bros. And bros don't have to lie about their feelings, right?"

"... Right."

"Dude." Ragh says as he punches Fabian's arm, clearly about to get started on the Jawbone taught me emotional vulnerability and now I think everyone should do it spiel. Fabian's already heard it at least one time apiece from Kristen and Adaine, and he still thinks he's good on the emotions front, thank you very much. Still, his stomach flips even now with nerves, and he thinks of how Kristen thought that talking with Ragh would sort him out. As truly awful as he imagines it will be, he wonders if Kristen has a point, just this once.

"Alright, alright!" He concedes, "I suppose we can talk about my feelings."

"Awesome!" Ragh grins lopsidedly, shifting to sit lotus style, his full attention on Fabian. "Now, what's up?"

A feeling rises in Fabian's chest, like his ribcage is stuck in a vice, and he feels nearly sick with guilt. Here Ragh is, so kindly and sincerely devoting his attention to Fabian, and Fabian's body can't even relax enough to appreciate it.

"I think I owe you an apology," Fabian says, and before Ragh can respond, he rushes on with, "I think I might be homophobic, but I'm going to work on it and be a better friend for you and Kristen, and I'm very sorry."

Ragh's opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times, tusks catching on his upper lip. "I- what?"

Fabian sighs huffily and explains, how he's felt weird and off-kilter since Ragh's proposition and Kristen's offered explanation. Ragh listens thoughtfully, brow furrowed and a hand on his chin. He's still frowning as Fabian finishes his tale and Fabian fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

"I don't think you're homophobic, dude," Ragh says, eventually. He sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, like he's walking on eggshells, and Fabian aches to think that he's made Ragh think that he has to do that.

"Of course I am, what else could it be?" Fabian asks, and Ragh screws up half of his face. "See! I made you uncomfortable with my- weirdness. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just trying to… Reconcile some things. Sort stuff out in the old noggin." Fabian tries not to look too doubtful but Ragh must've aced his insight check because he sighs and continues, "Listen, this has got to be weird for you too, I mean, obviously it is if you think you're a homophobe, but I think there's a pretty easy way to figure out what your discomfort means."

"And what would that be?" Fabian asks snipily, turning away. He doesn't like apologizing in the first place, much less when the other person won't just accept it.

"Feel free to say no, but I figured you could just try kissing me." Ragh says, and Fabian’s head whips back to him. Ragh lifts up his hands defensively. “Full disclosure, I think you’re super hot so I'm definitely getting something out of this, but if you can't stop thinking about it… It couldn't hurt, could it?"

Ragh shrugs as he lays his offer down and Fabian-

Fabian's heart pounds like he's in the middle of a Bloodrush play as heat pools in his face and his stomach. He hadn't ever considered actually kissing Ragh, but now that it's on the table, something deep within him twists with want.

"One kiss?" Fabian asks, trying to will away his blush, "I wouldn't be… Opposed."

"Uh-uh, none of that. I need a definite yes or no, bro," Ragh says, "I don't want to pressure you into this."

Fabian feels his flush flare hotter and squeezes his eyes shut. The deep buried part of him has rapidly expanded and spread throughout his body, leaving his fingers twitching towards Ragh and his lips tingling with anticipation. He can't imagine saying no, but to say yes also seems almost insurmountable. He opens his eyes, sees how softly Ragh smiles and the patience in his eyes, and it feels like someone's reached into Fabian's chest and twisted. Fabian nods, excessively, embarrassingly, then says, "Yes, yes, I'd like to try it-" before Ragh is upon him like the tide on a beach.

It's different from kissing Aelwyn; there's no bitter taste of alcohol or sticky-sweet lipgloss, no, Ragh's lips are chapped and he tastes of salt from days at sea, but it's still so much. Ragh cups Fabian's head, gentle, but presses his mouth insistently forward, easily leading Fabian through the sweeping movements of a makeout. Fabian's heartbeat still thuds in his ears, but he can also hear Ragh's slow and steady breaths, feel how he nips Fabian's lips and smiles against Fabian's mouth. When it's over, when Ragh pulls back and Fabian embarrassingly chases after him for half a second, Fabian is breathing like he's been near-drowned.

"Still think you're homophobic?" Ragh asks, teeth flashing in the ocean sunlight, lips slick from Fabian. Fabian burns brightly.

"I have," Fabian clears his throat awkwardly. "A few other theories now."

Ragh laughs, full and perfect, throwing his head back. Fabian looks at the vast muscled expanse of his neck, realizes that the twist of his gut just means that he wants to press a kiss to the juncture of Ragh's jawline and neck, and thinks, Huh.

"Well, that was super fun," Ragh says, clapping Fabian on the back, "Always down to help a fellow Owlbear with a sexuality crisis, dude, just let me know if you wanna do that again."

Ragh heads back into the vanboat, whistling cheerfully, and Fabian waits until he's absolutely out of sight to raise a shaking hand to his lips. He feels a smile giddily crawling over his face and he buries his face in his hands rather than risk someone seeing him like that. He wonders, in a corner of his mind that's not fully busy simply rejoicing over getting his kisses in, if having a boyfriend is much different than having a girlfriend.

[lisinfleur]

Crossed Paths

The request:              

Author’s Notes | I love cute scenes! Thanks for the request! I hope you like as well! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 1840 ⁑ Warnings: None

When your father wasn't an Earl, the two of you used to see each other all the time. You were children and despite the way he was acid and sometimes even harsh, you liked to be near Ivar instead of playing outside with the others. You could, but you never liked to run and ruin the beautiful outfits and braids your mother was used to making for you. You rather playing hnefatafl with him and pretend you were a lady and he was a king.

Ivar always liked the way you used to call him "my king".

But your father became closer and closer to Björn and when he was made an Earl by King Ragnar due to the ability he showed to administrate men and lands, you and Ivar were separated for longer times...

You liked your new home - it was a beautiful hall and gorgeous lands with woods and places to play your stories. But you were now a lady without a king, so you started pretending King Ivar was in a raid and whenever you could see him, you would hug him tight as if he was returning from a long trip. None of his brothers ever understood your imagination or why you called him that way, but you didn't care. You liked the smiles Ivar would always have for you and you would hear the stories of his days as if he was telling you the tales of his adventures out of the lands you and him were sharing in your imaginary kingdom.

However, one day, your father left for a raid. And from him, only a crow came back bringing his armlet and the news of his departure to the Halls of the Gods. You were used to visiting Ivar's hall every year to see your king...

That year, you didn't see him.

Nor in the year after... Neither the years that came.

Your mother got married again, then she got pregnant, then, another child. There was always a reason why you wouldn't be able to go to Kattegat and see Prince Ivar. And when you finally found a way to go along your foster father to the town, he wasn't there. According to the tongues, King Ragnar was back.

And your imaginary king was in a real raid this time...

You remember you came back home praying all the prayers you used to pretend for him. And your heart sunk in your chest when you heard of his return.

This time no man was able to prevent you from packing your things.

"Where do you think you're going?" your mom invaded your bedroom when the slaves warned her about the way you were putting dresses into your leather bag.

"A crow came from Kattegat! Ivar is back and he's hurt! King Ragnar is dead such as queen Aslaug! I'm going to see my king!"

Your mother took your bag, throwing it to the other side of the room, angrily.

"You won't go anywhere! There is a new queen and we don't recognize Ragnar's first wife as our queen! You shall stay! We owe nothing to that town anymore and he's not your king, Y/N! Stop this madness! Ivar Ragnarsson is no king! And you're no queen! It will never happen! Stop this childish fantasy!"

You felt your blood boiling.

"I don't care if your new husband will stay and hide and if you want to stay and hide with him! I'm leaving for Kattegat today with or without a bag! I don't care!"

"I do!" your mother said.

And your room was ordered to be locked.

You became a prisoner into your own house, looking out through the window towards Kattegat's shadow away in the horizon, unable to go back to your king, knowing he had too much in his head to come and save you from your torment.

Poor Ivar... His father was dead, his mother was dead, his brothers were gathering an army and soon he would be leaving for England to avenge his father's death, you heard.

It was easy to hear your foster father speaking to your mother from your room, talking to her about how they wouldn't join that army; about the suitor he had for you and the beautiful alliance he would get with your marriage to a man outside of Kattegat's reach.

You fled.

When your foster father left to bring your suitor for the marriage you risked everything. You tied a sheet on the leg of your bed and another sheet on the first and braided the cloths until you had a rope strong enough for you to throw out of the window. You took no clothes with you and nothing but the valuable jewels you had that you sold for a horse at the town before gaining the night away from your home.

You never traveled alone and you didn't know the proper ways to reach Kattegat. You trusted the gods to guide your way and they guided you...

Towards Vestfold.

Tired, dirty, poor, you had no choice but staying in that town, accepting the help you received from the king's castle: they needed a maiden, you knew how to clean and needed the silver.

For the following years, you served on King Harald's castle, hearing from the raids where he was, helping your beloved prince and his brothers with the vengeance against the Englishmen. You also heard when King Harald came back saying Prince Sigurd had fallen by your king's hands and how divided they were now.

Your heart got hurt once again. And you remembered you sat and prayed for him one more time, asking the gods to allow your paths to cross once again so you could soothe the pain in his heart.

The time passed and a fleet was announced in Vestfold's bay. A great table was served to receive the commander and you heard Ivar the Boneless was coming along with his brother Hvitserk and his men, to ally to King Harald against his older brothers Björn and Ubbe...

You never thought you would see this happening - the sons of Ragnar fighting each other. Ubbe turning his back on his mother's murder, Hvitserk separated from his favorite brother.

From all those things, the only thing you never doubted you would see someday was that man coming into the hall, imposing and tall, standing with his braces and a strong presence with an army and a fleet behind his back.

You never doubted Ivar would become the king of your imagination. You never doubted one day he would be a great man.

Your hands trembled with the tray in your fingers and you looked into his eyes, speaking before King Harald could salute him, attracting his icy blues towards you - and your offensive behavior, by the way. For a servant, you were too sassy, but his memory didn't betray him and his ears didn't fool his mind: when your voice sounded, Ivar recognized you on spot.

"My king..."

His face frowned and king Harald laughed.

"Oh, do you know him, child?" he said, looking at you, ironic about your way to salute his guest before himself.

You placed the tray over his table and smiled, straightening your dress.

"I do," you answered, ignoring King Harald's irony.

Your eyes fully dived into those beautiful blues you waited so long to see once again.

"Y/N?" Ivar recognized, walking - he was walking! - closer to you.

"So, I see you know my servant as well, Ivar," Harald insisted on speaking at that moment and Ivar looked at him for a second.

"She's no servant. She the daughter of a loyal Earl from my father's best men," he said, and you walked near him, impressed of how taller than you he was. "What are you doing serving tables in Harald's Hall?"

"My father is gone," you mumbled, still looking at him impressed of how big he became, how large were his shoulders, and how beautiful was his hair braided now. "Feasts in Valhalla along with King Ragnar. My foster father wanted to marry me to another Earl from a different kingdom. A Dane, if I'm not wrong. I don't know. They tried to forbid me to come and see you. So... I fled."

Your words surprised him and his lips curled that way so charming. You couldn't avoid smiling; your cheeks redder.

"I wanted to come when I heard about poor queen Aslaug. But... I didn't know the right way," you said, and King Harald completed, again attracting Ivar's attention, but this time, to endorse your story.

"I've heard she arrived tired, starving, and thin. My servants offered her the work of a maiden that she readily accepted for some coins of silver and a place to stay. I didn't know she was important to you, or I would have warned you about her, my friend," he said, but Ivar waved his hand before softly touching your chin, getting your face completely red.

"I see she's well cared," he smiled. "But I'll have to take your servant from you, King Harald. For the woman you call a servant, is my soon-to-be-queen, a fiancé for a long term that is passed time to become my wife."

Your face became shocked in surprise and the words escaped from your mouth when he smiled at you one of those sassy smiles you were used to seeing whenever he was winning your moves on the hnefatafl table with that absurd advantage he always had.

"Unless... Her stories about being my queen from our childhood until now were just stories..." he said, smiling at you. "Were they, my queen?"

"N... No. I... My king... I wasn't... They were.... real... I"

Your speechless ways, absent the sassiness of one second ago, caused King Harald to laugh freely, smiling at Ivar with his cup raised in his hand.

"So, we shall celebrate. I have an important guest that will probably cede me the honor to have his marriage realized into my Halls. And since she has been being my personal servant for long more than a year, due to her father's loyalty to yours and the way things are adjusting in between us, I'll take her as my family and offer you her heimen fyglia as a way for us to start negotiating our alliance, King Ivar," he said, calling your king the same way you referred to him, getting a smile from Ivar's mouth.

"Bring us the mead, my friend!" Ivar said, embracing your waist with his free hand, smiling at you with his face softly nuzzling yours for a second before smiling at King Harald once again. "I have plenty of time to speak about alliances, crowns... And marriages..."

You smiled, nuzzling your nose tenderly to his neck, embracing him back with the tender touch you always had for him whenever your king was back from your imaginary raids.

It seems, after all, your mother was wrong and your childish fantasies would be real in the end.

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

ADSOM Drabbles: Why Don’t I Hate You At All?

(For the Anon who requested an ADSOM drabble! This is pre-canon, but does include some spoilers for the first Shades of Magic book, so if you haven’t read it yet, you may not want to click on the Read More link!)

You know what your problem is?” Normally stoic, Holland Vosijk was feeling exactly enough of the kick from his third goblet of the odd dry Arnesian wine he was drinking to jab his finger at the air in the direction of the man sitting across from him.

“No,” Kell Maresh replied. He was on his fourth glass. Around them, the bar’s patrons pretended with great effort not to be obvious about their unease that they had not one, but two Antari sitting here being infinitely dangerous right in the middle of them. “But I imagine you are about to tell me.”

“Someone should.” Holland’s accent was thicker when he drank like this - normally he prided himself on speaking with a polished, very slight roundness to his consonants, on not flattening his vowels. But drunk, he slipped into the Kosik accent he’d grown up with - rough-and-tumble, the accent of men who took up business in dark buildings and who would have paid a lot of money to have an Antari to steal, enslave, and sell. 

Kell looked at him, and Holland did not notice the high color in the other man’s cheeks - pale redheads, he thought, held their liquor in their faces, and that was never a problem he’d had in his life. Maktahn men started drinking in childhood and never stopped - what else was there to do, as each year was a little colder?

“Please believe me,” Kell said, dryly, “That you don’t really need to worry about that. My own mother tells me what is wrong with me every time I turn around, some days.”

“She’s not your mother,” Holland said, and took another drink.

He expected Kell to snap at him - he had before, when he’d said similar things. Instead, the Maresh princeling - prince in name only, Antari in Arnes couldn’t hold property or real titles or be in line for the throne - only sighed and said, “I know. She could have been, I think, but it was never her intention.”

“That’s not what we get to be, is it?” Holland said, and laughed - dark and bitter, and in his chest the curse did not burn but was a weight, ever-present. A hint of stone to sink him under the Sijlt, under the claws of the white king and queen in the world of bones that waited for his return. 

They had given him the night off, and because he was a glutton for punishment, he’d sought out the person he hated most in the world, after them.

“No,” Kell said evenly, and he looked at Holland oddly with the blue-and-black eyes, and Holland met him head on with his own faded, dry-grass green. “It’s not.” There was a hesitation, and then Kell leaned over, finishing his wine with a flourish. “Tell me, Holland Vosijk, exactly what my problem is.”

Holland brightened, a little, at the opening. “Your problem,” He said, and jabbed his finger again, because that felt like the right thing to do. “Is your world’s problem.”

“My world’s problem,” Kell repeated, deadpan. 

“Right. You’re spoiled. Fat vitun worms. Eat and eat and eat and the world makes more magic to soak you in, and you don’t even notice it. When I am here, I feel…” He trailed off, and looked down into the vibrant dark red of his wine. The mead in Makt, and the sweet wines the Danes drank by the barrel and licked the red off their fingers (when they weren’t mixing it with Holland’s blood for quite the drink, indeed, Holl) - none of them had so much color.

“What do you feel?” Kell looked more curious now, his eyes glittering and bright with the drink, the flush in his face making him seem like a painting, like one of the portraits Holland saw when he walked the marketplace here. Artisans using paints that would cost more than Holland’s life was worth with reckless abandon because they could simply get more. 

“I feel like I wish I could tear the whole thing down and give it to my people. Glass this city to the ground and use all the magic in your kurat river to feed ours. But I’m not sure we deserve it... or that I do.”

Neither of them guessed at the confession until it was already out, and both of them went silent in the sudden realization of what Holland had said.

Kell, so much younger and with a life blessed with almost everything he ever wanted, a life with few hard choices and cursed with almost no choices at all, shifted uncomfortably. “Why… why do you say that?” He asked, with the air of someone who wished the ground would swallow him whole and who could not stop himself from asking the question, anyway.

“Makt is violent. We are a people who bleed each other dry-”

“And try to bleed your visitors, too, you know,” Kell added, and Holland huffed a laugh, nearly soundless. 

“Fair. And my king and queen would have us both kneel at their feet if they could. Power is not enough - they must have more power, and more, and more.”

“They’re in the wrong world if more power is their only ambition,” Kell murmured, but he took the warning, Holland thinks - or maybe he didn’t, and he’s just drunk enough to look solemn because he thinks it makes him seem dignified.

It doesn’t.

Holland only watched him, for a long moment, and then he shifted to dig into a pocket sewn into the underside of his half-cloak, a pocket that sits directly over the curse carved into his chest. He has his commands, and it’s not time for this yet, but…

“Kell.”

“Mmmn?” Kell looked over at him, and Holland was definitely drunk, because he caught himself liking the line of the younger man’s jaw, the hint of freckles on his pale face, a single darker one under one eye. 

If things had only been entirely different, Holland thought, we might have been friends.

A thought he allowed to exist only in whispers, because it was Holland’s own fault that they had never gotten further than antagonistic. He’d been arrogant, before the Danes, when he stood by the side of a man he thought might change everything. And he’d had that arrogance bled out of him, day by day, bone by broken bone, knife in his ribs with his head in Athos Dane’s lap, back whipped to shreds. 

No more arrogance, in Holland Vosijk, at least not when his king and queen were near.

But maybe a little, when he was drunk with Kell Maresh.

“If I gave you this… what would you do?” Holland dug the necklace out of the pocket and laid it on the table between them. Kell blinked at it, clearly not recognizing the carvings on the pendant. He didn’t know what it was, and Holland breathed out slowly, trying to steady himself.

If Kell had known, this might have been over, now.

Instead, Holland thought bitterly, what promised to be the worst days of Kell Maresh’s life hadn’t even begun yet.

“If you… gave it to me?”

“Ja. I mean yes. What would you do, if I came to you, and I offered you this?”

“I’d wonder what poison you soaked the pendant in to kill me,” Kell answered quickly, and quirked a smile.

Holland fought the knowledge that he rather liked the way Kell Maresh looked, when he smiled.

“If you could know it wasn’t poisoned. If all it was, was… a gift.” He had his orders. I have been to your father for business already. I come to you for pleasure. Astrid had coached him until he could say it with a straight face, ordered him to do whatever it took to get that necklace over Rhy Maresh’s head. 

Holland was hoping, deeply hoping, it wouldn’t have to be anything more than handing it over. His body would do as Astrid bid, but his mind recoiled at the thought of bedding the Crown Prince of Arnes only to ensure that the young man’s body became Astrid’s, afterward, instead.

If he had to bed one of them, he’d rather-

“I’d take it,” Kell said decisively, and Holland’s thoughts all scattered.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’d take it, if you offered it. I mean, I’d be suspicious, but…” Kell hesitated, then held up his hand. When the barmaid stopped by, he asked merely for two glasses of water, and to put the whole tab on the Crown. The woman smiled, nervously, bowed a little bit, and scurried to do as he asked. “I’d still take it. I don’t know if I’d wear it, though. Might just hold it.”

“I don’t think I’d want you to wear it,” Holland said, honestly. Not that it would work on you, but that’s not the point.

“Really? But you just-”

“It’s just a hypothetical,” Holland said quickly, and put the necklace back in his pocket. “And I am entirely too drunk to have this conversation.”

“I’m glad you did,” Kell said, and maybe that was his own confession, because his face reddened further and he looked away as the water was set down before them.

Holland downed his glass and pushed himself to his feet, feeling a sudden rush of alcohol, the world shifting uneasily around him. “I must away, Kell Maresh.”

“What? Already?” Kell tilted his head, looking up at him, and Holland could have sworn he looked sad. “You never talk to me like this.”

Holland swallowed, looking at his face, at the blue eye and the black. “We’ll talk more,” He said, slowly, “In the future.”

When you belong to my queen, when we both cut ourselves open for them, when she rules Arnes with her brother and you rule nothing, not even your own veins. When you suffer alongside me - and Kell Maresh, may you never suffer as beautifully as I do.

Prince Rhy Maresh’s birthday was nearly here, and Holland was going to destroy Kell Maresh’s world. He’d felt he owed the man a nice conversation, first.

The next conversation would be… harder.

He bowed his head, only slightly, to the younger man, who looked a little wistfully back up at him. “You’ll come back soon enough, Holland?” Kell asked, and there was a second question under the first, a vulnerability. 

Holland only looked at him calmly, a man life had emptied out of every ounce of hope for anything like the real answer Kell wanted. Will you come back to see me, like this? When we talk like men and not like enemies?

“I’ll come back,” Holland said carefully. “For your brother’s birthday.”

He turned and left, Kell sitting and drinking the water in sips, and felt the prince’s eyes on his back until the door closed behind him.

I am going to ruin you, you spoiled selfish soft thing. I have hated you as long as I’ve understood you. I have spent seven years in degradation and filth while you drown in your luxuries and whine about how your parents don’t love you enough.

I am wrecked - I am a tombstone in a magic-less London, an angel carved of rock with empty eyes. I am hollowed-out with their knives and their laughter and their curse. I am nothing and no one but the magic that flows in my veins. I am nothing but a well of power they draw from.

I am not a man, only an Antari, and you have had the absolute luck to get to be both, haven’t you?

hate everything you have been raised to be. I loathe your world, and its color and life at the expense of mine. I will hand your brother his doom and do it with a smile on my face.

Because they told me to smile.

I hate you.

So why don’t I hate you at all?

[kaijuguy19]

Scooby Doo,and the Ink Machine. Chapter 1

New York City, 1946

Car noises blared across the city sky as they drive off to their specific destination. Either they be towards home,work, shopping or really anything that warrants fast travel,it was hard to hear them unless you're hard of hearing. For a guy like Edward Blake it was the city version of hearing cicadas in the countryside which soothed him during his time,slumping over the drawing board as he made sure the lines on the cartoon characters he was doing are smooth as possible. To say that working for the famous Joey Drew owner of Joey Drew Studios and home of renowned cartoon icon Bendy the Dancing Demon demanded blood and sweat along with talent would be the understatement of the century. He lost count on how many social events,and free time he missed out on all because of how his boss demanded overtime from him and his fellow cartoonists. He sighed in annoyance at that,as he placed the finishing touches on the picture of Bendy about to give Alice Angel flowers. Thankful that this was the last cell he had to work on for the night,Eddy started to put everything on his desk away at the folder,and pack his own stuff to carry home.He then heard someone come next to him ,hearing then a mop plop down behind him. Eddy didn't need to ask who was it behind him.

"Anyone else gone home for the night Wally?" Eddy asked without looking at the studio's janitor Wally Franks.

"Well by that you mean the ones that don't have to make sure them ink pipes don't go dynamite on this joint then sure." Wally replied as he moped. "Afraid I can't say the same for myself you know?"

"Connor on your case again?" Eddy asked as he picks up his suitcase.

"Right on the money." Wally said with an annoyed tone. "One little slip up with the monkey wrench apparently lands me doing night shifts as a way to make me more attentive." Wally mops around the middle of the room. "Would it kill Connor to lighten up once in a while? You'd think working in a cartoon studio would make a fella chuckle a bit more."

"He's just a little on edge with what rumors are saying about the studio facing money problems despite what Mr Drew says." Eddy said. "That and the growing number of missing people here isn't helping him I'm sure." Eddy looked around nervously as he said that.

"Yeah well rumors, or not I ain't got time to do some overtime. Getting enough flak from my gal about not spending some more time together." Wally finished the last space in the room then starts to go out. "If I get slammed with doing oil changing the ink equipment next I'm outta here!" 

After seeing Wally leave,Eddy followed out,then making a right turn. He pondered more about the rumors he mentioned Wally about the studio possibly going under. He felt that it might've been the reason why Drew had been making hem do more overtime as a way to pay off whatever dept he owed. Granted Drew talked about many times that the studio was doing fine and normally with a man that's able to make inspiring speeches he'd feel more at ease. However a man like Napoleon Bonaparte likely had said the same thing to his troops during the invasion of Russia,and he knew how they worked out for him at the end. But what worried him more was how people around the studios kept vanishing like ghosts. One especially was Susie Campbell who he remembered last time seeing was distraught about being replaced as Alice angel's voice actress. He was keeping on his toes since they started to begin. He also notice that the newest intern Drew hired named Buddy went missing too. He did like the kid from the few interactions he'd had with him. What didn't help was the strange noises he's been hearing near the medical rooms. Coming from the door that no one's meant to go inside in. Animal like noises he could've sworn were being uttered around that side of the studio. He prayed that nothing will happen to him long enough to see his brother Denny Blake being married to his long time lover. He's glad that Denny from his end was really making enough dough to last his luck for a lifetime along with his children's children when they come. At the very least one of the Blake brothers was getting fortunate at life.

As he reached to the exit,he stopped in dismay on what he almost forgot.

"Dang it!" Eddy muttered under his breath. "Of all the times to forget about my coat." Sighing he turned around and went to the direction to where he hung his coat in the recreation room. He went down the steps leading down to the recreation room,filled with tables, and darting boards on walls. He was about to grab his coat until he heard a clanging sound. He topped still and turned his eyes around.   "Wally is that you?" Eddy called out in a quiet tone. "If this is a joke it's not funny..." Hoping as it was Wally,he was getting the feeling that it wasn't him. 

Eddy backed away slowly,being extra attentive to his surroundings so he can catch who ever was making the noise,and chew out for making a distasteful gag. He kept hearing more clanking,making him want to just dash it out of there,but daring not too. He almost reached the staircase when he notice an odd yet familiar smell.

<i>"Is that ink?" </i> Eddy thought as he noticed more of the inky smell coming to his senses. He suddenly felt something wet,and sticky hitting his back. Heart pounding,and mind, racing in fear, Eddy began to look up to what he hit against.

The face of Bendy that is he assumed to be Bendy's from what face he can clearly see,smiled down at Eddy,as Eddy gasped a silent scream at the shock. The Bendy creature's face was almost covered down with ink but the smile clearly wasn't. Regaining what common sense he had,Eddy backed straight away to move from the creature's arms as it tried to grab him. Eddy ran to the other side of the room as the creature limped after him. Eddy threw tables at it,taking the chance to race down back to the stair case. As he ran up,he heard the creature racing after him. He slammed the door,and locked it after going up,praying it'll hold long enough for him to escape. He charged to the left,as he heard the door breaking open. Dashing some more,he eventually reached the exit,but before he can around the corner,he felt his right foot being grabbed,falling down face flat,eddy scream in terror as he being dragged more and more away from the exit. 

Afterwards no other noise let alone screams of the terrified animator was heard other then wheezing animal noises in Joey Drew Studios.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Present Day:

New Jersey Pine Barrens. Nighttime 

Owls hoot in the night sky as the trees of the infamous Pine Barrens rustles in the night. It was a peaceful sight to behold for sure that is until a giant shape burst out from the trees. The shape was a giant monster that had a demonic hose head,body of a bear,claws of an eagle with hood legs,bat wings,and snake tail that roared in fury as it tried to shake off a rope that was tied around it's tail. 

At the end of the rope a tall skinny young man wearing a green shirt with his dog a Great Dane both clearly hanging on for dear life.

"Like this is the last time I try to play cowboy with a dragon thingy Scoob!" The skinny man cried out to his dog.

"Rikewise here Rhaggy!" Scooby Doo yelled to Shaggy Rogers in turn as they swing around the air like a couple of monkeys hanging for dear life.

The beast roared in fury at the two poor souls then it dove back down to the forest ramming into trees in an effort to shake them off.

"Like-OW-OOF! OWY HEY NOT IN THE MOUTH MAN!" Shaggy yelled in pain,coughing up leaves.

Coming in front of them was a van that was blue and green with the words Mystery Machine written on both sides. A gun came out of top of the van then it fired a net at the creature at full face. The beast roared as it crshed to the ground,knocked out. 

Another young man dressed in a white sweater with an orange ascot came out of the driving side of the van,and rushed quickly to the van. Two other people a beautiful young woman dressed in a purple dress,green scarf,and purple tights,and a nerdy girl with an orange sweater with glasses followed after him.

"I can't believe this worked on the first try!" The man with the ascot said with excitiment. "I mean usually they tend to backfire at first but this is the first time it didn't happen!"

"Like that's great Fred but can ya please get me and Scooby down?!" Shaggy said as he and Scooby hung from branches in a comical fashion.

"Here let me help!" The girl with the purple dress said as he started to climb up. She soon reached them and got out some knives as she cut the branches down. both Shaggy and Scooby fell down softly.

"Like thanks Daphne!" Shaggy said as he rubbed his butt. 

"No problem." Daphne Blake said coming down. "Pays to have outdoor training years ago."

Fred Jones saw upcoming police vehicles drive up. "Right on time. Care to do the honors Velma?" He asked the nerdy girl.

"Like I need to ask Fred?" Velma Dinkley replied in his usual know it all self. She turned to see the chief come up to them with a rightfully concerned look.

"Care to explain me kids on how the flipping heck did you capture the Jersey Devil?!" The chief demanded. "That monstrosity put many of my men and women to hospitals faster then you can say Clockman Diamond!"

"Funny you should mention that Chief." Velma replied going up to the Jersey Devil. "Had this been the actual Jersey Devil it would've done more then put people into hospitals but seeing as on how we've figured out on this is otherwise allow us to show you who's been really behind the Jersey Devil attacks."

She pressed into the monster's neck,making clicking noises as the head falls off revealing itself to be just a high tech suit,worn by a disgruntled man with balding hair,and a glare in his eyes.

"Glen Richards?!" The Chief cried in surprise "But how? Why? He was doing well as the city's electrician!"

"He was. However he didn't always want to be known as such. He had ambitions of being the owner of his own movie studio and was able to get enough funds from his time as an electrician however the problem was that he wanted to set it up at the Pine Barrens but the county council didn't allow it for obvious reason." Velma said.

"So in order to scare people away from the Pine Barrens for good,Richards used his suit making skills he learned from film school to construct the Jersey Devil suit using advance enough tech to make a convincing method to bringing the Jersey Devil legend alive!" Fred joined in.

"It took a little eye for detail to figure out on how the fur on the creature was made from leftover fun used from taxidermy operations." Daphne said plucking out clumps of fur then showing it to the police chief. "This was made from deer fur, so once we were able to figure where the fur came from and where bits of oil were flown about from the hydrolics all we had to do was to set him up and nab him!"

"And I would've gotten away with it too! If it weren't from you snooping goody two shoes suck ups to the law and your flea ridden sorry excuse for a canine!" glen Richards growled as he was led away."

"Hey!" Scooby said with offense.

"Like you could've just said Meddling kids and your dog too man!" Shaggy said.

"THEY MEAN THE SAME THING MORON!" Richards yelled as he was driven off.

"Sheesh! Like someone didn't give him enough hugs." Shaggy said with annoyance.

"Well thanks kids." The chief said shaking Fred's hand. "A lot of folks are gonna rest easy tonight."

"It's our thing chief! Always happy to help!" Fred said with his usual friendliness. The chief then went to his own car and drove off. He then turned around and faced his friends. "Another mystery solved gang!"

"About time too! Scooby Doo!" Scooby said giggling.

Daphne smiled then she heard her phone ring from her purse. She got it out and looked at her friends "Hang on guys! I have to take this." She answered the phone. "Yes?...Oh Mimi it's great to hear from you!...Yes I know I loved your last fashion show!....Huh?....Wait really?!" She said looking surprised then serious. "....You're not pulling my leg right?.....Where?!.....You have it?!....Thank you so much Mimi! I'll tell them about this!..alk to you later!" She hung up the phone and sees her friends looking a little worried.

"You ok Daph?" Fred asked in a concerned tone. "Something happen?"

"Yes Fred but it's the good kind!" Daphne said "It has to do with my great uncle Edward Blake!"

"Edward Blake?" Shaggy asked. "Wait wasn't he one of the animators of-"

"Of the Bendy cartoons? Well sure!" Daphne said with a surprised tone. "You watch them too Shaggy?"

"Like sure Daphne!" Shaggy said with a grin. "It's one of Scoob and mine's top cartoons to watch as kids."

"Surprised you didn't ask us before Rahpne!" Scooby said.

"Ok going fanboy or fangirl in your case Daphne aside what about Edward Blake?" Velma asked now curious.

"Oh right!" Daphne said remembering what she was about to say. "My old friend Mimi works as a fashion designer in New York City,and she said that during one of the renovations near where Joey Drew Studios was at,hey found a couple of items there. Most of which belonged to My great uncle who vanished those years ago."

"So this was a family mystery for a long while now?" Fred asked,looking equally as curious. 

"Yeah." Daphne sighed. "I remember my grandmother talking about on how her father was devastated at his brother's going missing like that. He wasn't totally the same afterwards." She looked up,looking pretty glad. "Mimi said she has his suitcase in hand,and wanted to show it to me to finally get more of an idea of where he went." 

"Wasn't the studio also the subject of urban legends of ink oozing out from the studio's cracks and odd animal noises coming from it?" Velma then inquired. "I remember reading upon New York's urban legends and that was among the more infamous ones."

"Like what now?" Shaggy asked now with a look of horror in his face. Same goes for Scooby.

"Yep." Daphne replied. "If that isn't adding icing on the cake for us I don't know what is."

"Well then." Fred said with a look of great interest coming upon him. "I think we've just found ourselves a new mystery!"

Both Shaggy and Scooby look dejected.

"Well so much for a relaxing weekend right Scoob?" Shaggy said to Scooby.

"Rep." Scooby said nodding his head. "Phooey."

[whatshockey]

there’s a reason why - b.b.

A BROCK BOESER IMAGINE.

in which summer returns and so does the exact boy a girl managed to avoid for the past year

song: “there’s a reason why (i never returned your calls)” by blossoms

word count: 3,742

warnings: mentions of alcohol, nudity (skinny dipping), and past sexual encounters. and the cliche edgy girl who’s super angsty and just wants to run away.

a/n: i’m from the midwest and i got carried away thinking of a summer with my favorite midwestern prince instead of writing my final paper for my anthro class lol whoops

-

Many would say that Minnesota was the most useless state there was. And frankly, there was little support to argue against the claim. Although the seasons changed, nothing much else did. Routine was set into play, and the residents grew comfortable in it. Not to mention that the state was dry in every aspect - the weather, the humor, and above all, the lack in things to do. Teens graduated high school with the same kids they joined kindergarten with. Mountains of snow granted forts in violent snowball fights, and the town’s single bowling alley proved a better atmosphere than any major city nightclub could. But finally, after what felt like decades of the worst winter yet, the sun rolled out in near defeat, panting but managing to stay up for just a few more hours than the last day, leaving Minnesota’s inhabitants continuously begging for a chance at adventure. Just one juicy pear to bite into, with sweet nectar dripping out of the corners of their mouth and pooling down their chests on a hot, humid summer day. Instead, they were forced to dodge potholes on back roads framed by cornfields that seemed to take them nowhere, the occasional messy hook-up after shotgunning a few beers, and a bundle of fireworks to set off in their backyards when they were simply bored. But she was foolish to think this summer would be any different than the rest.

Perhaps this is what eventually drove her away. After moving as far as she could for college, she’d avoided the general midwestern region as if it was the plague itself, only returning once a year for a swift appearance during the holiday season and an equally prompt return back to the urban and chaotic coastal southern California. She cringed at the mere mention of her home state’s borders that appeared closer every time she blinked, and groaned as she once again found herself trudging through the airport only six months later, now a recent college graduate and wishing she’d been moving into her downtown apartment instead of staring out of the passenger window of her mother’s SUV.

She’d known she always stuck out amongst her family, or at least in terms of hobbies and interests. They all had the unfortunate blessing of a rather large nose in comparison of their otherwise petite foreheads. But as she peered down at her appearance, sitting with legs crossed and thumbs dancing along her phone screen, she noticed her difference now more than ever. It was as if their judgmental glares replaced her own, and she realized how much of an influence the mere switch of light wash jeans to tight black ones and a pair of oversized sunglasses could make. Or rather how chopping off her long, now highlighted, locks to rest on her shoulders could transform her entire face, skin stretching to fit over her sharp cheekbones and painted lips.

Her cousin was the first to comment on her appearance, with an arm drunkenly thrown around her shoulder and an obnoxious laugh in her ear. She’d watched her wave her third finger around the remainder of her relatives, squeezed and wrapped by a golden band and small diamonds placed in an intricate design. The wedding hadn’t come as a shock to anyone, and a bitter taste arrived in her mouth as she dwelled on what hideous and unflattering bridesmaid gown her cousin was set on forcing her into. Her cousin had known her fiance for years, claiming they were soulmates after meeting as camp counselors their sophomore year of high school, and began dating only a year after that. The rest of her family constantly praised their relationship as they dragged each other along to every event, and she’d bite back a response that brought unnecessary attention to the fact that he’d cheated on her twice during their freshman year of college. But ignoring the terrible had become normal, and it proved almost too convenient for her to feel comfortable.

One event, however, that never failed to disappoint anyone with actual standards was the annual state fair, where she’d found herself refraining from yelling at her niece who insisted on winning a stuffed animal that sat far too out of reach for her short frame and outstretched chubby hands. She’d changed into an old crewneck she found stuffed away in the back of her childhood bedroom with walls still covered in pictures of her old friends and arguable lover. Rolling the sleeves and moving to tie her hair up as the air grew thicker in humidity, her legs coated in sweat as they rubbed together under her denim shorts, otherwise recognized as the unofficial uniform of the general region. It had been her sole attempt to blend in, hands moving to swat mosquitoes away that decided to awaken and join the ruckus on the cool evening.

She’d just brought out her phone, foot bouncing impatiently as her niece attempted once again to win the toy after refusing the help she’d been offered five minutes ago, only to hear a high pitched gasp come from beside her. She achingly tore her eyes away from the screen, eyebrows raised only to tense as she immediately recognized the dane her niece had been excitedly pointing at, giddy and beginning to take off in the same direction with her little feet stumbling into the same arms that also held her nights before.

His biceps flexed as he kneeled to catch her, effortlessly lifting her so her legs dangled and a squeal left her lips. A handsome smile adorned his lips, and a deep laugh pierced through the air as he rubbed her back with a “Hey, kiddo!” and sat her gently in between his legs again, leaning down with elbows resting on his knees, large and dominant, and nearly blocking her frame from view.

Her niece hesitated to let go of her tight lock around his shoulders, giggling an enthusiastic “I missed you!” as she kept jumping up and down, to which he responded with a much more smooth and charming “I missed you too!”

The sky bled orange and pink hues, yet all she saw was red. How did he have the nerve to just stand there, without a flaw in sight? With eyes so blue, and so kind, that she imagined they must be made out of glass, she was convinced that he must be made out of glass, carved as a masterpiece specially made for a pretentious art museum exhibit. While other times, he resembled a lion, with a beautifully groomed mane and ready to attack his prey.

She wondered if he had even seen her yet, or if all of that camera time made him as good of an actor as he was a hockey player. Perhaps she could make a run for it, knowing that he’d get her niece back to her family safely by the time she makes it onto the next departing flight out. Yet her feet remained cemented into the grass beneath them as his gaze briefly met her, allowing himself to get dragged by a soft, adolescent grip that he could easily break out of. And whether he was amusing her niece or himself, she didn’t know. Her stomach clenched, a brick dropped onto her chest, and she struggled, but couldn’t find a way to breathe. She watched his eyes trail along her frame taking her in, first to her ankles that stayed trembling under his harsh stare, to her thighs that he once gripped so hard with his face buried in between them that they had bruised, to her eyes that he’d looked into countless times before, with a calloused hand at the back of her neck and another wrapped around her waist.

For the first time, his expression was unreadable, and a brief flash of what could only be registered as shock crossed over. And just as fast, so quick that there was no way she could even make sure it had truly happened, he managed to replace it with the same smile he wore just seconds before. Except this time it appeared far more pained and forced, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the two approached her.

His mouth moved to greet her, but she didn’t hear anything as her niece demanded attention once again, showing him the prize she’d been attempting to win for the past twenty minutes or so. He chuckled, and she caught his eyes moving briefly to her own face, possibly knowing that had she attempted the easy carnival game, they’d surely have won. Nonetheless, he offered his hand, squeezing past her so that their arms just barely brushed against each other, leaving her buzzing and taking a shot of his own. And of course immediately winning her niece the trophy prize. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and instead opted to fidget with the fraying edges of the sweatshirt he had seen her in, and taken her out of so many times before. But his eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed. His burning stare left her skin itching, and she suddenly felt even warmer while others around them began putting on their light jackets. And she so badly wanted to slap him away, push him and pretend that none of that awkward interaction had even occurred. And instead, allowed him to find and greet the remainder of her family, with her niece gripping his fingers in one hand and her new toy in the other.

The little girl had taken off once her family came into view, excitedly showing off the toy and praising Brock’s godlike athletic abilities as if she owed her own life to him. And to make matters worse, everyone’s ears perked upon the mention of his name, standing to embrace him in warmer hugs than she had received earlier that day. However, this hadn’t been all too surprising. Brock had been the best thing that could’ve ever happened to her, and had been seen as her greatest accomplished, even after she’d gotten accepted into a top university. The small town’s celebrity had been liked by everyone, even by those who didn’t support the Canucks in the slightest. And she didn’t blame them. He made everything seem effortless, and it took her the most effort not to thread her fingers through his hair and bury her face into his neck, refusing to let go.

The conversation had gone unheard for the most part. With all circling around him to ask questions about the big NHL life, she’d known his generic, but attractive, answers would captivate even the most strict and unapproachable beings in existence. He was just that damn good, and always has been. But somehow the conversation dragged on into the sunset, darkness closing in on the bunch, and the vendors began packing away, signaling that it was indeed time for everyone to go. And before she knew it, she’d been coerced to climb into an all too familiar Jeep, one she’d spent hours making out with its owner in the backseat before. Her dad had invited him back to their home, promising him a beer just as he’d walk through the door. And left little room to argue.

Fortunately, the car ride hadn’t been as awkward as she had prepared for, with her niece constantly talking about her dramatic social life in the first grade and Brock glancing back in the rearview mirror, witty and playful responses at the ready. He held a loose grip on the steering wheel, confidently reclined to fit his entire bulky frame into the car, and his right arm thrown over the back of the passenger seat she’d sat in, arms crossed and eyes trained on the road in front of them. She allowed her mind to wander back to the days where this had been normal, her niece only three at the time it had first occurred, where the three  of them would sing songs and play I Spy as they filled their time with long road trips into the city. The summers had been easy, and felt like summer. But she quickly shook the feeling as they’d pulled up to her home, him helping her niece onto the ground and her moving swiftly inside, grabbing a beer of her own.

Everyone had moved into her backyard, sitting around a bonfire that her brother had managed to light up with his little experience in boy scouts. In fact, he’d gotten on really well with Brock, playing hockey with him in their free time as little boys until he sought after a career in college baseball, giving the two a strong bond that gave her a run for her money.

As if the universe had been out to get her, the only seats available were the small bench that barely fit the two of them, and she almost opted to sit on the ground. While the rest continued sharing jokes and catching up, her eyes remained trained on the lake that frame her backyard, a light breeze coming in as more blankets had been brought out, which happened to be the same ones they’d used when he took her to surprise dates to the town’s drive-in. Her mind drifted back to the hours she’d spent on water with him, racing in jet skis or skinny dipping in the dead of night, jumping off of his family’s boat as his dogs looked on at the couple as if they were crazy. And they were, or at least about each other. But still, no matter how clear those days were and how bright the sky had been, the water was still not as blue as his eyes as they crinkled up in amusement, laughing as he splashed her with water.

As the moon rose higher and its reflection could be seen shining brightly in the water, the adults had finally bid their goodnights, with the children doing so long before. She hadn’t noticed at first, and wished she had followed suit as she began to realize she had been the only one left out there with him, although it had not been the first time. And she stayed frozen, not daring to speak first, and not knowing what to say if she had been forced to.

“You look good.”

It had been the first words he had directly said to her that night, and the first ever exchanged in about a year, not including the numerous voicemails that lessened as the weeks dragged on. She met his eyes and gave him a small smile. It had been a while, but he still managed to make her flustered, and he’d clearly known his affect on her as he did a smile of his own behind his beer bottle.

“Thank you,” it came out as a whisper, but she didn’t know if her voice could even go louder as it began wavering at the mere sight of him. “You too.”

The two fell into a silence once again, and she could see him looking at her with more heat than the actual fire before them held. She turned to look at him, expecting him to continue, but instead his jaw clenched and he moved his eyes back to the pit, allowing her to take note of his features as his face was illuminated in the dark. Stubble lined his jaw, eyes trained and his lips pursed, and she cursed herself as she realized he had grown even more handsome than the last time she saw him.

“Why didn’t you call?”

His voice was hard, and sounded almost angry, even if he wasn’t one to yell.

No matter how hard he wanted to, she knew he’d never tell her that she’d at least owed him that much. She so desperately wanted to tell him how had she heard his voice muffled behind the call, she would’ve ran to kiss him over and over for every word that slipped past. Or how it hadn’t been as easy as she made it seem, with every ring her phone echoed, to let go of everything that she ever found comfort in, and to run away from it all. He’d been the last thing she wanted to say goodbye to, but he had already let Minnesota go. He had let her go.

“Just one text is all I asked for. You just had to tell me you weren’t interested anymore, and I would’ve moved on somehow.”

It had almost been an insult, with the way he casually moved his hand that rested around her head to push back a few stray strands of hair that fell into her vision, delicately tracing the curving of her face, to her lips and down her arm. She was well aware that there wasn’t much to move on from, and it was only a matter of time when he’d realize it too.

“But that doesn’t mean I have.”

The way her voice rang in his ears was almost dangerous, one so broken, fearful, and vulnerable that had once been full of so much life. And it left him scared, and almost angry with himself. And begging to hold her even closer to him.

“What are you saying?”

His voice quivered, and the man who normally was so sure and certain of his surroundings was left confused.

“I just can’t keep going back to this every summer and then pretending that it never happened.”

She sighed, pulling out of his grip to then pull at her hair, looking at him with pleading eyes that read “Please, let me go.”

“I can’t keep changing my feelings when the seasons do, Brock.”

Their romance never was never heavy or burdening. It was always so simple and easy, and perhaps that had been the reason it had been so easy to jump back into it every year and last so long, stretching from their senior year of high school and far into his career in college and the league. Yet despite how much the both of them had changed in these years, they’re feelings towards each other didn’t. And they both knew this loud and clear, even if neither dared to voice it.

“You would know that wasn’t the case for me if you listened.”

He’d pulled her back to him, this time closer so she stayed against him, pulling her legs to rest over his knees, and he was so close she could smell his musk, wishing to just drown herself in the scent.

“You’re only acting like this so you have someone to sleep with over the summer.”

It might’ve not been the case, but as she voiced her concern, it was clear that this was how it was coming across. He could have any woman he wanted, and already had the city of Vancouver kissing the floor he walked on. And she had moved to remind him of this, but it was almost as if he read her mind, cutting her off before she could continue with a squeeze at her hand.

“But I always come back to you?” he questioned, turning to lean his body over her’s, causing her to strain her head as they kept eye contact. “And I only want to come back to you.”

He waited for a response of any sort, feeling how heavy his words felt in the thick air. He had always made every move so calculated and precise, with confidence emerging from every inch of his body. And yet he had said that with no hesitation or fear for what may follow, prepared that she may run like she always did.

So he had been extremely surprised when he felt her press her lips against his, pulling him into her by his shirt collar. She’d pressed her lips so hard against his that her lips hurt, breaking for air as he pulled her fully into his lap, legs wrapped on either side of his waist and his arms around her’s, hands moving up her back to feel every part of her he missed.

The two felt like teenagers again, sitting in her backyard in the midst of an act of desperation. Except this time they were kissing out in the open instead of in the dark edge of the sidewalk, knowing very well that her parents could walk out any second and catch them. And she couldn’t find any reason to care, as she felt him holding her so close to him, moving as she did and kissing her with such a fierceness that she wondered if he, too, was pleading for this moment to never end.

“I won’t come this weekend if it makes you uncomfortable,” he murmured into her neck, her chest rising and falling sporadically against his throat.

She closed her eyes and shook her head as his arms flexed while he tried to continue, always wanting to be the good guy in every situation. However, she had been unfair to him before, and destruction had seemed to be what she’d known best. Of course he’d been invited to the wedding, and probably hadn’t expected to see her there anyways, knowing how much she loathed her extended family.

Nonetheless, she moved to squeeze his hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles as she raised her gaze into his own, preparing to regret her next words as soon as they left her lips. But the feeling never came.

“Be my date?”

It had only been 48 hours later, and the two stood swaying to the beat of yet another love song that echoed through the speakers, and his heartbeat pulsing against her ear as she laid her head against his chest. The rest of the guests remained inside, congratulating the couple and mingling amongst their own. The two, however, were quick to move outside, sneaking away as if they were sixteen and ditching math class to spend just a few extra minutes with each other.

She gave it her all to change and leave behind her life in Minnesota, the routine of balancing on branches and dancing around traps bored her to infinity. Yet for the first time, she indulged in this tradition the couple had going on. And didn’t worry about what would happen in a few months when they left yet once again.

All that mattered was the man holding her, promising her that he wouldn’t let her go again.

And she believed him.

[morosemagick]

Young, Wild, Free | Stiorra x Sigtryggr One Shot

Warning: None

Words: 2110

TAGGED:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @ivarinleatherpants @osferth @magravenwrites @thebohemianpenguin

What is freedom? Are you born with it? Given to you the way your mother gives you life. Is it given by the Gods… or God. Must you fight for it? Earn it on the fields of battle. Spill blood and sweat and tears for it. Why do men raise their swords in the name of freedom? Why do other men think they can take it away? How do you put a price on silver? How can one compare it to the weight of silver? If such a thing can be given a price, then what is the point of trying to live? Why waste the freedom on life, and why not wish immediately for death if freedom just does not seem worth the price?

“Sigtryggr? Sigtryggr, are you listening to me?” Stiorra called out as she looked forward to the Dane lying in the grass with his arms behind his head.

“I am listening,” He tells her, though Stiorra can see him with his eyes close and a piece of bark in his mouth, “You asked about freedom.”

“I did,” Stiorra grumbles as she picks at the grass, “So?”

“So?”

“What do you think?” Stiorra snips as she lays back in the grass, her body facing the opposite way of his but their heads aligned, “Do you feel freedom is a right or something you must earn?”

“What do you think?” Sigtryggr questioned her and Stiorra groaned.

“I asked you first,” She complained as she turned her head to face him, catching Sigtrygger momentarily open an eye to peek her way with a smirk on his face, “Go on, then.”

“It must be earned,” Sigtryggr responded, keeping his eyes closed, “You must pay for it, be it with blood or silver, and the price is always changing… so you will always owe a debt.”

“And say you are born a slave, how do you pay for it?” Stiorra asked, testing his answer.

“It is a disadvantage, you will always be fighting harder. Paying more,” Sigtryggr explains, “Why does this interest you so much?”

“Look,” Stiorra tells him, tapping his shoulder to make sure Sigtryggr opens his eyes. Above them, a bird flies across the blue sky, though it is hard to tell what it is from so far away, “That bird is born free. Nothing will ever take its freedom away.”

“Except death,” Sigtryggr counters.

Stiorra glances his way and sees Sigtryggr staring her way with both eyes open, “Yes, except death.”

“You are a curious woman,” He tells her in a soft voice and a smile on his face.

"I have lived a small life," Stiorra tells him calmly, the corner of her lip creeping upward, "I wish to expand my world."

"Is that why you agreed to come with me to Eoferwic?" Sigtryggr asks with a certain tone about it.

Sounds like flirtation.

Stiorra rolls her eyes, scoffing at him, "Well, I am not going to Eoferwic for you."

"Is that right?" Sigtryggr smirks.

"I chose to go with you because I refuse to go back to Coccham," Stiorra explains, staring back to the sky, "I want to explore the world, like my father has."

"And you shall," Sigtryggr tells her, "This world is yours to stake claim to."

"I don't want to stake claim to anything," Stiorra corrected him, "I just want to understand. To see with the eyes of a traveler. Go wherever the wind takes me."

They would be the future.

"You will," Sigtryggr promises her, "I promise you."

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

Her curiosity for knowledge is what pulls him to her. Her hunger to take in the world, and see all that the kingdoms have to offer. Stiorra is unlike any Dane he has ever met. More like himself, thriving to be more than those who came before. Desperate to be better than their ancestors.

"What was it like," Stiorra asked him as they traveled the road on horseback, moving side by side, "Being raised surrounded by Danes."

"We are raised with the desire for two things," Sigtryggr told her in all honesty, "Reputation and silver."

"Is that what you came to England for?" Stiorra question, no teasing or taunting found in her voice.

Just constant curiosity.

"In Ireland, we fought for honor and wealth, yet we found ourselves lacking both," Sigtryggr explained to her, "It was there I learned that men who fight for such things usually find themselves gaining neither. It's trivial. There are better ways to leave your mark in time."

"And you hope to leave your mark how?" Stiorra asked with her brow raised, "Ruling Eoferwic?"

Sigtryggr shrugged, "I have yet to decide, but I know that the best way to make your mark on a land is to grow roots. You must set a foundation so that your mark remains permanent."

"So what… start a family? Have children?" The face Stiorra made was of disdain.

It made Sigtryggr laugh.

"Is that so awful?" He asks.

"I am sick of children," Stiorra said as she made a noise of disgust, "I rather find myself on the fields of war, praying for Valhalla."

"You rather war than children?"

"You have clearly not spent enough time with children," Stiorra told him with a glare, making Sigtryggr laugh some more, "They are a menace."

"I shall take your word for it."

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

"Do you believe in destiny?” Stiorra asked him one day, while they sat together in front of a fire. Camped for the night surrounded by the rest of Sigtryggr’s Dane army.

“Destiny? Sure,” He stirs the fire with a stick, “All Dane’s believe in fate in some way.”

“My father use to tell us destiny is all,” Stiorra explains as she drinks from her cup, “The God’s have a place for us, all of us. A role we must play. A path we must take. All of it already written, and we cannot fight it. My father’s destiny lies in Bebbanburg, my brothers belong to his God-”

“And what is your destiny, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir?” Sigtryggr asks her with a brow raised, and she shrugs.

“I have yet to figure that out.” She tells him, her eyes drifting to the fire, “I have wants and desires but no means to discover whether I will acquire any of them. I have dreams, but I know dreaming is for children. I could be a warrior, a leader, hopefully not a mother. My path has yet to be revealed. Hopefully, I will find it in Eoferwic.”

“What if who you are needed to be is not who want to be?” Sigtrygger brings up, making Stiorra eyes glance his way, “We all want things, but what the Gods want might differ.”

“Then I will follow the path they put me on,” Stiorra tells him as she smiles into the fire, “No matter where it takes me.” When she looks up again, he’s still looking at her, and it makes her blush and turn her face back towards the fire.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just-” Stiorra chuckles to herself and then looks up again, “My mother taught me a song... when I was a child, do you want to hear it?”

“A song?” He questions.

Stiorra rolls her eyes and scoffs, playfully, “Do you want to hear it, or not?”

“Sure,” Sigtryggr tells her sweetly, “Sing for me.”

“With a tiny rope and a bag of stone, and all heartbroken wishing bone, she's going in, she's going home. Oh this little golden knight, fighting every day behind the light, behind the light.” Stiorra voice starts off soft, but picks up and gets more confident as her song goes on, “Walking faster down the street, red eyes and no shoes on her feet, going on this journey, determined to complete. This is farewell, this is goodnight the last time she will see the daylight. See the daylight.” She’s smiling now as she continues on. Thinking of those she’s left behind, and the journey she has started alone, “And she's going on a journey always walking down the road. And the water is always calling; ‘My little child, please come home’.”

Other people in the camp have started to take notice of Stiorra’s voice. Stopping what they are doing, and approaching the fire she and Sigtryygr sit around to listen to her sing. The song, relaxing and peaceful, seems to catch the attention of everyone there, but it is Sigtrggyr that Stiorra keeps her eyes on the whole song.

“That's when she went away. Away from the light of day. Standing by the riverside, patiently waiting for the tide to come along, to come along. The waters going through her feet and on her body wind so cold and sweet. So cold and sweet,” The smile on her face is while as she sings, but not as sweet and kind as the one on the other man’s face. The song, a gift from her mother, means so much to her and now it will have meaning to all those near her. Her new people. Her new family, “And she's going on a journey, always walking down the road. And the water is always calling ‘My little child, please come home’. And the stars were brightly shining, when she reached out they were gone, and the water started calling ‘My little child, please come home’.“ She thinks one last time, on her life, and notices that maybe this place is her destiny. The path the Gods have sent her on a good one, “When a shiny light hit her eye and she turned around and climbed towards the sky. Towards the sky.”

The men and women around her clap and cheer happily as she finishes her song, and Sigtrggyr raises his cup to her words. She basks in the love and care given to her by her new people, as well as this man she has chosen to follow… or at least that destiny has chosen for her to follow. This life is a new adventure, and she is ready to see where it takes her.

More importantly, she is happy the path she is taking is one Sigtryggr will take with her.

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

Stiorra walks the streets of Eoferwic alone.

It is safe for her here, in this Daneland. She can do such things here.

She tours the markets alone, taking in its people. Her people. Danes and Saxons living together in peace. As it should be, she thinks to herself as she passes a stall of gems and jewels. No war or hate, only peace. She wonders how long it will last, and tries not to dwell too much on the end. This is just the beginning, anyway, no reason to fret on when the enemy will arise.

For that is a worry for another day.

A stall of trinkets catches her eye, and she stops to peruse. The wares the man sells are of great beauty and amongst everything he owns, Stiorra spots a peculiar ring with a piece of amber at its center. She picks up the ring and holds it up to the sun, admiring the beauty it holds inside. A beauty, similar to that of her father’s sword. The man running the stall notices her staring at the ring, and walks over to greet her.

“Like that piece, Lady?”

“I do,” She smiles, trying it on for size, “How much for it?”

“That piece is rare, you won’t find any like it,” He tells her, cleaning his hands with a rag, “I’ll give it to you for one piece of silver.”

“She'll take it," Sigtryggr tells the man, suddenly appearing at her side like magic, with a piece of silver already in his hand.

"Earl Sigtryggr," The trader says in a bit of shock as he catches the silver the Dane has flipped into his hands, "Thank you, Lord."

"I could have paid for it, you know," Stiorra tells him, only a touch annoyed with his kindness.

Sigtryggr smiles at her, admiring the amber ring that sits on her finger, "I know,"

The trader looks between the two of them, and raises a brow, "Is this your lady, Lord?"

Stiorra glares at Sigtryggr, who's smiling, and then looks at the trader, "He wishes."

"I assumed you were a Dane, Lady, my apologies," The trader tells her and Stiorra chuckles not seeing where the man was getting at.

"I am," She tells the trader before looking back at Sigtryggr, "I am both, and I am neither. I am all that destiny desires me to be," Stiorra looks down at the ring, smiling, and then takes Sigtryggr's hand, "Young. Wild. Free."

[philalethistry]

WELP my birthday month was a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I thought about the cons of posting this but I’d like to record it, so that future me can look back and, depending on how the future goes, either feel validated or be glad that this is over. Warning: discussion of crappy mental health.

TL;DR Breakdown results in will to live and fuck current events I have a recliner

I’m going to start with today, Sept. 1, and work back, for reasons.

Today I drove to a furniture thrift store. This doesn’t sound like much, but I A. hate driving, especially to new places, B. am already in a pretty anxious state, and C. I got lost because the road I wanted to turn on wasn’t marked, nor looked like a road rather than an alley, and so I somehow spent two hours trying to find one store. (At one point I had to stop and get something to eat because I had started shaking. The cashier watched me struggle to free two bills from my wallet and then declined the change I owed her to avoid making me retrieve that too. I wonder if she thought I was high...)

The important thing about what I did today, is I went out to find the store, and even when I did not find the store and ended up circling back to my street, instead of going home and having a sandwich and watching Youtube, I turned around again. I know it’s partially because of this video’s explanation of why one gets more nervous trying to do something a second time after procrastinating or running away from it, as I’d always pin the anxiety on my guilt, instead of a fear instinct which is more managable. But I’m going to give dopamine where dopamine is due and also say that my eventual victory was partially because of the newfound strength I have in the aftermath of the freak mental storm that enveloped the start of August.

I know that no one is doing “””okay””” right now, because of Everything, and that is nicely validating, because I am not okay either. But it’s dissonant, because I’d often follow the lead of neurotypicals and high-functioning depressives and anxious people when I’m in a bad way. If THEY say things aren’t as hopeless as I think they are, they probably aren’t! While that helped, it also downplayed my brain issues, and now that everyone has the same opinions on the State of Things, I realized I didn’t have any idea of how to confront the bad shit on my own, and neither does anyone else.

I’m technically still quarantining by refraining from making a lot of trips out and from getting a job, and so the murky pea-soup fogs of the future unsettle me. I was pretty chipper for the larger part of quarantine, as an introvert. Then one day, the thought suddenly occurred to me of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in quarantine, how COVID isn’t receding from Arizona, how I had to quit the first job I’d gotten in the face of anxiety and depression, of how much of my future rests on the coming election, and most of all of how I have no idea what my future holds, of where I’ll be five or ten years down the line. “In the same place” and “Somewhere else” seem equally intimidating.

And then hormones struck.

I’ve had bad depressive episodes; I’ve had bad days of anxiety; I’ve had bad PMS; and then I’ve simply indulged unhealthy negativity. All of these, combined, made for a surreal and frightening experience. Emphasis on surreal. Also, contextually, emphasis on frightening, obviously. There were many feelings. Emphasis on everything.

My mental space may be a mess but I’ve never been too concerned with dwelling on life and death, even when faced with the latter. It’s never been a point of any interest to me; in the face of mortality I’m pretty good at giving importance to the present moment and to my internal values, like “science cool,” “mocha good” and “drawing fun.” In fact since childhood (third grade. Is this a normal third grader thing??) I’ve been a fan of cheerful nihilism, IE “There isn’t a secret meaning to the universe therefore I can give it any meaning I can make! Anything is possible, things are great!” I didn’t really grasp the concept behind existential dread, it sounded like something that happened to movie characters when the writers didn’t know how else to portray angst. Oh boy, do I have a new emotion I won’t be able to forget. My natural disaster of a brain supplied me, among everything I was already experiencing, three (3!!!) different categories of existential crisis. I had to look it up. And the weird thing about this Satan’s asscrack of an episode, is that while I’m prone to spiraling rumination, normally I can distract myself, because it’s still just me, thinking unhelpful thoughts. This time, these thoughts, the shittiest thoughts I’ve ever had the displeasure of producing, were automatic. I was not getting stuck pondering one bad topic; everything I saw became, in real time, entangled in the web of thought pattern in the most natural way. And it was LOUD.

Have you ever thought, “I’ll sit on the couch, the couch is comfy. The couch did not exist until a few years ago, its lack of existence had no impact on anything in any meaningful way, and when it turns to dust it will be forgotten.” Because I myself had a teensy bit of an inkling that maybe that ain’t normal. The thing is, I knew I was only feeling this way because, well, I Was Feeling That Way, it’s just the mood; but being stuck in isolation, and with everyone else also troubled by issues of the past, the present and the future, knowing that didn’t help.

I can remain in a depressive / anxious state for a little while, but the actual peaks only last at most a couple of hours. This was Mt. Everrest AND it lasted a week and a half. I was at the end of my rope a day in and had no idea what to do about it, so I tried to do everything. The physical present felt empty, so I tried to fill it with media, literature, art, walks, family time. Problem is, “anhedonia” - a symptom of depression where you don’t get dopamine boosts from activities - cuts pleasure out of these things, so nothing held my interest, let alone made me feel motivated or remotely better. Another symptom of depression, weirdly enough, is the feeling of disgust - I wasn’t conscious of this symptom until it was magnified. I felt completely and utterly repulsed by everything around me. I first thought it was the clutter, then the way the furniture was arranged, then I thought I’d been inside too long so I took walks in the neighborhood when nobody was out. The confusion came when I disliked the trees, grass, and fresh air too - I had to Google my feelings to find out what the heck was going on.

Which brings me to my bedroom. My room is littered with memorabalia, I’m sentimental so I have little shrines of items from the past and of things I value. Some childhood toys and a handful of old trinkets, shelves dedicated to Pokemon and Neil Gaiman’s work, some references to Chicago and Polish heritage. My unhappiness with the situations of the present, while strengthened to an totally unnecessary degree, weren’t all inaccurate - and in combination with anhedonia and disgust, and the way I’d integrated this memorabalia into my sense of self even though they aren’t really relevant to me anymore, I found that I really really didn’t like my past or reminders of it. In a shocking unpredicted turn of tables, I no longer wanted to uphold who I once was, because it isn’t who I am now, and it’s not who I want to be.

And the revulsion of the past and the uncertain emptiness of the present culminates in a future that I feared, another emotion booted up to eleven. There was a big need to make my future and remake myself. The only places left comfort could be found were ones I hadn’t yet looked. At the same time I became sad in a powerful but vague way and desperately lonely - this part was definitely all the feral hormones - and I became obsessed, for a little while, with making sure that, when quarantine ends, I would get my social life in order. I preemptively joined groups and clubs in my local area online, which I’m still going to make good on later but maybe not to the all-encompassing extent I had in my mind at the time. Also, career hunting. (Also also, to combat a lack of control, I wanted to get my own place - but with the economy like That, and my ass like This, big alone time while also being very poor and probably overworked is not the best of ideas.)

So. The freak episode ended. And I knew. Both during. And afterwards. That I Do Not Want That to Happen Again. To put it lightly. So now I’m trying to find an antidepressant that works for me. I’ve been medicated for three weeks now. Lower anxiety, not many mood swings, but still anhedonia, and the aftertaste of existential dread which will forever haunt me. I’m completely overhauling my bedroom, because it was messy anyway and has basically looked the same since forever which can’t be good for my mental health. So there’s going to be new bedsheets (chocolate), new curtains to kill sunlight because while I enjoy it outdoors it makes the room feel exposed since the window is groundlevel and faces the street, a whole ass recliner thrifted for only 20 bucks(!) to go in a brand new study corner along with a nice aggressively patterned brown rug, and finally the grody offwhite walls will be repainted a warm inviting brown that was named “spiced cinnamon.” No matter what happens, I look forward to spending the winter in the study, invoking a cozy comfort the Danes call “hygge,” and hopefully building my gallery or participating in my interests, including fandom, in another way. And, once my budget allows it, getting some fucking therapy, what the fuck.