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army-author · 4 years ago

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things you said in no man’s land | jhs

❝ in the middle of no man’s land, following a brutal battle, you come across the prince of the enemy nation. he’s wounded and weak. you could simply kill him. yet an unspoken feeling stops you from doing so... ❞

➝ pairing: prince hoseok x princess reader

➝ prompt: enemies to lovers

➝ genre: angst; fantasy au

➝ word count: 1.5k

➝ warnings: mentions of war and death; depictions of injury

The fighting is pointless.

In no man’s land, surrounded by a sea of dead bodies on either side, both your men and the men of your enemy, you can clearly see the folly of endless warring. The smell of mud and blood cloys the air, clinging to your nostrils.

Looking around, the horizon is empty, apart from the shapes of dead horses and dead riders. The stragglers of your army have retreated. The opposing side has done the same, returning to the safety of camp, where new strategies will be devised, new recruits will be deployed, and new morales will be invigorated for another grisly battle. The idea makes you nauseous. Your body is exhausted, magic drained from your veins after blasting spells at the opposite side, cruel sparks crackling from your fingers. When you started learning magic, you had wanted to use it to heal and strengthen. Now you use it for the opposite, your inherent gift weaponised for war.

As the princess of the White Dragons, you were destined to the lead the war when the fraught peace with the Black Lions ended in a flurry of bloody border disputes. You had been trained to fight from a young age, both with the sword and with your magic.

The thought makes you ill. You spit on the mud, where the trickles of water from the last rain shower run red. You know that you should not be standing in no man’s land. Even with the battle over for now, if anyone from the Black Lions were to see you, all it would take is a well aimed crossbow bolt to the head and you’d be gone. Let them, you think. You don’t want to fight any more.

You walk through the mud, searching in the hopes that you’ll spot a survivor you can help back to camp. But the bodies before you are all corpses now.

Then, you spot a shape heaving before you. Someone managed to live after all. But this body is on the wrong side of no man’s land. A Black Lions’ survivor, dragging himself through the dirt. As he gets to shaking feet, you freeze. His dark hair is buffeted off his face by a weak breeze, revealing his features, stained with dried blood, but still recognisable. Jung Hoseok, the Black Lion’s crown prince.

Standing before you is the heir of your enemy, weak and wounded. All it would take is you drawing your sword, and in one swift motion, you could end his life. With their prince defeated, the Black Lions would retreat, giving temporary peace. But for how long? A few months? Then what?

Hoseok turns to you, and recognition flashes in his troubled eyes. Blood trickles down his face from a wide gash on his forehead.

“Well, princess,” he says in a weak voice, raising his hands to you, “It would seem that the gods are on your side today. Here I am, weaponless before you. Kill me if you wish.”

You swallow, drawing your sword from its sheath. He sways in front of you as you walk towards him. You raise your blade. With one clean cut you could chop through his vital arteries, and watch the life drain from him.

- ✽ ✽ ✽ -

Many years before new war, the Black Lions had met at the White Dragons’ palace for peace negotiations. The peace had not lasted long, but those fleeting years are your most fond childhood memories.

When the Black Lions had arrived at the palace, you remember spotting Hoseok for the first time. He had been hiding behind his father. He was only a young child at the time, around the same age as you. Being young and naive, you had not understood the conflict between your families. All you saw him as was a new playmate. So you ran up to him, and stuck out your hand in greeting, before proceeding to ask him if he wanted to play hide and seek with you. He had been hesitant at first, but after his father gave him a nod, Hoseok had followed you, leaving the adults to negotiate over borders.

You had run through the palace, ducking in and out of the many rooms with Hoseok, giggling as you went. You were happy to have a new friend.

When your father had later corrected you, explaining that no heir of the Black Lions could be a friend of yours, you had worked yourself into a flurry of tears, hiding yourself in your room for days. You didn’t understand why the kind boy couldn’t be your friend.

- ✽ ✽ ✽ -

You drop your sword to the ground in front of Hoseok. “I can’t do it,” you tell him.

His eyes search yours, confused.

“I can’t kill someone so defenceless,” you say, “It doesn’t feel right.”

Hoseok grimaces, “You White Dragons, with your self-assured sense of honour...” A groan escapes his lips, as he grasps at his side. You see blood staining his fingers. “Even if you do not kill me now, I don’t believe I have much time left. If you go now, you’re simply leaving me to a worse fate.” At those words he sinks down to the mud with a hiss of pain. Blood is seeping into his cloak, bubbling up from under his chain mail.

Without realising what you are doing, you instinctively kneel down next to him, lifting up his chain mail and his undershirt to expose a gaping wound on his stomach. You hold up your hands to his wound, and begin to murmur the words of a healing incantation.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok’s voice is steeped in confusion.

You ignore him, concentrating on the wound before you, as you knit shattered ribs, correct the flow of blood, and lace skin together again. The incantation drains you of the last of your energy; the damage is almost too much for you to repair. You’re left gasping for air as you finish, leaving an ugly scar on Hoseok’s skin.

“Why?” his dark irises search your own.

“I...” You shake your head, unsure how to explain yourself, “I don't… want to fight any more… I know it’s naive to think in such a way, but I was reminiscing on when you and I were children, and we played hide and seek in the palace. I struggle to see the man that young boy grew into as an enemy… Even though I should.” A sudden sob shudders through you. “I’ve seen too many people die today. I can’t bear to see another.”

You close your eyes, feeling tears stinging your eyelids. You should not be showing this side of yourself to Hoseok of all people. He could simply pick up the sword you dropped, and end you in an instant. Still you keep your eyes shut, lips trembling on unspoken words.

You feel a warmth on your hand, and pry your wet eyes open to see Hoseok’s hand on yours. You glance up to him, seeing a strange expression contorting his face. “I understand,” he murmurs. His thumb rubs a soft circle on your palm.

You stare at him, and he stares back, as if surprised by his own actions.

“I wish we could stop the war,” you tell him, “I know its naive to hope for such things, but I cannot help this feeling.”

Hoseok nods, “At least I know there’s hope for your nation once you ascend to the throne. The White Dragons will have a kind and just ruler.”

“I know the same will be true of the Black Lions once you become king,” you reply softly.

Hoseok’s grip on your hand grows tighter. You get the sense that he wants to say more, but he keeps his mouth shut. His eyes search your own, his cheeks flushed. You feel a seed of hope root itself inside you. Maybe someday there will be peace between your nations, heralded by a new generation of royals.

Despite knowing that you should quell such feelings, a shiver runs through you when Hoseok offers you a sad smile. You refuse to name the emotion, instead pulling Hoseok to his feet, standing firm in the empty space between enemy camps.

As you part ways, you to the White Dragons, and he to the Black Lions, the stubborn emotion persists in your chest, heavy on your heart. You know it will only become more problematic over time. You try to ignore it, and leave it unnamed.

But it has a name. It’s name is love.

- ✽ ✽ ✽ -

One day, the warring nations will declare peace once more.

On that day, Hoseok will get down on one knee, and ask the kind princess who healed him on the battlefield for her hand in marriage. She’ll say yes.

- THE END -

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starryflix · 2 years ago

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A first try at something new

Hello people! I have decided to start a little silly blog about anything and whatever that pops on into my brain. This first post is a transcription of something I wrote on paper a few days ago. I am not sure when and how I will post these but I am working on a system. This is both to practice my writing, maybe something therapeutic but also to track some of the progress I made across time. Including a fantasy novel I am working on. I am not sure why I never thought about tracking my progress on this before but here we are now :)

The 16th of November, 2022

Y’know there are quite a few funny things about my life. Being 20 and having experienced a lot more than some people ever will in their entire life is sometimes a little odd to realise. My entire life I have been called mature, grown-up; I vaguely even remember being called extremely wise at the age of 9, arguably when most of the stuff started and accelerated. Besides all of the trauma, basically two decades of it, and the entire struggle of trying to find my own spot in this universe, finding peers with similar experiences or even friends has been a hell of a ride.

My book, my autobiography, could be about navigating the world a late diagnosed neurodivergent person, it could be about being lgbtq+, it could be about grief or mental illness… I just personally think that all of my separate experiences made me into who I am today. Both the good and the bad sides off it. Because while the negative things made my life a ridiculous amount harder, I also would not be the me I am today without those scars. While jarring at points in time, and sometimes the annoying itch or phantom pain won’t leave, without those I would likely not be able to do what I do, to help people the way I do… to just be myself the way I am today. But I think this is a rant for a different day.

As I am writing this it is Wednesday the 16th of November, 2022. I am listening to a lecture Sociolinguistics about sex and gender. While it is 16.37 and nearly dark out I am sitting in between two of my newest friends from my new study. Le (I am going to use their first letters as to keep their privacy) on the right, Lu and her twin sister on the left. K is absent due to a migraine and N is absent due to conflicting plans on her schedule. Now why name all this exactly? I also don't really know the answer myself. Perhaps because I finally feel that I am in the right place, perhaps I even dare say I am happy.

This happiness however is oddly hard to navigate.

Whoo-hoo! The sentimental idiot is writing and philosophically talking about happiness while they should technically focus on the lecture. Now what? One can keep asking questions but I think the answer might be more obvious than it seems; emotional at this very moment (to quote myself from two hours ago; "I am also emotionally unstable! Look I am drawing Sherlock fanart." (it was in response to Le talking about feeling sad and crying that day and I tried to cheer them up)) and some weird way of of inspiration finding it's way into my very brain. Lodging itself in between there until the thought is out.

So I guess that is what this is. A little diary entry, which I was never able to do before, about today and some of the thoughts that have been plaguing my mind the entire week. Because somehow feeling happy at this very moment, is more confusing than just simply accepting it like I did to the feelings that arose during all the hardest moments in my life.

I assume I am going to get back to this at some point in time. So until then. Maybe, I should just start blogging about these random thoughts.

Oh and as a last note to yourself: You've been listening an awful lot to Glass Animals and Fall Out Boy, somewhere you link all of this back to 2017. Maybe reflect on that at some later point in time :))

#thoughts #growing up #life blogging #I honestly don't even know what I want this to be #Felix' Blog (a collection tag)#maybe that will be needed in the future #who knows

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headoverheelsforramsey · 3 years ago

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Banana Bag

Book : Open Heart (set in book 3)

Pairing : Dr. Jackie Varma x Dr. Harper Emery

Summary : Chief residency is proving to be much harder than Jackie anticipated. Unable to open up to her friends, she finds solace in someone else.

Category : Angst

Warning : Excessive alcohol consumption and physical abuse

Rating : Teen (Just to be safe)

Word Count : 1152

Trope (s) : Hurt/comfort; pining; illness/injury

Prompt : #41 ~ "Let me see your scars..." from 101 Ways to Say I Love You prompt list.

A/N : Dearest Dom @utterlyinevitable sent me this request and I was so excited to write it down. Thank you so much for sending it my way, I hope you like it.

A/N 2 : PB has given us literally zero background on Jackie, and I hate them for it so I have taken certain liberties while writing this fic. So forgive me if it feels incorrect. Anyways, happy reading! ☺️💖

It had been a long week. Actually scratch that, it had been a long couple of weeks. The exhaustion of chief resident responsibilities was weighing down on Jackie's shoulders.

Happy to finally get a night off, Jackie made her way to Donahue's, sat down on a barstool and signaled Reggie for a tequila on the rocks. All she wanted to do was drink to her heart's content and crash back at her apartment.

One too many drinks, embarrassing karaoke and some awkward flirting later Jackie was finally ready to call it a day when a news playing silently from a small television at the bar caught her attention.

"Car crash at Cambridge Street and Court Street crossing takes terrible shape with atleast five deaths and many serious injuries."

Jackie looks up to the screen and snatches the remote from another customer to increase the volume.

"The first responders from Bloom Edenbrook Hospital are already at the scene…"

The rest of the news reporter's words fades away in her throbbing head. The very unwelcoming beep of her pager made her curse.

"911" it said, which meant it doesn't matter if you have been doing fifteen to twenty hour shifts, mountains of paperwork and sleeping in the on-call room for the last month you have to be at the hospital right now.

Jackie ran a hand through her face and hair, all she wanted was one, one peaceful evening without those idiotic interns breathing down her neck, but it was apparantly too much to ask.

With another beep from her pager, Jackie stood up and dragged her very drunk body out of Donahue's.

The hospital was in a mess. The patients hadn't arrived yet but the lack of direction and authority made the interns and her fellow residents erratic. She went into the trauma room picking up protective gear on the way.

"Alright, listen up everybody," she clapped her hands together, drawing everybody's attention.

"Jackie, are you drunk?" Meera asked, concerned.

"Big time," she said, rubbing exhaustion off her eyes. "Okay, so this is how we are gonna work : interns, divide yourselves into groups of three and work one patient together. Residents will be responsible for two such groups and overlook their working. Page the respective attendings whenever necessary. This is a crisis situation. We need to save as many lives as we can, so work fast but keep your heads cool," Jackie is interrupted by the familiau blaring sound of the ambulance. "Now move, move, move!" all doctors scurried towards the emergency exit. Jackie stops to catch her breath, her head spinning.

"Impressive work, Dr. Varma," Naveen comes to stand beside her.

"Thank you sir," Jackie manages to say.

"You can't treat patients in this condition."

"I am so sorry sir, I wasn't on-call today and I had just finished…"

"You don't need to explain yourself," Naveen smiled. "What you do in your personal time is none of our business. But these patients are our responsibility and I can't allow you to treat them."

"But I can't go home! I can't leave everyone in the middle of a crisis."

"Dr. Varma," Naveen placed his hand on her shoulder, "go get yourself a banana bag IV, get some rest and come back when you feel better. I promise, I'll personally try to take up your role."

Jackie nodded. She helped Naveen tie his surgical gown and looked over the chaotic ER one last time before making her way out.

Harper had just stopped a brain bleed and performed a cookie craniotomy on two trauma patients in the past hour. She was in desperate need of caffeine, and the coffee machine in the attendings' lounge was broken.

She walked into the residents lounge to find Jackie sitting under a dim light and cursing under her breath. Surprised and curious, Harper silently sneaked up behind Jackie and silently watched as she struggled to place the needle on her arm.

"Do you have a death wish?" she chuckled sitting down beside her.

"You startled me," Jackie hiccuped.

"Here, let me," Harper said, trying to take the needle from her.

"No!" Jackie said as if someone was trying to take away candy from a kid. "I can do this! I am a doctor, I am the chief resident, I can place my own IV."

"I know, you can, Dr. Varma, but sometimes it's good to ask for help," Harper smiled.

This time Jackie didn't protest and Harper successfully obtained the IV needle. She looked at Jackie's arm and noticed a dozen scar marks across her arm. Harper looked at Jackie confused. Jackie lets out a sigh turning away from her, "see, I told you I can do it…"

"No, let me see your scars… please?"

Jackie turned around again, putting her arm out for Harper.

"Growing up in an Indian family wasn't easy," she sighed. "You get anything less than A and you get these as gifts," she pointed to the scars. "Then there was this stupid, stupid boy, in college, with whom I was supposedly in love with," she rolled her eyes, "I forgot to love my body after the break up and gifted myself a few more of these."

"Then one day, I had to be brought into the ER, because apparently the blade went in too far. They called in social service and encouraged me to go into therapy, that's when I made up my mind to go into medicine."

"Oh, Jackie," Harper gave her an empathetic look. "Fuck did I overshare?" Jackie said nervously.

"Don't worry it's just me here," Harper said, putting on the last bandaid. "And I don't think you'll remember this tomorrow."

"Can I share something else then?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"I can't do this! This chief residency is killing me, I can't say it out loud, I really want this position, but also it's so damn tough!" Jackie said, hiding her head in her arms.

"Listen to me, you can do this, I believe in you," Harper said, taking her hand in hers. "Look at how far you have come. College Jackie is so fucking proud of you and so am I."

Jackie looks up to her eyes and leans into her touch.

"Strong women like us always find a way. So hang in there tight, and don't forget to ask for help when you need it," Harper's gaze shifts to her lips, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting.

Jackie leans in hoping to meet her halfway when the same annoying beeping of a pager makes both of them spring apart.

"Ohh, that's me," Harper said, "looks like someone's brain needs fixing again," she laughs nervously. "I'll see you around, Dr. Varma?"

Jackie nods. Harper crosses the room and was about to walk out of it when, "Dr. Emery," Jackie called, "thank you."

Harper turned, "my pleasure," she replied with a grin and closed the door behind her.

Thank you so much if you have read till here, it means the world to me. Catch you on the next one, till then sending love and hugs your way! ❤️

A/N : Okay okay okay hear me out, even I don't like imaging our badass Jackie crying over and harming herself for a boy. But I like to feel like there was a soft Jackie before this one which was unfortunately traumatized by an evil spawn of a man. Again I am open to criticism but with very little to work with (courtesy PB) I took certain liberties, sorry.

A/N 2 : Just wanted to say that I received a lot of requests from the prompt list and I am so grateful for that. I'll try to post one prompt each week but real life is a bitch and will obviously give me all sorts of problems hence delaying the process so please bear with me. 🥺 That being said if y'all still want to send in requests feel free to do so, but do check out this post to avoid repetion, thank you. 💜

Taglist : @starrystarrytrouble @mm2305 @charisworld @choicesfanaf @potionsprefect @genevievemd @shanzay44 @little-flowers-on-heaven @schnitzelbutterfingers @coffeeheartaddict @gryffindordaughterofathena @chemist-ana @adiehardfan-deactivated20211021 @custaroonie @ireneadlerisseggsy @takemyopenheart @natureblooms24 @mainstreetreader @lawyerlies @a-crepusculo @quixoticdreamer16 @starryeyedrookie @barbean @thebluestonedpendant @kit-rookie-princess @wanderingamongthewildflowers

+ @choicesficwriterscreations & @openheartfanfics

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. 💜

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eurekq · 4 years ago

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>be me >today i will make a height chart for my da protags and their love interests >okay maybe ill make it an outfit and color reference too >well i dont want it to be too boring to look at >draw this

so here we are with all my sweet little ladies and their lis :]!!! from left to right: cassie cousland, marian hawke and anders, aoife lavellan and cullen, rhiannon tabris and alistair, cecelia hawke and fenris, melly cadash and sera

LOTS of extra stuff under the cut!!!

lovely da protag templates are from marian churchland!

dear sweet cassie, partaker in the forbidden non-romantic alistair marriage that the game never knows how to acknowledge. very much the definition of gaslight gatekeep girlboss. and by that i mean a genuinely bad person in the sense that she tends to toy with peoples feelings. had an extremely public affair with anders during the events of awakening. It takes a good 5 years for her and alistairs marriage to be anything even approaching functional. extremely savvy, ambitious, and charismatic; a great politician and an extremely effective ruler. morrigan is her closest friend in the world (yes i know i never had her in my party. thats because im bad at video games and needed a healer.) and they’re like sisters.

my default hawke. 6′2, buff as shit, slept her way through half of her friends before finally settling with anders. she’s a blood mage and her first use of blood magic was during a particularly nasty fight where she got speared through the stomach. she carves herself up for mana; anders puts her back together. does things in anger and impulse and then regrets them (see: giving isabela to the arishok, never reconciling with carver after leandras death). mean if you dont know her, intensely protective if you do, but takes betrayal extremely poorly. constantly taking action, even if it doesn’t turn out very well; she is physically incapable of being a bystander. her and anders are my fave da couple ever... ask me about my post da2 hcs <3 theyre happy and have a daughter named bethany :] she punched cullen in the mouth at the end of da2 so hard that it left that scar.

literally is there anything like your first dai playthrough being an elf. aoife is... remarkably well realized in my brain for a character who’s life began as my friend chanting “goth elf! goth elf! goth elf!” over my shoulder while i was in character creator. very affable and friendly, but extremely politically adept with a capability for subterfuge that even she isn’t fully comfortable with. huge history buff. solas was like a big brother to her and her faith was extremely important to her so trespasser was crushing. very curious, especially about magic; definitely learned some blood magic from hawke after hearing dorian and solas talk about it. dorian is her closest platonic friend, but cullen is her rock. as in he is literally so normal compared to everything else that happens to her and she loves him for it. also her and hawke are friends and a scenario that lives rent free in my mind is them hanging out while anders and cullen attempt to kill each other in increasingly looney toons-esque ways in the background. she turned out remarkably pretty for an inquisitor... look at her

....and that’s it for my canon timeline. onto the secondary timeline!

DEAR SWEET RHIANNON. 4′8 powerhouse with a sword longer than she is tall. i first played rhiannon with a friend who was very new to rpgs and she picked all of the mean dialogue options because she thought they were funny, which led to me discovering that alistair reacts oddly and kind of hilariously well to being made fun of by a female warden pre-duncan dying. rhiannon is fun in that she literally gives no shits about conflict avoidance; if you start something with her, she’ll see it through. disliked alistair on principle and poked fun at him when they first met, but after the events at ostagar bonded to him extremely strongly. very close to him pretty much at the exclusion of all her other companions. extremely strong willed, laughs loud and smiles wide, no real concept of subterfuge except for when she’s hiding her own pain, generally goes in the path of least resistance if it gets to her goal faster. #1 arl eamon hater. she looks pretty different when i draw her compared to how she looked ingame but this screenshot of her doing the like. dead deer tinder profile pic pose is extremely powerful

cecelia is the truest tragic hawke that i’ve played (rip cecelia. you had the misfortune to exist in the warden alistair timeline). lost carver, lost bethany in the deep roads, lost her mother, believes that fenris has left her. act 2; a real rough ride for cecelia. aside from all the tragedy, she’s tough as nails, direct, and extremely blunt. very cautious in combat, even more so since she lost both carver and bethany. plans upon plans upon plans and prefers to strike unseen and unheard from the shadows. DEEPLY in love with fenris, best friends with isabela and merrill. aware of anders affection for her and keeps some distance for both their sakes; after the chantry explosion she helps him fake his own death on the condition that she never sees him again. when terrible things are not constantly happening she has a very dry wit, part of the reason her and fenris get along so well. too many bad things happen to her for someone with such nice thighs and such a stylish cape. her save file had some weird bugs with companion like.... staring???? in weird directions???

the absolute energy here. she also turned out very pretty in inquisition.

melly is easily my most powerful da oc. not in terms of in-universe power (although sword and board reaver is like. unkillable.) but in the sense that she is a catholic (read: andrastian) mid-40′s widowed mobster milf. she’s very close to cassandra and vivienne and consults them for advice before she goes to her actual advisors. even she was surprised by her relationship with sera; she finds sera’s unique sense of humor very charming and really likes pulling silly pranks with her as a reprieve from her everyday life. when she’s not with sera, she tends to be very pragmatic and logical when making decisions for the inquisition and has a very defined sense of purpose. she takes her role as both as the inquisitor and the herald of andraste very seriously. she’s very warm and soothing to be around during off hours and random inquisition members will often drift towards her for life advice. first draft of her and sera in this drawing had sera wearing this

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engie-ivy · 4 years ago

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I wrote this fic for the Wolfstar Comfort Mini-Fest, organized by @swottypotter, because I thought it was such a lovely idea😊

(also on AO3 as part of a series of one-shot crush confessions)

19/09: an anniversary

Summary:

Getting older can be a fearful experience, but when you're a werewolf, it's just a tad worse. There's only so many excruciating transformations one's body can undergo before it can take no more. For Remus, the idea of celebrating the day of being another year closer to that inevitable moment is inconceivable. However, his friends teach him that instead of simply having lived another year, his life contains many other anniversaries he could be celebrating: having been part of a close group of friends for another year, having had company during the full moon for another year, and... having a certain friend be in love with him for another year?

Moments in time

Remus Lupin does not celebrate his birthday. Doesn’t like it. Really doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s not a case of modesty, like ‘he just doesn’t want to be the center of attention’, or even a case of bad experiences, like ‘if we can just show him how fun it can be’. No, he has made it clear to the other three Marauders that it’s no use even trying. If they throw him a birthday party, he won’t attend. If they buy him birthday gifts, he won’t accept.

It’s not that he hates birthdays as a principle. No, he’d loved it when they snuck into the kitchens and stuffed themselves with sweets for Peter’s birthday, he’d loved it when they stayed up all night and drank Butterbeer and even a bottle of Firewhiskey that they managed to smuggle in for James’s birthday, and he loved it when they had a sleep-over in the Shrieking Shack for Sirius’s birthday. It’s really his own birthday that he doesn’t like.

You see, Remus Lupin is a werewolf, and while he’s now more comfortable with that fact than he’s ever been, with being able to attend school, having people in his life that love and accept him even with knowing the truth, and having friends who became Animagii so he doesn’t have to be alone during the full moon anymore, there are just some things that come with his condition that cannot be changed. The illness on the days preceding and following the full moon, the excruciating pain that the transformations bring, and, probably worst of all, the fact that werewolves age prematurely.

Werewolves do not have a high life expectancy. There’s only so much strain one’s body can endure before it can’t take no more. Remus often reads in textbooks that werewolves don’t get old, but that’s wrong phrasing: werewolves do get old, they just get old really fast. While his friends will still be vital and brimming with energy, Remus’s bones will become fragile and his muscles stiff with constant aching due to the tearing apart and snapping back together necessary for the monthly transformations, his recovery after each full moon will become slower until he’ll never fully recover anymore, he’ll start having trouble walking and eventually moving altogether, his hair will become grey and his skin will become worn and littered with scars, making him look old beyond his years.

It’s bad enough that each year there’s a day to remind him that he’s another year closer to that inescapable faith, so why in Merlin’s name would he want to actually celebrate that day?

Remus never fully explained, so he’s not sure to what extent the other Marauders really understand what getting older means to him, but they can tell that it holds a lot of pain for Remus, and that it’s not something they can fix for him, so they respect his wishes. On the day itself they try their hardest not to give a single indication they’re aware it’s Remus’s birthday. The only way Remus can tell that they do know, is by how they go out of their way to make sure no one else dares to mention his birthday in his vicinity. This may seem weird or even mean to outsiders, but to Remus, it’s the best possible thing they could do.

That’s part of the reason why Remus is utterly confused when he enters their dorm on September 4th and finds Sirius, James and Peter sitting on pillows on the floor surrounded by drinks and candy, and a pile of gifts in their midst.

“Surprise!” They yell in unison the moment Remus opens the door.

Another reason for Remus’s confusion is that it’s nowhere near his birthday.

“What’s this?” He asks carefully.

Sirius presses a card in his hand. The front of the card shows a doodle of four boys sitting at the Gryffindor table. A small boy with peaky hair, a boy whose hair is pointing in all directions, a dark-haired boy with a goofy grin, and a curly-haired boy with large eyes, all wearing red-and-gold colours.

The doodle is clearly drawn by Sirius. Sirius is actually a very talented artist and his drawings are great, though he only ever shows his doodles to his friends. Remus loves the cute and funny doodles, but he wishes Sirius would also show them his more serious drawings sometimes. Remus has only ever caught a glimpse of his work on moments Sirius didn’t notice Remus’s presence in time while drawing, but what he saw was amazing.

Remus opens the card and reads the message on inside.

Hi Moony!

Happy 6-year anniversary of the day we officially became friends with you!

We love you!

Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs

Remus looks up from the card to see Sirius staring at him with the same goofy grin as the doodled boy on the card, but there’s also an unfamiliar expression in his eyes, and he’s toying with a strand of his hair.

Remus realises that he’s nervous. Afraid that Remus will see it as a trick to give him a kind-of-birthday party anyway, and become upset. And of course it is an attempt to make up for lost birthday celebrations, Remus knows that, but it’s a good attempt. It’s not just celebrating a certain amount of years from his life have gone by, it’s celebrating the years they’ve been friends. Making actual friends who love him and who he loves, and keeping them for all that time, that’s something Remus did with his life, something he accomplished, something no one can ever take away from him. It somehow makes the eventual length of his life matter less. It’s celebrating the quality, not the quantity.

A smile spreads across Remus’s face, and he can immediately see the relief on his friends’ faces. “I love it,” he says.

And honestly, how could he not love something that results in Sirius throwing his arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek?

Remus tries to ignore the fluttering of his heart. They’re celebrating five years of friendship, for Godric’s sake. Being friends with someone as loving, bright and cheerful as Sirius is already more than he could have ever asked for. Wanting more, even dreaming of more, would be pushing his luck. See? His brain knows all this, but apparently his heart hasn’t gotten the message.

James gets him out of his frenzy by taking a gift from the pile. “Alright! Lets see who the first gift is for!”

“You got gifts for everyone?” Remus asks curiously.

“Why, of course, Moony!” James exclaims. “Managing to keep one of the greatest persons ever as our friend is really a gift-worthy accomplishment for us! Really something we should be celebrating and congratulating each other on.”

Sirius nudges Remus playfully. “You can see your presents as a reward for having put up with us for so long.”

Remus chuckles. He definitely doesn’t need a reward for one of the greatest things that has ever happened to him, but he’s not gonna say no to the tea, mug and book that lie before him with his name written on them either.

The next surprise comes halfway through October, during their second trip to Hogsmeade of that year. Remus is sitting at the Three Broomsticks with Peter, waiting for James and Sirius to come back with their Butterbeers.

However, suddenly Sirius places a large mug filled with decadent chocolate milk in front of Remus, complete with whipped cream and a chocolate biscuit on top and sprinkled with chocolate chips. At the same time James presses another card in his hands. Remus immediately laughs at the doodle of him in front of Honeydukes, holding a large stack of chocolate in his arms. Wondering what his friends came up with this time, he opens the card.

Moons,

Happy 4-year anniversary of your very first trip to Hogsmeade with us! (Ah, the day Moony discovered Honeydukes...)

Many trips (legal and less-legal) have followed and will follow since!

Lots of love,

Wormy, Pads, and Prongsie

Remus actually wasn’t able to join them on the first weekend they had been allowed to go, as it had been a full moon the night before. Only the next weekend a Hogsmeade trip was planned, they were able to go with the four of them, today apparently four years ago.

The following hour Remus spends reminiscing all his trips to Hogsmeade with his friends. The one when James and Sirius had hidden in the Shrieking Shack and fired hexes at passers-by to convince everyone the Shack is cursed, the one when James tried to secretly follow Lily around to find out what to buy for her birthday and she ended up throwing Butterbeer in his face, the one when Remus was acting cranky because his favourite chocolate was sold out, only to find out Sirius had secretly bought the last bars for him as a surprise, or the one when James actually managed to get a date with Lily, and Peter had asked Mary McDonald, so Remus and Sirius went together (and Remus had to actively tell himself that it was not a date for the entire day, though he doesn’t discuss that last bit with his friends).

Before they leave, the other three Marauders want Remus to pick out all the chocolate he loves most from Honeydukes as his anniversary gift, but Remus refuses, not wanting to be selfish by letting his friends buy him his treats. Back in their dorm, however, it isn’t long before a bag filled with Honeydukes’ finest just mysteriously appears on Remus’s bed.

It isn’t until January, right at the start of the new year, Remus is surprised one again. He steps into the kitchens, where the others had told him to come to prepare for a prank, and finds his friends sitting at a table around a huge chocolate cake.

“Moony!” Peter calls out, while James and Sirius shoot confetti from their wands.

“What’s this?” Remus asks, grinning while he’s shaking the confetti out of his hair. This time he’s more excited than nervous.

Peter hands him the card. Remus chuckles as he sees the little deer with a rat hanging from his antlers, closely followed by a wolf and a dog walking side-by-side, doodled on the front. He opens the card, fully prepared for another odd anniversary his friends managed to come up with, but not prepared in the least for the wave of emotion that washes over him.

Dear Moony,

Happy 2-year anniversary of the day from which you’ll never again have to spend another full moon on your own!

Love, your animalistic friends,

Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

Remus reads the card a couple more times, until his eyes start tearing up and his vision becomes blurry.

The short message is not only a reminder of what his friends have done for him, how they’ve gone and made an aspect of Remus’s life immeasurably better, an aspect Remus had always believed to never get any better.

And then the words ‘never again’, meaning that his friends will continue to help him once they’ve left school, meaning that it doesn’t end when school does, meaning that his friends will always be there for him.

Remus doesn’t even realise he’s crying until two arms wrap around him and Sirius pulls him into a tight hug. His head resting on Sirius’s chest and Sirius soothing him: exactly how he’s been waking up after the full moon for the last two years, and how he’ll be waking up after the full moon for the years to come.

At the end of March, it’s promising to become the first soft spring day after the winter, though the nights still have a chill in the air.

The Marauders are sitting on a blanket in the grass, wrapped in sweaters watching the sun slowly rise over the lake. They’d snuck out in the middle of the night through one of their secret passageways, and spent the rest of the night drinking, talking, star gazing, and now watching the sunrise.

“Cheers!” They cluck their mugs filled with hot mead together in the golden light of the rising sun. “To beautiful spring days and good times!”

“And to Moony,” Sirius adds. “On this special day.”

Remus laughs. “I should have known!” Though he feels this night has already been special enough.

Though he immediately starts reading the card, with a pretty doodle of the castle on the front.

To Messr. Moony,

Happy 2-year anniversary of the day you discovered the last secret passageway and finished the Marauders’ Map!

We solemnly swear to always remain up to no good!

There’s always more mischief to manage,

Yours sincerely,

The Messrs. Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

Remus fondly shakes his head. The season is changing, life at Hogwarts is slowly coming to an end, but the Marauders’ days of mischief making are not ending just yet.

On the 17th of May, Remus is sitting at a table in the common room, surrounded by books, parchment, quills and ink. He’s waiting on Lily. He has a Potions essay due, and horrible in potions as Remus is, he really needs a good grade. Luckily, Lily has agreed to help him, as she’s the absolute best in Potions. Lily is not great because professor Slughorn adores her, professor Slughorn adores her because she’s great.

Remus sees Lily step through the portrait hall carrying a large pile of books, and immediately jumps to his feet to help her carry the load.

However, when they return to Remus’s spot, a beautifully wrapped gift is placed on top of his parchment.

“They came up with another date?” Remus mumbles, slightly embarrassed, but Lily just looks excited. Word has gotten around that the Marauders have been throwing Remus all kinds of parties for all kinds of reasons and everyone just loves it.

“Open it, open it!” Lily claps her hands and Remus tears the wrapping paper off.

Lily sucks in her breath. “Oh!”

Remus himself is unable to form any words as he’s holding up a frame. All he can do is stare wide-eyed at the framed drawing in his hands.

It’s definitely Sirius’s work. Not a doodle this time, but a completely finished, serious artwork. Remus recognizes himself in the drawing, curled up in an armchair, one hand holding a book, and the other holding a mug with steam circling upwards. The scene is seemingly illuminated by soft sunlight falling through a window on Remus’s left, giving his eyes and hair a slightly golden glow. The drawing is somehow comforting, in his ability to capture such a calm, serene moment. Though Remus thinks the boy in the drawing must look much more beautiful than he ever has, he has no problem recognizing himself, as the composure, radiance and expression are so typically his, that it makes him feel strangely vulnerable that someone has looked at him and seen him, really seen him.

“It’s beautiful,” Lily whispers.

The only thing written on the drawing is a date scribbled in the bottom right corner: 17/05/1977. Exactly one year earlier. Remus’s heart is thumping as he picks up and reads the small note that came with the gift.

Dearest Moony,

Happy 1-year anniversary of the day I fell in love with you.

Yours, now and always,

Padfoot

Remus can hardly breath. The more he reads the words, the more his brain stops functioning. He looks at Lily, who has been reading over his shoulder, with a pleading look.

“Lily, what do I do?” He asks desperately.

“Well,” Lily says uncertain. “I’m sure if you tell him you care for him, but see him as just a friend, he’ll-”

“Why in Merlin’s name would I want to say that?” Remus stares at her like she has grown two heads. “Why would I want to turn him down?”

“You looked so panicked!” Lily defends herself. “Why in Merlin’s name are you even asking my advice if you feel the same way? Just go find that boy and bloody snog the living daylights out of him! Merlin, Remus, it’s not Advanced Potions!”

Finding Sirius and snogging him sounds scary, risky, dangerous, and absolutely wonderful, so Remus decides to embrace his Gryffindor courage and go for it.

He barely nods at Lily before dashing away. He bumps into Peter while rushing through the common room.

“Oi, Moony! I just wanted to ask you, are you-”

“Sorry, Wormtail, gotta run! I have to go and snog Padfoot!”

He hears Peter’s voice echo through the room as he climbs through the portrait hole. “Yeeeeesssss!”

In the corridor, he passes James.

“Moony…”

“Sorry, Prongs, no time!”

“He’s up in the Owlery!” James calls after him. “I thought you might like to know you’re going the wrong way.”

Remus immediately turns around and runs in the other direction. He hears James mumble when he passes him again.

“About bloody time.”

Remus’s courage wavers a bit as he steps into the Owlery. Sirius is standing with his hands resting on the ledge, and he’s looking out over the Hogwarts grounds. His pale skin, his grey eyes reflecting the sky, his long hair with strands blowing in his face. Surely there has to be some sort of misunderstanding. Surely a boy this beautiful can’t possibly have feelings for someone like Remus.

But then Sirius turns around to look at him, and Remus can clearly see the love and affection, mingled with fear and uncertainty, in his eyes.

“The twenty-third of September,” Remus blurts out.

Sirius looks at him questioningly.

“That’s my date,” Remus clarifies.

There’s hope in those eyes now. “As in the date of your one-year anniversary of having feelings… for me?” Sirius asks tentatively.

Remus shakes his head, and Sirius drops his gaze, looking embarrassed. “Two years,” Remus quickly clarifies.

Sirius looks up at him again, his eyes now the way Remus likes them best: sparkling.

“Really, Moony?” There’s unconcealed happiness and relief in his voice. “Two whole years and you never said anything?”

Remus huffs. “It’s not an easy thing to say! You know that, took you a year as well.”

“That’s still twice as fast,” Sirius teases.

Remus sighs in defeat. “You’re right. And there’s no way I can give you something so special and amazing as you’ve given me today.”

“You can forget about your date anyway,” Sirius says.

Remus raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

Sirius reaches out his hand towards Remus. “I was rather hoping we could share this date? As the date we officially became a couple?”

Remus hearts stops for a moment, but then he knows just what to do.

He takes the hand Sirius is offering, and in a moment of bravery pulls him close, so that they’re standing chest to chest.

Remus tugs a strand of hair falling over Sirius’s face behind his ear. “I would love to.”

#10daysofhealing #wolfstarcomfortminifest #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #my tumblr writing

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years ago

Text

For day 5 of Xichengclipse I offer you:

From The Same Mould

Fate had always been a cruel mistress to Jiang Cheng, but despite the obstacles he's faced, he is content with life, surrounded by a loving family.

Jin Ling visits from Lanling often, and Lan Xichen hates to get in the middle of their usual arguments, when they inevitably rub each other up the wrong way. This time he feels obliged to offer his advice, however.

A short take on another 'what if' Jiang Cheng had to learn to live without a golden core universe.

Jiang Cheng had loved picking up his beautifully-wrought bow as a child. His mother had had the bow specially designed, so he could draw it younger than most with his smaller, childish muscles. He had been an excellent shot, praised by the other disciples, and patted on the head by his sister, and told he was such a good archer.

When Wei Wuxian had arrived everything seemed to change.

His father, always so reticent in Jiang Cheng’s hearing, suddenly became effuse with praise, the young Wei Wuxian, his new shixiong, was the most wonderful shot, was such an accomplished swordsman, could do everything bigger, better, faster than Jiang Cheng, who seemed to run along in his shadow, struggling to be seen, to be heard, to just keep up.

He had run to his mother once, when he was ten, to show her the kite he had hit with his arrows, desperate for even a little congratulation to himself. On reflection as an adult, he realised he might have caught her at the wrong moment, as she had been marching away from his father’s rooms, perhaps they had argued bitterly again; Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Fengmian’s clear preference for him was always such a bone of contention between them, but she had stared at him, demanded to know how many arrows he’d loosed, then scolded him for missing with one.

He had been a child, armed with a vicious temper, inherited from her, and he had gone back to his own rooms and smashed the frame of his bow into pieces, throwing it out of the window.

Of course he had been punished for it, and every time afterwards, that he had refused to lift a bow again.

The pain of the whippings had been so much less than the knowledge he would never be good enough to come under the notice of his own father, or to please his mother.

***

Fate was always a cruel mistress, however. And he had found himself forced by tragic circumstances to pick up a bow again many years later.

The tragedy had begun the day the Wens marched on Lotus Pier. Though Yu-furen had sent he and Wei Wuxian away, it had so happened he was captured days later in Yiling, and taken back into the custody of the Wens, where his cultivational ability was destroyed through the melting of his golden core.

Though he had prayed for death, fate was never a kind mistress to Jiang Cheng, and he had lived; to spite him, to make Wei Wuxian feel better, whatever the reason; Wei Wuxian had spirited him out of there, and escaped.

The Sunshot Campaign, as the uprising against the Wens had been come to be known, had been started in earnest shortly afterwards, and Jiang Cheng, golden core-less and weak, had been told to sit on the sidelines, like a child being told to let the adults work.

Like it hadn’t been his parents slaughtered at Lotus Pier, like it hadn’t been his core melted by Wen Chao’s pet, like it hadn’t been his chest scarred for life by the vindictive beating with a Jiang sect discipline whip, that those foul Wen hands hadn’t been fit to touch.

Jiang Cheng was a stubborn, vengeful man, and those instructions had been anathema to him. So, despite his distaste, he had picked up a bow again.

He may not have a golden core to support the use of qi energy, or to allow him to use spiritual weapons, but swordsmanship and archery were muscle memory, and he became an instantly recognisable sight on the Jianglian front, always fighting far away from his head disciple, Wei Wuxian, for fear of causing him to split his attention trying to protect Jiang Cheng, and putting him in danger.

He had been an excellent shot, if not quite as good as Wei Wuxian, and he had been deadly on the battlefield, and somehow kept the truth of his golden core secret to only a select few. They had questioned why he preferred the bow to the sword, but there had always been some easy excuse, no one looked closely if you presented them with a reasonable explanation.

It had been a long and bloody war, Jiang Cheng’s parents and his sect had only been the beginning of the bloodshed, and it had cost untold lives to finally bring the Wens down.

But in the end it had been accomplished, and they had slowly begun to rebuild the damage the Wens had caused, including to Lotus Pier.

***

Wei Wuxian had stayed by his side longer than he should have, considering the relationship that had developed between Lan Wangji and his former head disciple. He had been fearful at first that the new Yunmeng Jiang sect, rising from the ashes, would be an easy target for the clans jostling for power, if it had been discovered Jiang Cheng was no longer able to use his qi, and therefore he had stayed to be the muscle behind the power.

It had only been once Jiang Cheng had announced his own betrothal to a Lan that Wei Wuxian had finally listened to him.

Who would attack the Sandu Shengshou, sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang and the husband of Zewu-jun, after all?

Zewu-jun had sent him the most beautiful courting gifts, not least the bow with silver snakes curling their tails around the grip, and twisting up and down the limbs, that he had personally designed for Jiang Cheng.

There had been a time he would have rather cut off his own hands that lift a bow, but now, holding that specially wrought wood and silver in his hands had seemed perfectly right.

***

“Your grip is still too tight, A-Ling.” Lan Xichen looked up from the correspondence he was reading, ensconced in the shade of a tree.

He knew where this was heading, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at this stage. Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng were too similar in temperament for it to be possible to avoid the explosion that was about to follow.

“A-Cheng…” he tried anyway, but Jin Ling’s voice drowned his out.

“I’m still hitting the target on every shot,” his sharp jawline notched up, a sure sign he was prepared to argue and rile Jiang Cheng up over the issue.

“You’re standing in front of a stupid bit of hay in a field in the sunlight.” Jiang Cheng snapped, his own chin lifting and his nostrils flaring in annoyance.

It was like looking at a mirror arguing with itself, they looked so similar; in features, in the way they held themselves, and in temper. It made for some interesting battles when Jin Ling visited from Lanling. It wasn’t helped by the fact today was so warm, and they had both been in the sun for a good part of the afternoon, increasing irritability.

“I’ve shot on night hunts too, I’m a good shot.”

“You can be better, if you use your ears, and not just your mouth to give me grief all the time,”

“What, second best wasn’t good enough for you? So you’re going to yell at me because I’m not perfect like you wished you were?”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, rather like a fish. And then they really began to argue; they even attacked verbally in the same way, not caring what they said to hurt the other, until Jiang Cheng threw his arms up, and with a cry of: “This child,” he stomped off back towards Lotus Pier.

Jin Ling muttered under his breath, marching over to the target to pull the arrows from the bales, snatching them out so hard he snapped one in his temper.

So like his jiujiu it was rather amusing. And annoying.

Lan Xichen sighed, and rose, and Jin Ling seemed to startle at the realisation he was still there. He couldn’t meet Lan Xichen’s eyes, sure he was going to be told off again by the husband of his uncle.

But Lan Xichen had spent years ensuring he didn’t take sides in their verbal battles; he ensured the same when Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian argued too, as did Wangji.

He smiled, “Jin Ling, it would benefit you to listen to Wanyin when he gives you advice, I know he doesn’t always have the best way of teaching…”

Jin Ling didn’t hide his snort at that. He wouldn’t dare to speak ill of his uncle to Lan Xichen, however, even if he would dare to Jiang Cheng’s face.

“...but he is a very fine archer. He has fought on many battlefields and in many night hunts. And you are one of the few people who know how difficult achieving and maintaining that reputation has been for him. His first choice would never have been to pick up a bow ever again.”

Jin Ling had the good grace to look a little ashamed, but then he snapped his chin up again, “I won’t apologise, he’s always so hard on me.”

“He’s showing you he cares, Jin Ling, his manner isn’t the most well-suited or nurturing, but he’s hard on you because he loves you.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes, but said nothing more, and Lan Xichen nodded a goodbye to him before moving off to find his husband.

***

Jiang Cheng was, as expected, letting off steam in his private pavilion, when Lan Xichen arrived. He had stripped out of the heavier outer robes in acknowledgement of the oppressive heat, and swung viciously through Jiang sect sword forms.

Lan Xichen was generally loathe to approach the other in this mood, but Jin Ling raking over difficult memories worried him a little. Jiang Cheng had put most of the past behind him, and was content with his life, if not completely happy, due to how much he had lost, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still have the power to hurt him.

He paused briefly besides the other’s sword, Sandu, which had been placed with his bow carefully out of the way.

Sandu was the sword Jiang Cheng carried for show only, to maintain the image that the Sandu Shengshou was a sect leader like any other. As far as Lan Xichen knew, it had only been drawn to clean it in the twenty or so years since the razing of Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng used a generic sword for moving through his forms, and, upon noticing Lan Xichen, instead of trying to rile him in to sparring as he might normally, finished his movement, sheathed the sword, and stalked over.

Just pleased he hadn’t been goaded into fighting with him, Lan Xichen wasn’t quite expecting to suddenly have his arms full of de-raged husband.

He wrapped them tightly around Jiang Cheng, and held him.

“Little animal,” Jiang Cheng muttered into his shoulder, and Lan Xichen made a soothing sound.

Eventually though, he had to extend the same talking to as he had to Jin Ling.

“You could be a little less abrasive with him, all you end up achieving is stroking each other’s fur the wrong way.”

Jiang Cheng was silent for a while, then; “I know. Every time I do I always think of A-Niang, I know it’s not ideal…”

“But you’re both cut from the same mould as Yu-furen was.”

Jiang Cheng nodded against his chest.

“You should tell him you’re proud of him. He’ll be going home to Lanling soon, and he’d probably like to hear it. Even though he’d never admit it.” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng nodded again, pulling back a little to look into Lan Xichen’s eyes.

“I’ll try. A-Jie won’t have to send me such a strongly worded letter if I don’t send him back in a foul mood, like last time.” There was a touch of self-mockery around Jiang Cheng’s mouth, and Lan Xichen couldn’t resist the urge to taste the edge of it from the corner of his lips.

It was sweet with just a touch of bitterness, with the underlying taste of Wanyin.

He hmm’ed his appreciation, and went chasing another taste, which Jiang Cheng welcomed, but took control of with a hand in his hair, tangling with the loose strands and tails of his headband both. It sent a jolt through him, Jiang Cheng touching his headband never failed to thrill him, even now, so many years later, the material was such a part of who he was it was always as if the other had touched him, skin against skin.

Eventually, regretfully, Jiang Cheng pulled back, pausing only to meet gazes, his surprisingly unguarded and full of his complex feelings that he rarely ever gave voice to.

“You’re right, I should go and speak to Jin Ling now. This, we continue later, husband.” Jiang Cheng promised, and Lan Xichen nodded his agreement.

#xichengclipse2020 #lan xichen #jiang cheng #xicheng #the untamed fanfic #mo dao zu shi fanfic #mdzs fanfic #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jin ling #Shay's stuff #canon divergence #established relationship #uncle JC

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ruthoakenshield · 5 years ago

Text

Thorin’s Anniversary Gift

You wake to gentle kisses on your neck and the sound of little pitter pattering feet and the giggles of your twin three year old daughters entering your room.

You groan and keep your eyes closed pretending to be asleep. Thorin chuckles, and you hear him grunt in pain as your daughter most likely got him near the groin...again, as she climbed up onto your bed and started trying to wake the two of you up.

“Mamad, hungweeee!” she said as she bounced on the bed next to you. “Yeah, Mamad, Bweakfas!!!!!” your other daughter squealed as you both heard her tummy growl.

Thorin chuckled and told them to go in the sitting room and play. That breakfast will be served soon.

You felt the bed bounce as your daughters vaulted themselves to the floor and ran out of the room.

Thorin pulled the pillow off your face that you were hiding under and kissed your cheek. “You ok, Love?” he asked as he caressed your side. His expression on his face showing concern.

“Don’t feel well.” you mumbled. “Just need to sleep. Can Dis or your nephews watch the girls today so I can sleep?” you ask. He frowns and feels your forehead. It feels fine. He looks at your sleep tousled head and chuckles and peppers your back and shoulder with more kisses. “I will take the girls to get breakfast and then bring them to Dis’.” he tells you as you roll over to face him.

He grins when he sees your exposed breast and leans down to give it some attention. He caresses it with his tongue, drawing moans from you and you reach up and entwine your fingers in his dark mane that is streaked with more silver strands, giving it a gentle tug. He give you a low growl, sending shivers through your body when he starts sucking your nipple, creating a pull deep inside you. After a few minutes of this he sits up and caresses your face when he hears the girls squeal, “Auntie!!!!”

“Shall I have Oin come check on you later this morning?” he asks. You nod. “Okay, Love. I will stop by the Healing Halls and ask him to do so. I will come and check on you when my meetings are finished.” he tells you and kisses your cheek. Then he gets up and goes to get your daughters ready for breakfast and spending the day with their Auntie and Cousins.

You roll over, cover yourself back up and go back to sleep.

Later in the morning you wake to the sound of a gentle knocking on your bedroom door. “Who is it?” you ask sleepily.

“It is Oin, my Queen. Thorin said you were not feeling well and asked me to check on you.” he replied.

“Come in Oin.” you tell him as you roll onto your back and cover your chest.

He enters and walks over to your side of the enormous bed. He sets his bag on the foot end of the bed and comes over to feel your forehead. “What seems to be troubling you, My Lady? You have no fever.” he asks.

You tell him you have not been sleeping well, have been rather moody, and just feel exhausted. He hums for a moment. “Well I know you have said your monthly cycles are irregular, so we can’t use that to say for sure whether or not it may be a pregnancy. Since you have no fever, i doubt it is an illness. Let me check you just to make sure you are not pregnant and then we will go from there. Hmmm?” he suggests.

You sigh and nod. He gives you an examination and when he is finished he is smiling. “Well, my Queen, it looks like you are indeed expecting another little pebble to add to your brood! Congratulations!” he says happily.

You look at him in disbelief. “What? How can I be pregnant when it’s only been three years since the girls were born? You ask surprised.

Oin chuckles. “Though it is rare, it is not unheard of for a fertile dwarrowdam to become pregnant so soon after giving birth, my dear. You are just one of those dwarrowdams who seem to easily become pregnant, which I’m sure will make Thorin very happy as he has always wanted a sizeable brood of little ones.” he chuckles.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I will make sure you and the babe stay healthy.” he assures you. “Now just enjoy the day free of your little pebbles and get some rest. Thorin said he will come see you after his meetings finish this afternoon. I will send Bombur with lunch for you after a while.” he tells you as you snuggle back down into the warm comforter. “Oin, do not say anything to anyone about this. I want to surprise Thorin with it.” you tell him. “As my Queen wishes.” he says with a bow and a wink.

“Thank You Oin.” you tell him. He smiles and pats your shoulder. “Happy anniversary, my Queen!” he tells you with a grin, then he grabs his bag and takes his leave, closing the door behind him.

You fall back asleep and wake when Bombur knocks and brings you lunch. You eat and then go back to sleep.

Later that afternoon, Thorin enters the bedchamber and finds you on your side cuddling a body pillow. Your arms and legs wrapped around it. The silk sheets thrown off and your body exposed to him. He grins and begins to strip off his clothes quietly.

He comes over to his night stand and grabs the bottle of strawberry flavored lube out and squirts a little into his hand after he crawls up into the bed. He coats his hard member and then snuggles against your back, gently slipping himself into your warm entrance. You moan quietly but don’t wake. He realizes you are in a very deep sleep and he grins.

As he starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, he reaches around your chest to find your breast with the hand he had put the lube on. He begins to use the remaining lube to massage your breasts and you let out another groan of pleasure and roll over onto his chest, still asleep as he nuzzles your peppermint scented hair and kisses your neck.

He smirks and continues his ministrations. Nibbling your shoulder and neck, giving you gentle kisses and love nips, massaging your breasts, sucking on them and your now strawberry flavored nipples. He reaches down between your legs and gently rubs your pearl as he continues to slowly move in and out of you with his hard member, enjoying the feeling of you surrounding him with your warmth and wetness.

He is in no hurry to come, he just wants to enjoy this time alone with you, giving you pleasures and wake you with this intimacy and the love he has for you.

You gradually waken in his arms as you lean on his chest. Your husbands ministrations rousing you from deep slumber and you open your eyes and give him a sleepy grin. “Hello, my Ghivashel.” he whispers in your ear and then kisses your cheek. “Did Oin come to see you?” he asks quietly.

“Mmmhmm.” you mumble sleepily and moan as he plays with your clit.

He grins. “And what did Oin say. Why do you not feel well?” he asks in a low sensuous voice.

“He said i am fine and that I just needed some extra rest.” you mumble, struggling to form a coherent thoughts while Thorin worships your body with his ministrations.

“Then may I join you while you rest?” he asks as he reaches back up and caresses your lips with his fingers. You open your mouth and suck on his fingers, tasting yourself and the strawberry lube. “mmmmmmm” you moan and he thrusts become a little more demanding.

He grins and worships your back and sides of your body for a while longer. Tracing the battle scars on your back with his tongue and lips, and caressing your sides as well as your stretch marks on your hips and rear with his hands.

After a while, he pulls out and moves you onto your back. He lays down on top of you again and begins to worship the front half of you as he ever so slowly enters your warm cave.

He watches with delight as you moan and writhe under his ministrations and your eyes roll back in your head and you arch up to him as he ever so slowly enters and exits your cave repeatedly.

“Ooooohhh Thorinnnnn!” you moan out in extacy. He gives you a devilish grin and begins to pick up the pace as he nips at your chest and nipples. You groan again and he continues to worship your body.

He feels your body tightening and he feels the tightening in his groin. He wraps his arms around you tightly and his thrusts become more erratic and feverish. Finally he feels you orgasm and your muscles clamp down on him, pulling him over the edge and into his own orgasm and you both cry out each other’s names as you come hard, panting and gasping for air.

He collapses onto your chest and you both are panting and chests are heaving. Once he comes down from the post orgasmic high, he tells you “Happy Anniversary, my Love.” and he kisses your chest as he rests his head there over your heart.

You sigh contentedly, knowing your secret will please him.

“I have a present for you too, My Love.” you say happily. He looks up at your face and then looks around. “Where is it, Ghivashel?” he asks.

“You are laying on top of it.” you giggle. “Oin informed me this afternoon that i have not been feeling well because we are to have more pebbles in our brood.” you inform him grinning.

He pushes himself up for a moment, looking at you not comprehending what you told him. You laugh and he moves off of you to lay at your side with a confused look on his face.

You take his large, warm hand and place it on your lower belly and pat it. He looks down at it and you see the light bulb finally go on. He looks back up at you in disbelief, then you see it flit to amazement and joy. “More pebbles?” he asks wide-eyed. You grin and nod.

His huge sapphire eyes get glassy as he looks from your face to your belly and back to your face. He leans down and nuzzles your neck and holds you close. “Thank you, Ghivashel” he tells you as he peppers your face, neck and chest with more kisses. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift.” he tells you with glassy sapphire eyes that now sparkle with joy.

“Happy Anniversary, My King.” you tell him as he begins to make slow, passionate love to you for the rest of the evening in celebration of the news of having more dwarflings with you.

@fizzyxcustard @rachel1959 @quenofmankind @thorinthehottotty @dumbassunderthemountain @deepestfirefun

#thorin oakenshield #king thorin #anniversary #pebbles #more pebbles #intimacy #body worship #reader #queen under the mountain

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philomathhh9 · 4 years ago

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A Stroll Down Memory Lane

Philomath, I just took a stroll down memory lane. A very cliché thing to say, I know. It was a long stroll though; the sun set and dawned upon my path countless of times and I kept walking. Swept away in a journey of nostalgia and emotions of comfort, I soon was struck by a wave of anger and resentment.

All began when I chose to check my phone as I dressed to leave home to study for a big upcoming exam. A friend and colleague of mine had messaged me his location in Riyadh; his family recently moved there. We went back and forth and chatted about how our homes where a mere ten minute walk apart and that we could meet up once we visited our families in winter. It then hit me. “Home” was no longer that small cozy place in Saudi Arabia; the little apartment that I spent seventeen years of my life in. The place I had just called Home in front of my friend was nothing but a figment of my past - a dream I dreamt for just a little over a decade and a half. Home in the present is this place in Amman in which I currently take residence in with my sister, my lovely cat Leta, and my sweet departed cat-angel Valenta, who has been buried in our garden since May when illness rode her fate.

I am content with the present day. I really am. However, calling my parents’ place in Saudi Home swung me back to the moments, days, months, and years of my being that I spent in innocence. I ran the Maps application and I checked every part of what used to be my life. I saw the school I spent the whole of my childhood in. I saw the park and the malls I used to go to on weekends with my mother. I saw the restaurant that my father enjoyed dining in on Fridays and I even saw the school I spent my high school years in. I then paused. Memories of my high school senior year washed up from an ocean I thought I had left behind. I spent it the way I spent the entirety of my days till then: dreaming, reading, and exploring the wonders of what life is. Curious is what I was. Not the kind of curious that is forced and involves taking a risk and leave familiar surroundings because they feel threatening and unsafe, but the type of curious that sticks to you in innocence while thriving in your provided environment- you just wonder if the outside is just as splendid.

I wanted to become a lawyer at some point in high school and that brought me to read my personal statement that I had sent to universities in the UK for an undergraduate law degree. In front of me was a live example of what I used to be: a dreamer. Today, I believe that ignorance and innocence are synonymous from a certain perspective, despite being two very different words. The saying “Ignorance is bliss” is popular because of that very reason. Not knowing and staying in my naivete brought me happiness. Soon, the clock started to tick and the time came where being curious was not a thought to think of, but a thought to I had to execute. I had to figure out what was to become of me. My dreams of becoming a lawyer leaped away as the reality of its demanding financing settled. This marks strike one against young Philomath.

Now, I am in the path of becoming a doctor; something I had chosen and kept as a back up plan in case the launch of my time with law failed. I know I did not choose it for the prestige of it. The human body and the world within infatuated me just as much. To reiterate, I am content with who I am and what I am doing today. It just so happened that the start of my new life as a meds student yanked my innocence away from me as I cried for and held on to it for dear life. My parents’ conditioning brought me to block away all my triggers and flaws by daydreaming and spending my time with thoughts of idealism. Now that my little daydreaming session of seventeen years had been brought to a screeching halt, I was shocked with what I found down here. As I recalled this and what followed today, I felt nothing but a strange mix of anger, resentment, disembodiment, and disbelief of what I had been and put others through. My surroundings in my first year of medicine were not only less than ideal, but straight up parasitic and gnawed at my little body day by day. The gnawing manifested physically; I lost a good fifth to fourth of my weight as depression and maladjustment took over me. Now that my bubble of idealism was popped, I was subjected to the thorns I harbored all along and had no idea what to do with them other than project them on others, both good and horrible people alike. That marked strike two for young philomath.

Personal boundaries were alien things to me. Unfortunately, that me twinkle in the eyes of whom I know now to be a narcissistic sociopath. During the timeline in which him and I met, I was already dealing with confusion, maladjustment, and a dear friend that faced demons only I knew of. Today her and I do not really keep in touch anymore despite being mostly amicable. As far as I know, she is thriving and walking up her own path and struggle day by day and I am happy for her. Though, resentment still plagues the back of my head as she fell victim to projection of my own flaws and I sadly fell into hers. It was a lot of up, downs, lefts, and rights with her and at that time we brought horrible things out in each other. Apart from my doings, she had a phobia of abandonment and would do anything and everything to reassure herself and of course, due to my lack of boundaries, I enabled her. She was and is not a person of bad morale, but the anything and everything included a lot of jabs and stabs that mark where some scars in my soul still are today. That was strike three for you, young philomath.

Back to the twinkly yet empty eyes of the narcissist that ended up becoming my wicked boyfriend. Like a vulture, he spent his first few weeks and months with me circling me and analyzing just how vulnerable I was and how much I had on my plate. Again, I had no boundaries; that meant that whatever he wanted, he would draw out of me. And inspite of that, nothing was ever enough for him. Everyone dear in my life at that time, I gone to the extremes for. That is: everyone but my own self. So I kept enabling him to use me, control me, and display me as an accessory. Did I project my flaws on him too? Yes. The truth is I never was, am, and will never be perfect. The difference though, was that I eventually recognized where I fell wrong with my people and took it upon myself to halt it and improve myself. Him on the other hand, emotionally abused the soul out of me until it no longer yearned to be in my body and to this very day, he victimizes himself as the ex of a horrible liar slut that harassed him for affection and ended up cheating on him. Again, horrible move on my part for both parties involved, but I will never ever dismiss the things he would do to me. He would use my insecurities as leverage and hold my emotional needs hostage until I popped and fell into an irrational reactive state. And of course, he contorted it all to make me out as the guilty. The crazy bitch. Yes of course, the crazy bitch that gave him everything she could give to him. The same crazy bitch that he gaslit, put down, and rejected when she needed him the most. What people do not know today is that when I horribly sought other than his affection as I fell into another reactive state due to constant episodic emotional rejection, I already was contemplating leaving him. The cycles of abuse became unbearable, and although I do not excuse myself for it, they finally pushed me to do something that was awfully wrong on my ex’s and the involved person’s behalf. And I cheated. The cherry on top of the icing? I do not recall the timeline it happened and suppressed it due to personal trauma. I lived my life knowing and believing that everything that happened between me and said person was at a time where him and I were not an item. Until it was brought to light by the third party that I did what I did around two weeks before I left him, the time I knew as the moments I was building myself up the courage to leave him. And that was strike four.

Strike four marked the most ultimate of an ultimatum for me; it was either saving myself or continue down the path of self obliteration. Those two weeks before I left him were a turning point; for once I felt like I had to choose myself and my sanity before anyone else’s. I took back control of my life by ending it with him. Although initially it was amicable as we shared a group of friends, I ended up backing away more and more until I cut him off completely because he kept trying to get his sticky fingers on me and snatch me back onto his rollercoaster. Things with my friend were still going though, and with all that I already had endured she again did anything and everything to feel like I was not going to abandon her. I felt and feel for her, I really do. Just like emotional rejection and abuse pushed me to do a big mistake, her fears pushed her too. But reasons and context do not mean excuses. If I held myself accountable for everything I projected on her and him and everyone else in my life at that time, it would mean I had to hold her accountable too. And so, the journey of learning how to set boundaries and bettering myself began. She rejected it the whole time. To her, boundaries meant abandonment, and the more I set them, the more she’d do anything and everything to reassure herself I would not desert her. Until she did one last move, after which I could not bring myself to tolerate anything. At a weak point of hers, she spoke with my same ex that I had cut off to console her about my issues with me. She knew what kind of a person he is. In her vulnerable moments, he saw an opportunity to “avenge” the narcissistic injury I caused him by taking back my own control and pulled and withdrew information from her that he ended up using against me. With one big mistake, he contorted, molded, and spiced things until they tasted just right. To him, this was his big moment that he was waiting for: to end the bitch that dared dump him before he finished dumping her. One year after breaking up with him and not speaking with him at all, he used my friend’s poor judgement and vulnerability to attempt sabotaging me and my reputation. He circled me with other people and bullied me for my pronounced sexuality and supposed “manipulation and lies” and tried to convince other people to jump on an anti-me bandwagon. He even went as far as claiming that his reputation, which he ruined with his own hands, was in fact tarnished by me and the said fact that I was “psychotic” and never shut up about him and talked horrible of him to everyone I knew. All I did was confide in my so-called friends about the abuse I endured; ironically, no one turned against him the way he claimed and everyone that actually had a problem with him had nothing to do with the people I confided in. In this circle of nonsense that brought me severe trauma, barely anyone took him seriously. Reasonably so, picture viewing a couple split and move along with their own lives until one decides to dish and chase the other with some old dirt between them to convince people that the other was ruining their precious reputation. No sensible person would interfere with someone else’s problems with another. I ended up standing up for myself and further asserted my boundaries away from him by refuting responsibility for his broken reputation and stated that in fact it was his problem. I also mentioned that the circus of a show was unnecessary and that if he approached me like normal people do I would have been reacting very differently and took responsibility for my “dirt”. I ended things between him and I by pointing out the fact that it was pathetic to harass someone a year after they broke up him and it did nothing but prove his goal of claiming me as the “obsessed liar” the actual opposite. In the end, I was not the one to harass the other long after no contact with an old screw up.

I then retained my most powerful tool: boundaries. Although I understood why my friend spoke with him, I could not help but hold her accountable that her irresponsibility with that move caused him to set off on a rampage. So I kept withdrawing from her and she could not bear it. Until one day she comes and “warns” me to “be careful of what I tell my friends because they are not the people I think they are”. The very friend that I had trusted with my life and a lot of information and mistakes on my behalf. The same friend that allowed him to grab those out of her in her vulnerable moments. I am more than sorry for everything I caused her, but this is something I would never forget. I remember trembling with anger and blocking her so that I would not blow up on her and cause her trouble and cost her a spiral. I got so angry that I became sick the next day. And ever since then, I had enough of my relationship with her. It was clear to me that we had both done too much to each other to recover from as normal friends. It had to end. After a few months of occasional angry SMS’s from her, I made it clear why I left and what I felt and that she would have to stop sending me message. She ended up acknowledging my hurt and apologized for everything she had done on her part. Everything. I remember crying with exasperation as I read her message admitting to everything; as for a good while of my life, I felt like I was the only one paying for my mistakes and trying to remedy them. The fact that someone else finally took responsibility for the damage done to me was something new and something alien. All that because I learned to set boundaries.

I brought myself out of my stroll down memory lane. Now, I am filled with nothing but pride that I not only overcame my own demons and learned the concept of boundaries, pride that I chose to use my mistakes as a learning point and not a point of shame. I now have more power and independence than ever; although, I still have a lot to work on. My ordeal has caused me to be very reluctant with expecting anyone to assist me with any hardship and become guarded. On a note, I do not expect my ex’s last appearance to be final; that is unless he becomes knowledgeable enough to realize one more move towards me would show everyone watching his true color and that his most prized possession, his ego, would be in danger. I do hope he left things as they are and just gave up; as I am not a hostile person that enjoys attacking- even in self defense. But it became clear that staying out of his path does not stop him from staying out of mine. I feel always ready and on edge to play his exact game and use leverage against him so that he would never come near me again.

As I now conclude writing to go study, I feel nothing but content with who I surround myself now and the person I have become. Thank you, Philomath again for living up to your name and allowing your love for learning get me out of a path of self destruction.

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meteora-writes · 4 years ago

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We Could Be Perfect One Last Night ch.9

Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham Warnings: Angst, Talk of Mental Illness, Talk of Hallucinations, Confessions, Extreme Fluff, First Kiss Chapter: 9. Never Be Afraid (Again) Description: While driving with Hannibal and Chiyoh, Will admits to something he never shared with anyone. Once they reach the house in New York, something changes between Will and Hannibal. Authors Notes: So I posted this days ago on ao3 and didn’t get a chance to set it up on here until just now. I apologize. I’m working on creating a twitch channel so once or twice a week people can watch me write, and this will likely be one of the things I work on there, so I promise delays in posting are worth it in the end. Read On AO3

~~~~~ Read Ch.1.Ch.2.Ch.3.Ch.4.Ch.5.Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8~~~~~

Will doesn’t know what to feel when he climbs into the backseat of the SUV Chiyoh brought to spirit them away. He’s grateful to be leaving for someplace less damp and confined. But a part of him feels like he’s leaving some part of himself behind as he watches the cabin shrink in the distance through the rear-view mirror.

It doesn’t help that he’s feeling mixed emotions from Chiyoh that he has to separate from his own. He can tell she’s happy to see Hannibal again. But there’s something else churning beneath the surface. An unease that he suspects has to do with old worries he might ask her to go back to a life of solitude somewhere for his own amusement. Given the life Hannibal has had for the past three years, he doesn’t see the man being so cruel as to ask her to seclude herself again.

And then there’s Hannibal, who masks so much of what he’s feeling. What he does give off is usually faint and easy to navigate. It’s nice, not having to sort out if he’s feeling his own emotions or someone else’s when it comes to being with Hannibal. Yes, Hannibal has a presence that draws out Will’s darker nature. Which he initially mistook as belonging to Hannibal and Hannibal alone. He knows better now. It’s not that Will was mirroring Hannibal when he wanted to kill or hurt him or others, it was Hannibal drawing his own suppressed feelings to the surface.

“Are there going to be any stops along the way?” Chiyoh asks once they’re on the highway. She’s behind the wheel, Hannibal riding in the front passenger seat beside her and Will in the seat behind him. It’s the first time she’s spoken in the ten minutes she’s been with them, aside from greeting them both upon her arrival. She believes Hannibal would have informed her in advance if they were picking up any… guests… But it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Not today, no,” Hannibal says simply as he watches the trees pass by. “I believe Will and I both would benefit from a few more days to recover before we should attempt anything strenuous. And I would like to take some time to get the house ready for guests first.”

“Will you be needing my assistance then? Or am I free to go once you and Will are settled?” she asks carefully. She’ll help if asked, but she doesn’t want to kill anyone if she doesn’t have to. And she doesn’t want to bear witness to the things he intends to do to his enemies. She accepts Hannibal, loves him in her own way, but she won’t be a part of the things he does to those he deems to be less.

“Depending on how things go after we’ve dealt with Bedelia, having back up when we go after Jack might be a good idea,” Will suggests, earning a questioning glance back from the woman. “Hannibal filled me in on your aptitude with a sniper rifle. Thank you, by the way, for not aiming anywhere vital when you shot me back in Palermo.”

“Thank you for not giving me a reason to,” she counters with the faintest hint of a smile. Will can see it when he looks in the rear-view mirror. “I promised Hannibal once before that I would watch over him. If he needs me to, I will be there to keep watch while the two of you do what needs to be done to Agent Crawford.”

“Thank you, Chiyoh.” The warmth in Hannibal’s voice is as evident and clear as the smile on his face.

Will catches sight of it when he looks to the mirror on their side of the vehicle. It’s nice seeing Hannibal so open with his feelings towards others. It’s a stark contrast to how he acts when those he doesn’t consider to be family are present.

“I was able to locate and purchase a ship similar to the one you described,” Chiyoh notes with another glance in the rear-view mirror to Will. “It has sails, as well as a diesel engine. It was well cared for by the previous owner and should meet your needs. I was told it would be ready to sail by next week. I paid an additional sum to have them upgrade the navigational equipment and install a new engine.”

“That’s great.” Will can’t help being a little surprised that she found a boat like the one he wanted so quickly, given how specific he was about what it needed to have. Hannibal insisted on Will giving her exact details for what he would feel most comfortable sailing since he would be the one captaining and maintaining the vessel. He really needs to stop underestimating her. “Did you ask them to order spare engine parts?”

“I did. They said you would be more than prepared should anything happen while at sea,” Chiyoh assures. She sat with the people at the marina for several hours working out every aspect of the transaction and the services they would provide to get the ship seaworthy in a timely manner.

“That’s wonderful news. I look forward to seeing the ship when the time comes. What is the name of the vessel?” Hannibal asks, tone of voice never wavering from the openly pleased tone it caries. He never doubts in Chiyoh and her abilities to carry out a task with exceptional results.

“The Black Stag.” She’s about to explain that she already placed an order for most of the other supplies they would need now that the ship is taken care of, but she’s cut off abruptly by the sound of sudden, near-hysterical sounding laughing from the back seat.

Hannibal actually turns in his seat and peers over the back to get a look at Will. He’s doubled over, arms wrapped around himself as if his sides hurt from the action, laughing so hard it sounds like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “I take it there is something you find amusing about that name?”

“It’s…” Will manages to say in a wheeze before another loud laugh escapes him beyond his control. “It’s just that… When I… When I had encephalitis… That was what I saw… that made me realize something was wrong with me… A massive black stag.” His laughter starts to calm down as he explains, and he gasps in great lungfuls of air as he tries to calm himself from the manic reaction to hearing the name of the ship Chiyoh found them. It’s impossible. He doesn’t believe in God in any form of the traditional sense, but that name has him wondering if this is some kind of a sign from above.

Hannibal thinks back, remembering Will talking about antlers after killing Garret Jacob Hobbs, and then later mumbling about a stag when he would use the phototherapy lights to help him get inside Will’s mind and nurture the seeds of change sprouting inside of him. “God has quite a sense of humor. Tell me, Will, when you saw this stag, what was it the creature would do?”

“Usually? It would follow me. Or just stand off to the side watching. I saw it at the hospital, work, home,” Will explains as his breathing starts to go back to normal at last. “The real irony is that it still appears in my daydreams and nightmares sometimes. But its shape changes depending on where I am and who I’m with. It becomes humanoid. Takes your face but remains a monstrous black being with antlers and the twisted body of a man.” Will scrubs his face with both hands, trying to calm himself down just a bit more. He still feels the urge to laugh despite himself. It’s just too crazy.

“Like a wendigo?” Chiyoh asks out of the blue, surprising both Will and Hannibal.

“Yes, exactly like a wendigo!” Will exclaims as he finally sits up straight in his seat once again and runs a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs back from his forehead in the process. He blinks in confusion a moment later when he notices Hannibal still staring at him from over the edge of his seat with a look that Will can’t read. It takes a second for him to realize what Hannibal is looking at. He now has a clear view of the scar on Will’s forehead. He’s been letting his hair fall over his forehead for the past two weeks, unintentionally keeping the mark covered.

Will runs his hand over his forehead, fingertips skimming over the raised line of tissues as he averts his eyes from the other man’s. He can still remember the feeling of the saw despite the haze of the drugs Hannibal had given him. The way it sent vibrations throughout his skull and down into the rest of his body as it ripped its way into him. The horrible sound of it beginning to cut bone that still echos through his skull in his nightmares. “That actually makes a lot of sense now that I think about it…”

Hannibal hums at that, understanding what Will means. It started appearing to him when he had to hunt down a cannibal. The fact that it stuck around after clearly shows how that case affected Will. And then for it to take on the appearance of Hannibal? He’s not sure how he feels about that exactly, knowing the legends of the wendigo and their association with madness as well as cannibalism. Hannibal is far from mad. And he imagines if one were ever to become such a creature, he surely would have long ago.

The conversation is dropped there. None of them feels the desire to continue on or change the subject.

Will is grateful for the quiet after everything he just shared. He never even told Molly about the stag. She knew about his nightmares. How they would creep into his mind even when daydreaming or spacing out and leave him shaken at times. But he could never bring himself to try and explain it to her and she didn’t push.

He feels oddly hollow now. Not in a bad way. It’s more like the feeling of relief one gets from finally being able to tell the whole truth about something. He always felt he couldn’t talk about the stag. Like it was a sign of how deeply messed up he really is. And he was certain that he would be sent back to the mental hospital if he told anyone about it. Put on medications and told he’s crazy.

But Chiyoh and Hannibal aren’t like the other people he’s known in his life. They don’t seem to think he’s crazy. And they don’t look at him like he’s lost his mind for admitting to seeing this imaginary creature. Hannibal knows and understands how Will’s mind works. Almost better than Will does at times. He gets that he has the imagination of an overactive child but the dark impulses of a man.

It shouldn’t surprise Will that the other man would be accepting of this quirk as well as all of his others.

But it does surprise him. Leaves him feeling strange. In the end, he decides not to think too hard on it or the feeling, and ends up turning his head to watch the scenery go by through the dark tinted windows of the SUV. He falls asleep less than an hour later.

~~~~~

The house is about what Will had expected for one owned by Hannibal. It had the exterior aesthetic of a log cabin, with the modern interior of a luxurious modern house. All dark woods and sleek designs opposed to the softer outside. There are two floors and a basement, obviously. As well as a garage and a fenced area out behind that looks like it might be for a garden of sorts.

Hannibal walks into the house ahead of Will. He immediately hung his coat in the small closet next to the entrance before taking a few steps to enter the living room. It’s a bit dark. Some light filtering in around the curtains that weren’t closed properly the last time someone had been there. He doesn’t seem to notice though, as he immediately goes to the closest armchair and pulls a dusty sheet off of it, which he begins to fold meticulously.

“What can I do to help?” Will asks, standing in the doorway still. He’s looking around slowly. Taking in the few pieces of art he sees on the walls and the comfortable-looking furniture that Hannibal is beginning to uncover in the living room area.

Hannibal pauses in his folding to look across the room at Will. He seems to consider the question a moment before glancing towards the windows behind him. “Opening the windows would be a great help. It’s been quite some time since this place got a bit of fresh air.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Will agrees as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it in the closet beside Hannibal’s. The air does smell fairly stale. Musty almost. Full of dust. It makes his nose itch with the urge to sneeze that isn’t quite strong enough to actually come forth on it’s own.

Pulling the curtains open floods the room with light, making the dust motes floating in the air strikingly obvious. The fresh gust of cool air that comes in when Will opens the window only adds to the effect, making them swirl and dance in the open space.

Once all the windows in the living room are open, Will looks around and notices the doorway that leads to what he assumes is the dining area or kitchen. With a glance to Hannibal, who is still uncovering furniture, he heads that way to open more windows.

The kitchen is so strikingly similar to the one in Hannibal’s old house that Will actually freezes in the doorway upon seeing it. The only real differences that Will can see are that the fridge is on the opposite wall, and the counters are a different color of marble. It’s like stepping into an alternate reality for a moment. And he has flashes of himself and Hannibal there. Chatting over coffee. Watching him cook the two of them dinner… And then it shifts and twists back to the kitchen in Baltimore, to blood and Abigail and ungodly pain. And then finally to a bloody Hannibal walking away from the two of them...

Hannibal sees the way Will’s body locks up momentarily upon seeing the kitchen before he clearly forces himself to walk into the room in an unusually stiff manner. It makes a pang of something that feels dangerously like guilt hit him. He can imagine the things that have to be going through Will’s mind in that moment, and they’re far from pleasant he’s sure. He can only imagine what kinds of things might trigger Will to relive the more horrible moments of his past. Moments that Hannibal caused...

It takes about an hour to get things in order. They get all of the furniture uncovered, windows open, electricity and water turned back on. Chiyoh shows up with groceries just after they finish getting things in working order, and she helps them clean things up a bit before bidding them goodbye for now and heading off to wherever it is that she intends to stay, since she declined to stay with the two of them. She lets Hannibal know there is an SUV in the garage now that they should be travel in without issues. He thanks her, and with that, she’s gone.

They don’t talk much that evening, Will and Hannibal. It’s been a long day and they’re both tired. It isn’t until late that evening when Hannibal comments on going to sleep that it strikes them both that the house has multiple bedrooms. They don’t -have- to sleep together. But one look shared between them makes it clear that isn’t what either man wants.

So, Will sets aside the now empty glass of whiskey he had been sipping as they sat by the fire, and walks over to where Hannibal stands beside the stairs that lead up to the second floor. He reaches out slowly, as if afraid of being rebuked for the action, and gently takes Hannibal’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

His eyes are downcast, looking at their hands and pointedly not at Hannibal’s face. A mix of anxiety, embarrassment, and whiskey coloring and warming his cheeks. He feels ridiculous. Like a schoolboy with a crush. But he just doesn’t know how the hell to feel about the other man in that moment or what to make of Hannibal’s feelings towards him. He just knows he doesn’t want to be away from him if he doesn’t have to be...

Hannibal turns towards Will, making the other man’s breath hitch audibly as he draws closer. He raises the hand not currently being held, and uses a finger under Will’s chin to make him look up, worried blue meeting warm brown. “Stay with me, Will?”

Will seems to relax at the question, shoulders sagging just a little as he looks Hannibal in the eye and nods. Hannibal’s finger stays under his chin. Keeping his head tilted and eyes locked with the older man’s. He can see the longing in them. Feel it. It mixes with his own... And before he can overthink it, he leans in, tilts his head ever so slightly, and brings their lips together.

It’s soft. Brief. And Hannibal returns it readily. His every nerve singing with the pleasant shock of it. When they part Will has a questioning look in his eyes. Wanting to know if he read the moment wrong. If he’s just made a huge mistake. All Hannibal can bring himself to do in answer is gently slip his hand around to the back of Will’s neck and pull him into another soft kiss.

They stand there a long moment, Will hedging closer into Hannibal’s space as they give in to the desire that’s been building between them for some time. They finally part when Hannibal needs a breath, and he opens his eyes to find a small smile on Will’s lips. “Let’s go to bed?”

The question is innocent. No implication of wanting any more than what Will just shared with him. It’s late, and they’re both still healing. In more ways than one. He has no intention of rushing this. And Will seems to feel the same.

“Lead the way,” Will utters before stealing one last, quick kiss. Because he can. Because it feels like he is allowed to do that. And because it lets him know that what just happened was real and not some imagined moment in his overactive mind.

Hannibal does lead the way. And they take their time changing into nightclothes before slipping under the covers of the king-sized bed of the master bedroom. Even with the much larger sleeping space, the moment they are in it together Will gravitates towards him. Seeks him out and moves in close enough to feel Hannibal’s warmth and solid presence.

They fall asleep curled together much like they would back in the cabin. Only now, Will leans in and gives Hannibal one last kiss goodnight before they both drift off.

#hannigram #murder husbands #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #will graham x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x will graham #will x hannibal #hannibal x will #angst #fluff #first kiss #we could be perfect one last night #getting together #feelings

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stardustdaemon · 4 years ago

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We’ll Be Okay - Final

Finally here. I would like to say in advance, I’ve been debating an addition to this story since I finished it, a few ideas on where to take it and I hope this is the ending you would’ve liked to see for this fic. That being said, thank you to everyone who has given it support and love. Big love to you all and, enjoy!!!

—————————————————

It had been a few years since his last big scare. It was almost hard to imagine or believe, waking up every day with a fraction more energy than the last, a little more weight on his frame.

The hardest thing to believe was the warmth of Yoongi next to him every morning, the way his face would scrunch up when the sun light that peeked through the curtains would hit his face, the drawl of his voice when he’d wake up, the petulant and almost childish way he’d draw the covers over his head almost every morning.

Being able to get out of bed every morning, energy bursting at the seams as he’d go about showering, making breakfast and getting the olders coffee ready, always black with no sugar.

He remembered the day Yoongi asked him to move in with him, a bland day sat in a café to wait out the rain.

“Hey, I was looking at apartments the other day. I found some pretty nice ones.” Yoongi had spoken the words into the rim of his cup, piquing Taehyungs interest as the younger leant forwards slightly, replying with a hum of interest.

“They’re all pretty affordable too, how about you come look at them with me? One of them has a balcony, I know you like to star gaze.” His tone was gentle, soft in a rare and intimate way that made Taehyung’s heart flutter, in a good way. He nodded, taking a sip of his smoothie.

“Yeah sure! I’d love to come round to look at the sky. A bigger place will be better too, your current apartment is really cramped.” Taehyung mused, gently biting his straw absentmindedly, eyes trained on the rain. Yoongi stayed silent for a while before huffing, leaning over to hold Taehyungs hand. The younger raised an eyebrow, nodding to let Yoongi know he was listening.

“I actually wanted you to come with me. To move with me.” The words were quiet, swept away with the noise of the door opening but Taehyung had heard it clear as day, his face flushing red as he stared at the older, face splitting into a grin as he squeezed his hand.

“I would love to!”

It took some convincing both Jin and Namjoon that he’d be okay, ended with him making a promise to message them every day and meet up once a week. Not that he minded, he knew they were only concerned.

He often felt bad, for hiding how much pain he was in over the years, in fear of bothering everyone or stopping them from something important. But now older and better, he knew none of them blamed him, for being ill or hiding it, but he also understood the importance of telling those around him. Those who loved him.

“I don’t have much on today, just a phonecall. Want to do something?” Yoongi’s voice broke through his thoughts and Taehyung nodded, taking a bite out of his apple before leaning down to kiss his boyfriends forehead. Yoongi just smiled, hooking an arm around his waist to keep him close. They stayed that way for a while, content in the silence of each others company.

“Can we just stay in today and watch a movie? Maybe order pizza, I really want Pizza.” Taehyung mused, chucking his apple core straight into the bin, hand resting over his heart in habit. Yoongi noticed, shaking his head to himself at the tiny spike of panic.

Taehyung hadn’t had an emergency in two years, since then they’d put him on new medication that seemed to be working wonders. He still got tired quicker than everyone else, sometimes nauseous out of nowhere and rarely threw up. There were days he’d spend in bed, pale and weak but he’d be bouncing about the apartment the next day, skin golden and warm. He’d join in on the play fights with Jimin and Jungkook, sometimes accompanying Hoseok to his dance practice, surprisingly good with his body.

As Yoongi watched his boyfriend (he still couldn’t quite believe he got to call him that) potter about the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smile. He always thought Taehyung was like the sun; bright and warm, welcoming and almost homey, even when he was at his worst. But now, the man stood in front of him was brighter than the sun, shining brighter than any star he could ever see.

“If we’re not going out, do we have to get dressed?” Taehyung mused, reaching for a glass as Yoongi stood up, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek pressing to his back.

“Nah, like this is just fine.” He mumbled, relishing in the gentle vibrations of the others laugh, way his shoulders moved with each breath.

“I think that’s everything. Why do we have so much stuff Yoongi?” Taehyung called out, dropping to the floor to catch his breath, ignoring the shoe digging into his hip. Yoongi just shrugged, leaning over him, hair and necklace dangling from his frame.

“No idea, though half of this is your god damn wardrobe.” He quipped, standing straight when Tae retaliated by swiping for his pendant. After helping the younger up, Yoongi led him to the bedroom, sitting him on the bed with a concerned frown. Taehyung rolled his eyes, forcing the irritation bubbling up inside of him to settle down. Yoongi was allowed to worry, he needed to learn to accept this.

“Get some rest, you did a lot today.” Yoongi’s words were quiet as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the youngers forehead. Taehyung just nodded, shrugging his jacket off an laying down.

“You too old man, it’s late. We can unpack tomorrow.”

“So, what are we watching anyway?” Yoongi asked, opening his arms on instinct as Taehyung leant backwards, back pressed to his chest.

“Something cheesy. I don’t care that you don’t like it, you always fall asleep anyway.” Tae answered, shoving a slice of pizza at Yoongi’s mouth, a sign to not reply.

They settled in, lit only by the light of the screen as the main character appeared in what seemed to be a montage of their morning. Yoongi just sighed, hands pressed flat to Tae’s stomach as he settled in, eyes focusing on the boy in front of him rather than the screen.

The film was boring, incredibly so and Taehyung became restless half way through, eventually sitting up with a groan, stretching his arm above his head. They switched to an action movie, this time sitting side by side, knees touching and hands linked.

Life was easy with Taehyung. And even though in one of their cupboards there was emergency drips and needles, injections and stronger medication, it didn’t scare either of them anymore. Yoongi had asked the nurses to teach him how to administer any treatment. Taehyung still had scars and marks all over his body, but they were replaced by lingering kisses and gentle touches, hard to even remember anymore. Every inch of him was saturated in love, in adoration and he was happy.

Once they’d fully realised the depths of their feelings for one another, any awkwardness faded away, opening up to a relaxed and friendly atmosphere, often described by those around them as a “love that has already been for years and years.”

It had happened too fast. One moment Taehyung was happy, bubbly, leg propped up on the sofa as him and Jimin harmonised to the song on the radio, the next we had dropped to the floor, breathing shallow and hand on his heart. He briefly remembered his name being called, an extra voice, a journey into a car then blinded by lights.

He awoke where he knew he’d be, in a hospital bed, greeted by the setting sun and Yoongi sat at his side, face tight with stress.

“Hey.” Taehyung spoke, sitting up and ignoring the way his body ached. Yoongi smiled, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as he stood up, arms wrapping around the other. No more words were exchanged, both knew what the other was thinking, feeling.

Once the doctor had been by, made sure Taehyung knew the signs of his limits and how to keep his energy high and given him a new prescription, he was free to leave once he felt ready. Yoongi stayed by his side, easy and going with what Taehyung said and he was grateful that he wasn’t making a fuss anymore. Grateful he didn’t feel guilty this time.

The drive home was familiar and calm, eventually opening up to promises to protect and affirmations to stay safe.

Once their door was open, Yoongi had cracked, letting a tear fall down his face as he pulled Taehyung into a hug.

“Before I say anything, you’re not allowed to feel guilty, but, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you in a hospital bed, the feeling that runs through me when I know what’s happened. But I also know you’ll fight it, all the way, and I’m so proud of you for that. I love you. Thank you, for letting me in.”

Now bathed in the blue light of the tv, watching Yoongi’s chest rise with his breaths, his head on Taehyung’s shoulder as he slept, Taehyung had never felt happier.

“I love you.”

#mao writes #my style has changed a lot since I wrote we'll be okay #taegi #bts #we'll be okay #maoki23

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moonrhee · 4 years ago

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anyone asked for an alcoholic baby ? i’m here to provide.

✧・ﾟ: jeon jungkook + cismale + he/him | if you’re ever by 6b , you might see moon rhee floating around. you know , the twenty - four year old capricorn who’s lived in the complex for three years ? you know , the tattoo artist seems to remind everyone of inked sleeves and artistic drawings in napkins , loud music behind closed doors , piano melodies and unfinished melodies. i wonder if that has to do with their paranoid yet charming personality

hello , i am super late for the party, but my name is nochu , i’m apart of the gmt+1 crowd and i’m an irresponsible taurus. either way, i took a little longer to get online today because my ear burst and i’ve been in and out of it for the whole afternoon but i’m here now , for some killer plotting ! so let’s get this bread , my discord is 𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 ♡#6348 , reach me , beep me , let’s make things happen

name Eros Yun Rhee ( unknown )

nicknames moon rhee, moon, moonie, moomoo

age twenty - four

date of birth december 27th 1995

zodiac sign capricorn

profession tattoo artist / social media influencer

pets two dogs ( one labradoodle, one german shepard )

tattoos / piercings: check

trigger warnings: mental illness, prejudice, neglect, toxic relationships ( will be tagged accordingly when it comes up )

i. moon was always an odd child. the first thing striking strange was how he didn’t spoke until the age of seven. besides being a quiet, very into his own world child, his parents still got struck with shock and concern so they went over and beyond to make sure they knew what was wrong with their baby boy. doctors could not explain the lack of sounds and words coming from the child. it took seven years and a straightforward doctor to tell them moon simply ... didn’t want to talk. like he knew how to and knew the vocabulary, he just didn’t want to to talk. scandalized, his parents kept looking for the best diagnosis, but moon really just didn’t want to talk

ii. not to mention the Rhee family were owners of several multi-national and international businesses, so spending money? not a problem. it also took a lot of time from the two parents so moon was left to the nannies. you know, typical rich person problem. ( TW NEGLECT ) since he had already brought attention to himself once and didn’t enjoy it, he did the bare minimum to not be noticed. this didn’t meant he didn’t crave attention, but seeing his parents running around, spending money made him take a step back. like i said: he was an odd child. he dove on his books and notes, especially diving in the world he would one day call his profession

iii. he wasn’t one to cause problems, he really wasn’t. the only moments he really disappointed and brought the attention to himself was when he did his first tattoo, at fifteen. he wasn’t the most popular for sure, but he had a solid group of friends who genuinely loved him. even so, they did everything together, including forming a band at some point, which was later dissolved. it was around this time Moon started to pick up from social media, even starting a youtube channel with his friends. as time went by, the channel became more redirected to what moon did and posted, so changed to his own, personal channel

vi. he was still the heir to the rhee fortune and this meant some obligations; obligations he did not want. one of them was settling down with someone of higher class. luckily, his naive personality at the time made it easier for him to actually fall in love with one of those, leaving his mother static. the boy was infatuated with the most beautiful pristine new york girl and wedding plans were already in the making. but moon is intense and he already wanted to be with her at all times, so they moved in together as soon as they turned eighteen and started their life together ... everything was picture perfect, until ... it wasn’t

v. ( TW TOXIC RELATIONSHIP ) moon couldn’t understand how could someone change so much so fast. she went from sweet to sour, from loving him to hating him. their affections disappeared, their smiles vanished and he was left with a hate he didn’t understood. many were the nights fights became physical and he’d step down, hiding the scars behind good appearances. despite everything, he still wanted to make his mother happy. it drove away all his friends and he nearly stopped doing what he loved for her. he nearly survived with her

vi. he finally realized this wasn’t it for him. he didn’t recognized himself in the mirror. he didn’t knew who he was anymore. so three years into living together, he packs his things in secret. he prepares to leave and just ... disappears from the maps. he’s not stupid, however. he knows his family will find him pretty quick. his mother tells him she’ll disown him if he doesn’t come back, but it doesn’t matter; moon finds home in las vegas, by himself. with the money he saved, he opens his parlour and relies on his famous contacts and clients to come by. his heart? shut down. he’s still cheeful for his videos and fans, vlogging and doing whatever he wants. youtube pays well too. and he got the views and subscribers for it

what do we hate ???? socks. we also don’t love shoes, shoes are awful, especially inside. we love to sing and post covers, we’re always singing when we’re at home; we were in a band. we love alcohol, we love to forget our mistakes ... we love to pretend things like the past didn’t happen ... we love to write and to draw and to play the piano. we love to paint. we’re very artistic when we want.

#lennox.intro #missing about 456 things but ????? we're opening in 45 minutes and i still have to plot with yall

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painandpleasure86 · 5 years ago

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I can’t live with you (but I can’t live without you) - JohnicaWeek 2020

Author’s note: This idea born in my mind since Rachel announced this special week. My real life inspo were my own parents, married since 1991 (I born in 1992). Here I portray this couple as I imagine, based in real life experience having a 67 yrs old dad and in things that I read about this couple. This will be the most realistic posible representation of them that I could write. Don’t hate me if isn’t all cuteness here, life it’s good but also bad things :/ Also sorry if it’s too cheesy! I don’t like make suffer to my characters a lot lol.

Art by @imflashqueen (instagram). She drew the second piece inspired in my story! She was my beta indeed :3 Thank you for give me some feedback! Ah, and the first one was an old collab that we did in last November!

Plus, i’m doing this just for mere entertainment ;) I just love participate in this kind of events to meet new people, practicing my skills and have fun!

Summary: The anniversary date it’s here! How will they react about this?

Pairing: Current John and Ronnie :)

Warnings: Angst, some humor, some swearing, some fluff too. Mention of death.

Word count: 2139 words, perhaps my longest fic. If not, the second one.

Prompt used: Anniversary Day

First part

January 11th. Just like another weekend, another morning. He left very early his bed, trying to not wake up her. He wants some quientness to drink his tea. He wants to forget for a moment everything. Ever that next Saturday will be 18th. Just like in 1975. A cold Saturday in that catholic church, where Freddie made a particular entrance. Remembering that made him smile, but then was so upset, because Fred were ruining the strict ceremony.

“I’ll always love you bud. Cheers for you” he said rising his almost empty cup of tea watching the sky through the windom and finishing his tea.

His eyes were shining. His smile, wide. Until…

“Morning, no?” she said near to him.

He jumpscared a bit.

“God Ron! You know that I have heart problems…” he exaggerated putting his left hand in his chest.

She laughed.

“Exaggerated as always…” she added.

“Morning, yeah!?” he said finally, letting the empty cup of tea in the nearest table.

She started to prepare her breakfast.

“Who you were talking?”

Lighting a cigarette, he said “I… just remembered something Ron.” He aspired the smoke deeply. Now the cigarette are between his index and his middle finger of his right hand.

“Something happy”. Let go to the smoke through his nose.

Her eyes focused in him and smiling widely.

“I just remembered when Freddie entered to the church with that two girls in our wedding.” He aspired the smoke again. “Hahahaha… he couldn’t did it in another way!”

Her face turned so quickly in an deceptioned expression.

“oh… that, haha.” she said meanwhile she was preparing her tea.

Letting go the smoke but now from his mouth, he smiled mischievously. He did it again.

---------------------------------------------------

In the afternoon of that Saturday, the couple received a video call of their youngest offspring.

“Hiiiiii dad!! Hiiii mom!!!” he said with his habitual happiness, smiling widely.

Both parents greeted to their son.

The young continued talking.

“How you feel knowing that next Sat will be your anniversary?”

Ronnie smiled widely. “FINE!!”

But he stared at the camera and rolled his eyes, sighing. “Another year” he said kinda melancholic.

His son and his wife watched at him.

“Huh? I was honest.” But really he wasn’t real honest…

Trying to change the mood, Cameron added with a smile “Well, the fans are more excited for that than you, and you’re the one that’s married with that lady” winking an eye to his mom.

Being visible upset, the old man said: “That fans, ha! Try to be married at least 5 years and have 3 children in the meantime and after they can say if they’re happy with that life! I have enough of that fans speaking about me like the cute one, the good dad! I wasn’t one all the time for fucking god's sake!”. He raised of his chair and slammed the door of the room.

“Another time with that rant about the fans…” she said sighing and watching at her child.

“Well, let’s speak about you then mom. You have plans to the anniversary?” he said trying to make smile to the 69 years old woman.

She said “yeah. I reserved a table in Nobu for that day” and smiled shyly.

“MOOOOOOM, that restaurant it’s so famous. Every famous people will can see you with Dad there” almost shout the young man.

“It’s my intention, son.” and she smiled kinda mischievously.

-------------------------------

Second part

Another 18th came finally. Another year. Another cold winter day. Another time where he remembered why he did that.

He opened his eyes that morning earlier than usual. He watched at his side. She was snoring softly.

Finally he decided take his morning tea. Putting his robe and his winter flip-flops, go to the kitchen. He’s trying to not make any noise. More than ever, this morning needs that Ronnie don’t wake up at the same time than him. More than ever wants some silence and time with himself.

In the kitchen, he puts to boil some water to his tea. Meanwhile, he smokes a cigarette watching at outside through the window, still dark.

“45 damn years today. For good or bad... “ he sigh deeply meanwhile he was thinking. “Sometimes I ask myself why I did that. Sometimes I wanted to get away from this life, but for some reason i’m still here. Perhaps i’m tired of trying? I don’t know.” He aspired the smoke and let it go in a deep exhalation. “The only certainty it’s that I decided 45 years ago that beautiful slim prego lady, now an old woman, be my wife. Her…” and his thoughts were interrupted for the sound of the boiling water. “For fucking god’s sake…” he mumbled, while he turned off the fire. He prepared the tea and go to his “office” to check the internet. “Let’s see what the people say about me today… Wait. It’s early… Don’t care. I’ll be with this all day long if it’s necessary. This will be more fun than always.”

He sat at his desk with his computer, with his tea in one side. Meanwhile the PC was initializing, he was with a lot of expectative.

He sips his tea and opened the navigator. Typed the right search in the search bar. “Gosh, a lot of thing already. That people really loves me being with her”, he whispered. Clicks in the first result. And he started to laugh. “Happy 45th anniversary blahblahblah, his marriage its the proof that the love always wins” he said reading the text on that post in a social network. “Little person, it’s just the proof that I prefer be with her for a reason. Well... Six reasons. Hahahaha” he “responded”.

Another post. That one, a drawing. “Oh okay, I look cute with her, goooootcha” he said with a pinch of sarcasm.

A fic. In this he stopped to read it entirely. He almost ended his tea meanwhile. And his laugh was harder. “These little girls haves a lot of imagination. Gosh, why I’m almost always the good boy in this things? Hahahahaha”

And another, and another, and another… He passed a lot of his morning there, having fun or merely entertain himself with the posts of the fandom. More than always.

Ronnie wake up. And her husband isn’t there with her. “John… at least today…” she though resigned meanwhile she puts her robe and his flip-flops.

When she was about to down the stairs, she listened a loud laugh. “He’s in the studio”.

She knocked the door.

And he sighed. “why Ronnie?” he though. But he said “come in!”, still laughing.

“Morning Ronnie!” he said as any morning. But that one wasn't like any morning. Was the morning.

She stared at him, after close the door behind her.

“Just that?”

He rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Happy anniversary Ronnie!” and he smiled quite exaggerated. “Come here”.

She was with mixed thoughts and kinda hysterical, but she approached him. She after a few steps was at his side. He hugged her, still in that comfy chair, with funny face. She couldn’t resist to hug him too, caressing his almost bald head. “Sometimes I hate your behavior John” though Ronnie. “But anyways i think that I still like to be with you, haha”, continued in her mind, quite smiling.

He, moving his face to leave that embrace, said “Well honey, I told it. I was cute no? hahaha. Stay with me and have fun with me reading that things that under 30-years-old girls write and draw about us”.

She stepped away from him.

“John, that people are just being kind with you. A lot of people recognize you now. A whole new generation. And they’re educated greeting us for the anniversary”, she said watching at him.

He laughed. Turning his chair in her direction, he continued talking.

“Ron, that people thinks that marriage its easy, plus having 6 SIX kids to raise! Isn’t nice, it’s hard! And super stressful!”

Her face showed her nuisance.

“Ha, really you say that? You always recording or touring or in an endless holidays. I raised OUR kids ALONE a lot of time!”

He sighed so deeply. He started to need another cigarette. Now his arms are crossed.

“Really this again? Honey, stop. We fixed that already. Now i’m more at home with you and I helped a lot raising to our youngest kids”

Without thinking in the repercussion of her words, she said “Yeah, just because Freddie died before the birth of our youngest ones” and she half turned to her left, arms crossed.

He was without words. Was like a dagger in his heart. He didn’t knew how to react. A lot of mixed feelings. His hands in his face, he reclined his head.

“Veronica, get out.”

She, watching the results of her impulse, tried to fix that situation… in vain.

“But John, it wasn’t m-”

“GET. OUT.” His words were like a sharp.

She left the room, almost crying. “Well I’ll change my clothes meanwhile… and ill make my breakfast” she though in the meanwhile.

--------------------

That old wound was opened. he remembered that words about getting older together writing songs. he remembered how Freddie cheered him up to write songs, how he said once “shhhh John it’s creating”. He remembered noticed that scars. And knowing that his friend would die sooner than everyone expected. “He had a lot to give… We lost a lot of moments together for that damn disease. He was my real fuel to composing, and when he gone, my interest faded away. I just wanted to survive…” he started to think. He raise of his chair and took an old whiskey that he had over there, serve a glass of it and drank it of one sip. He lighted that necessary cigarette, now watching at the window, immersed in memories, in things that happened… He cried.

In audible voice, he said

“Fuck you Ronnie. Why you said that? Why you opened that wound again?” He sighed deeply, putting the cigarette in his mouth and aspiring the smoke. “I can’t live with you, but I can’t live without you, sadly.” Exhaled the smoke for his mouth. “Why I couldn’t leave you? I’m a masochistic? I love a lot to my offspring? In the very deep inside, I still love you? I don’t know really…” Aspired the smoke of the cigarette again, the last one. The cigarette its too short now. Throwing the cigarette to the floor, he stepped on it, turning it off. Exhaling the smoke, he continued. “You are my life, despite all the events. I give you my life. My love. My “freedom”. I married with you just having 23 years old. I REALLY loved you. Now?” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know. I just know that I don’t hate you”.

He didn’t knew that those words were listened for her, she opened silently the door minutes ago to apologize her for her words and she stared there, listening.

“John…” she said with tears in her eyes.

He turned his face enough to show her that he noticed her presence, smiling. She entered to the room running. She hugged him. “Sorry John. I- I was impulsive”.

Now watching at the window again, he said “nothing to sorry. It’s okay” and he placed his left hand over her hand that was hugging him from the back. He take that hand and kissed it. He turned to her and hugged her tightly.

“You should knocked that door first, he said, leaving the embrace.

“well, I-” started to say Ronnie, kinda scared.

“hahahaha! Relax! Now come with me and read that things that the people say about us” he said going to sit to his chair again.

“No John.” she said, shaking his head.

“Uh Ron, you’re booooooring! hahahah”

“That aren’t plans for an anniversary” she said, getting closer to him.

Watching at her eyes, he said “and go for a dinner today? We don’t usually go to dinner and you want TODAY? Oh, and I just hope that you didn’t asked to the Father of the parish to office a Mass for our anniversary! I’ll not go to the church today, and nevermore!”

She stared in silence, incapable to react. Her plans are discovered.

He watched at her, smiling mischievously. “Ha, Mrs you’re so predictable…” he thought.

She, trying to cover her real intentions, responded “Eeeeeh, no. I didn’t do that! You know me John, hehe… I’ll just cook a special meal.”

“No Ron. I’ll do that, and I promise, will not be cheese on toast” he replied smiling lightning another cigarette.

He had a surprise. But one that just he knew… And eventually Ronnie. Because something like that deserves an adequate celebration. And will be at Deacon style.

---------------------------------------------------

If you liked this fic, please reblog and leave a comment! (or if you’re shy, a reply, some emojis as response or an ask (could be in anon!)).

-Lily.

#painandpleasure86 fics #painandpleasure86 posts #johnica #johnicaweek2020 #john deacon #veronica tetzlaff #queen fic #queen fanfiction #deaky #deacy #wedding anniversary #queen fanart #queen fandom

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years ago

Text

Unmasked ~ Twenty-Three

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery.

Dear readers, we continue with our game. I thank you for allowing me to write and share with you from behind a mask, for embracing this story wholeheartedly despite not knowing my identity. Remember, learn my name, you must use the clues in each chapter starting with 21 until the end to hunt for a word in the text of each chapter itself. Gather the words, hold onto them, for they will provide the final clue to the puzzle.

Please enjoy the twenty-third chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 23 ~~

The night becomes a tapestry of talking, catching up where letters fall short, of kisses in every shade of need from gentle to desperate, of holding one another, teasing one another, languishing in the comfort of knowing we are loved by the other. Scattered laughter and satisfied moans dance with the slow parade of the stars outside our cracked open window. And in between…sleep. Such deep, dreamless sleep as I’ve not had in some time.

Although perhaps I do dream and my sleep is far too restful to recall the dreams come waking. If I do dream, they must be happy, for when I wake in the morning, it is to the melody of honking geese and a warm shaft of sunlight across my face, a smile upon my lips and a delicious feeling of contentment that I know is due to the man beside me. The undeniable heat of my husband holding me close to his naked body is a blanket of contentment, and his warm breath on my neck is a kiss of delight. I smile and trace errant patterns over Peeta’s hand where it rests over our child he remains unaware of. I connect the several small scars that cross his skin, caress over the gold wedding band that still gleams but now shows some wear on it as well. Small knicks in the soft surface evidence of time and life lived.

We will be fine, Peeta and I. We will make our obligatory visit to de Vale and face down his dragon of a father. I will not be intimidated with Peeta by my side. Then we shall journey to Capitol to collect his sister, to enfold her into our family. When we return home, I think I will be ready to announce my own happy secret to the world, although I do not think I will be able to keep it from Peeta past this morning.

We have slept late, yet the house remains quiet. It is likely that most are still abed after their late night at the festival. I wriggle enough out of his embrace to retrieve the sketch book from its drawer, then back again deeper into the covers for warmth. I turn to face Peeta, smiling when I find him watching me with only one eye opened.

“You are awake.”

“Am I? I was certain I must be dreaming,” he says, his voice deep, luxuriously rich and rough with sleep. It rouses memories of the texture and pace of his tongue lapping at my intimate skin, loving me at his leisure. I shiver at the wanton thought and Peeta’s arms encircle me, pulling me closer to his warmth as his lips brush over mine. “For certainly such a restful night beside such an exquisite woman can only be a dream. I’m but a bastard, a medically discharged foot soldier, yet here I am laying with a goddess.”

I bring the sketchbook between us and cover his mouth with it to prevent any more distracting, wonderful kisses. “You should know that every goddess extracts a price. You owe me a fortnight worth of drawings, husband. Or suffer my wrath.”

“More tribute? Were my efforts at pleasing you last night not satisfactory? How about earlier this morning?” He chuckles and moves aside the sketchbook, kisses me as I blush, but I cannot regret nor be ashamed of how we spent our night. I am heady with his kisses and almost forget the sketchbook. But if I am denied one promise fulfilled, then I will greedily demand another.

“The sketches or a dance, husband, your choice, but you are not done courting me yet,” I say when he pulls away completely. He only smiles, rolling over and retrieving something from his bags. I sit up and attempt to conceal my curiosity as he returns with an oilskin wrapped package, opens it, and presents me with a sheaf of parchment. I’m only given a chance to glance at the first few drawings – a flock of birds taking flight from a pond, several workers in a field, one of me.

“Am I paid in full now, wife?”

“On second thought, I still want my dance as well, since you seem so eager to pay my tribute demands,” I declare with a lift of my nose, but laugh as he pulls on my leg to bring me beneath him.

“What have we been doing all night then but dancing between these sheets?” Warmth flows through me as he returns something I said to him last night in an odd fit of sentimentality.

“You are obscene, husband.”

“And you enjoy it,” he growls. I forget the sketches as he kisses me out of my wits, the paper fluttering from my hands to the floor so that I may hold tight to him and return his kisses with equal desire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As much as I would like to remain in bed all day with Peeta, eventually we must rise and dress for the day. We have tasks to see to, family for Peeta to be reunited with. I am not the only one who will wish to see him today.

Our movements through the room as we prepare for the day follow an easy, now familiar pattern. He kisses along my neck and shoulders as he assists with my stays. My knees quake with need and it requires all of my focus to not throw him back on the bed and have him again before breakfast. As I turn to adjust his cravat, he smiles at me, his hands resting on my hips, thumbs brushing back and forth in a shockingly simple yet utterly arousing touch.

I am struck with it as he thanks me for my help and I answer with a kiss. Once, soft and brief, and all for me because I am simply so happy to have him back. I am no longer sure how on earth we managed to doubt one another.

“Are you certain?” I whisper. “About adding Miranda to our family? I know that I have quite thrust this upon you without warning, even made a decision without consulting you.”

“I am certain,” he says and seems to sense that I need more reassurance. “We’ve spoken of children before, and while this was not how I expected to bring our first into our family, I cannot turn my back on her. We will have time before our own blood children, if we are so blessed with them, arrive. Time to give to Miranda.”

I nod and bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly wondering if he would refuse Miranda should he know that I am even now with child. He kisses me then and I keep my silence, in turmoil, wondering how to tell him now. The decision is made for me with his next words.

“We should take a long ride today. I missed that while I was away, riding with you. I imagine the turn in weather has much changed Everdeen, and I would love to see her in her transition from autumn to winter,” Peeta says, a sort of happiness in his voice that comes only from being secure and content in one’s home. I hate to disappoint him, but I must. I have not had time to prepare my words, but no excuse I give save the truth will be sufficient.

“I am afraid I cannot,” I say. “I will not be riding for some time to come.”

“Is something amiss with Sagittaria?” he asks, his brow wrinkling as I retrieve his coat and focus on helping him into it, smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders so that it lays correct. I keep running my hands over his shoulders, needing to feel some part of him, some part of his strength as I deliver this last bit of news. “She seemed perfectly fine in the stables last night.”

“Sagittaria is fine. As am I,” I say as he turns to face me. I take his hand in mine, placing it flat over my belly and struggling to find the words. “I meant to tell you last night, but I am afraid you distracted me. I have another reason to refrain from riding…for now, and we may not have quite as much time for Miranda alone as we could hope for.”

His glance leaps between my face and our hands for a moment before settling on our hands. “Katniss…are we expecting?”

“It is still early, but I believe so,” I whisper, holding tight to the hope that he will be pleased. “We can manage both… can we not? It will still be several months before the babe arrives. Time for Miranda to adjust to her new home…”

I trail off, unable to continue. He surges towards me, making me gasp as his arms surround me, his lips descend to mine and I squeak into his mouth. When he finally stops kissing me, the room is still spinning about me and I cling to him to steady myself. But I do not need to ask if he is pleased with the news. I can see the answer in his eyes, in his smile that rivals the sun for brightness, and his murmured words about how much he loves me and how lucky he is before kissing me once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time we make our way to the breakfast room, my arm linked with his, the entire household is awake and at table. The room is quite crowded and yet, several of its occupants note our entrance and voice greetings. A girlish squeal rises above the din, causing Aunt Effie to cover her ears.

“Miss’er Pee’ah!” Maysilee shouts and leaps from her chair to run full tilt at him, not hearing Aunt Effie’s disgruntled complaint about her unladylike behavior. “Miss’er Pee’ah! You are home!”

“Maysee Daisy!” he says joyfully, laughing as he bends over to scoop her into his arms. “Did you get my letter?”

“I did! I have missed you!”

“And I you,” Peeta says, holding her against his chest with one arm and wrapping the other around my waist, holding me tight to his side in a sort of half embrace. I rest one hand on his abdomen and one on his back. Maysilee grabs hold of his face and turns it to examine the left side. I bite back a laugh as he gives me a delighted yet befuddled look.

“Aha! Mother was right! He can steal your face but not your courage kisses!”

“My what?” Peeta asks with a soft chuckle. Maysilee points to his scars and seems quite proud of herself.

“Your courage kisses. Mister Joe says you got them one time when you were very brave and saved his life.”

“Did he?”

“Yes,” Maysilee says, completely unaware of the effect of her words as she spills them into the crowded room. “And Mother says Miss Katniss has some too, from when she saved Mother and Miss Prim!”

I catch Sir Robert’s surprised look from the corner of my eye, the way his gaze sweeps over me as though he might see through my dress to my scars. It distracts me for a moment before I return my focus to Peeta and Maysilee.

“Maysilee, darling that is perhaps not appropriate talk for breakfast,” Madge says, standing partially to retrieve her daughter, but Peeta waves her off and turns to Maysilee.

“We can talk of that later, on our adventure. For now, what I most want is some blackberry jam.” Maysilee gasps and he smiles at her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find some, would you, Maysee Daisy?”

“I do! We saved it for you!” Maysilee says and squirms down from his hold, only to take his hand in hers and lead him to table. He sits, as Maysilee has given him no choice to do otherwise. She promptly serves him a plate and messily smears his jam on his toast for him, all while chattering away.

Peeta gives me a hapless and yet happy look as I move to the sideboard alone and fix my own plate. I half listen to their conversation as I pile my plate high with food, including a few things I know Peeta to be fond of since Maysilee will not let him rise and fix his own plate.

I set one hand on his shoulder as I join the table, my rather cumbersome plate tilting slightly as I set it on the pristine white cloth. Peeta reaches over, slides my chair out for me, before a footman can accomplish the task, even as he speaks to Maysilee. I sit and Peeta pushes it back in beneath me.

Happily, I tuck into my meal, for I am famished, likely a result of our activities last night into this morning. At one point, I feel eyes on me and glance up to find Sir Robert’s eyes darting between Peeta and I, and my hands…which are half suspended moving some of the eggs and ham from my plate onto Peeta’s. I shrug and finish the task, since I did serve myself extra so that he might have some. When I have finished with the transfer, Peeta turns and clasps my hand in his before I can retreat, bringing it to his lips.

“Thank you, my pearl,” he whispers and my entire body enflames at the look in his eyes, at the promises I see in their depths. Maysilee giggles, drawing his attention back to her. When my eyes once more find Sir Robert’s watching me, with a look that I cannot decipher, I choose to ignore it and turn to listen to the discussion between Madge and Aunt Effie as I eat.

“I am merely stating that it is strange for a child to spend so much time in the presence of adults. She needs more interactions with those closer to her own age,” Effie states and gives Madge a supercilious glance. “A sister perhaps.”

“Please, Aunt Effie. She has already asked me several times. I am only recently out of my half mourning and not interested in marriage.”

“A cat, perhaps,” Aunt Effie suggests. “Something for her to share these childish daydreams with and make her feel secure.”

Prim glances at me before she looks away, guilt written all over her face. It’s been years and I wonder at her reaction. We never talked about what happened that night. I never wanted to, until I told Peeta.

“Oh but she does have friends!” Delly interjects. “I’ve seen her with other children. They were playing a marvelous game in the vegetable garden the day Robert and I arrived!”

“The servants’ children,” Effies says with a slight sniff. Delly purses her lips and glances down at her plate, her cheeks turning pink. Sir Robert seems either oblivious to his wife’s distress, or uninterested in defending her. I rather like Delly, despite her questionable taste in men, and not wanting to see her uncomfortable, I turn to Aunt Effie.

“Do you suggest she cannot be free and childish in her adventures with Peeta?” I say and Effie glances at him.

“Well, I did have my doubts about your husband at first, my dear, but that is slightly different. Your husband was raised in a different class entirely – as the son of a Marquis no less – but he is still an adult, not a child.”

“An adult who was raised initially by a ladies’ maid and a baker,” I state and fill my mouth with food to await Effie’s reaction. She gapes for a moment and Uncle Haymitch sighs. We’ve somehow drawn the attention of everyone at this point.

“My dear…you will need to loosen your corset a touch in this crowd. Or have you forgotten all of our own humble beginnings?”

“Oh Haymitch, must we bring that up over breakfast?” My mother asks and he nods.

“Yes, we must.”

“Darling, I don’t think–” Effie tries to argue.

“Shall we lay our scandals on the table?” Haymitch asks and points towards me. “You first, sweetheart. What humble origins do you bring to the table?”

Now my father protests, but I am thinking of what Peeta once did in a ballroom with a glass of wine a few well placed sentences. I lift one shoulder and give my Uncle a sly smile. “I still run about in breeches sometimes, a shameless hoyden, and I spent my one and only season in society as a fortune hunter. I was shockingly aggressive about the whole thing, and like most hunts, it was rather messy. Thankfully, I wound up married to and madly in love with…” I turn towards him so he knows I do not mean it as an insult. “A bastard.”

Peeta smiles at me and my heart flutters. Will his effect on me ever fade, I wonder? I hope not.

“That gives us a nice transition to your turn, Mrs. Robert Mellark,” Haymitch says and Delly looks about, for support perhaps. I give her a nod of encouragement and she sits taller.

“I…I eloped with another woman’s fiancé,” she whispers, glancing with trepidation at me.

“And happy she is that you did,” I say and Robert laughs. “So is almost everyone at this table, Delly. You will have to try harder than that to shock us.”

Prim, the only one who does not know the full story, looks between us all, her brow furrowed. I haven’t time to explain, however, she is intelligent enough to piece it all together. Delly smiles a little and thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “I am the daughter of a cook and a coachman. Myself a cobbler. A shoemaker,” she whispers and l lift my glass of juice delicately.

“Who makes astonishingly comfortable footwear. Really, Aunt Effie perhaps a fine pair of Delly’s boots will put you in a better mood.”

Effie huffs and several chuckles lift from the table as Haymitch clears his throat. “I am the son of a gambler–”

“Haymitch!” Effie protests and he waves her off.

“Who left my family in dire straights, extreme debt, when he died. So bad, in fact that our family was stripped of our title and I was never able to earn trust among the peerage, and my mother almost immediately remarried in a desperate attempt to pay off some of his debts. It was quite the scandal, Mother marrying her late husband’s closest friend while she was still in full mourning. Especially when my sister…” At this, he turns to my mother. She sits straighter in her seat and nods.

“Was born a fat, healthy, and undeniably full term baby a mere six months after the nuptials… ten months plus a few days after Mr. Abernathy had been buried.” She smiles at the murmured reactions and then turns to Delly. “Her second marriage solved some of the debts and bought her some time with the collectors, but still, it was not enough. The debts hounded our mother for years. My father and brother could scarcely find employment to support us, let alone attempt to pay off the remaining debts, until I was old enough to seek a husband. I found a suitor wealthy enough to lay the debts to rest once and for all, and sufficiently charmed by me to overlook my humble origins and the scandal of those debts. My parents were thrilled with the match, and at first, I was as well. But as I came to know him better, I grew to dread my choices. And then…”

“And then some poor farmer swept onto the scene, romanced her and stole her away from her titled, wealthy suitor,” my father states and my mother smiles at him. “We disappeared into the country to lead our quiet, happy life, away from the scandal we had caused, from the damage her jilted suitor attempted to cause to both our families… And now I find myself in the very awkward position of entertaining two of that jilted suitor’s sons at my table, one of them married to my daughter. Quite ironic.”

Peeta and Sir Robert take a moment to absorb that and share a glance before Robert groans and bends his head forward. “Good Lord, of course. That explains so much!”

“Did you know?” Peeta whispers to me and I shake my head.

“Not all of it,” I whisper. He frowns a little, and I know I shall have to tell him everything later, but for now, I mouth an apology as Robert picks up the game.

“Well then, since we’re confessing our scandals…I’m the cad who, not knowing of our families’ connections, proposed to the farmer’s daughter in the morning then ran off with the cobbler that evening,” Robert says and everyone merely blinks at him except for Prim, who gasps, her fork striking the plate. “Oh good, at least there’s one of you shocked by my story. I feel much less like a pariah now!”

“And since my sister failed to deal with my father’s debts through marriage,” Uncle Haymitch continues, “I finally gathered the gumption to do it myself, by marrying the daughter of a man who claimed to be a merchant with a fleet of shipping vessels but who in reality made his considerable fortunes not through legal trade but through–”

“Really, Haymitch! Enough!” Effie protests, her face red.

“Piracy.”

Haymitch finishes with the single word and Effie cries out while the rest of the table remains in shocked silence. Even Maysilee seems to respect the gravity of this reveal.

“Damn,” Peeta finally says with a rueful shake of his head. “Here I thought myself the most scandalous member of this table. I didn’t even have a chance to share!”

“I pretend to be a pirate sometimes!” Maysilee pipes up.

Effie laughs, once, the sound crazed before she stifles it behind one hand. Her shoulders begin to shake then and Haymitch lifts her other hand to his lips.

“My pirate princess, ladies and gentleman. So, Countess. My wife is quite right. You want to be careful what sort of company your daughter keeps.”

The conversation shifts then, Robert finding what appears to be a decent transition out of the awkward aura hanging over us all. “I say…I spotted this quaint ruin just up the road a bit. Looked like a lovely old manor house, all crumbling and covered in vines and neglected for some time. Likely abandoned. Excellent atmosphere, a bit creepy but intriguing. It seemed a good place for an adventure, Miss Maysilee. Perhaps with pirates!”

Now Madge is the one laughing hysterically and Robert looks about the table for an answer.

“Unless someone owns the place still? I would not want to trespass.”

“That would be me,” Madge says, still lost in laughter. We must laugh, about all of it, for it is far too ridiculous to do anything else. “Would you care for a ghost story over breakfast, Sir Robert?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We are granted a calm, perfect afternoon after the riot of that first breakfast. The sky above an idyllic blue with racing white clouds. The river subsides enough that about a dozen of the men of Everdeen to include Peeta, my father, Haymitch, and even Sir Robert are able to begin work rebuilding the washed out bridge. We make a picnic of it on the banks, a chore turned into an almost fair like atmosphere before the weather prohibits such a thing.

Sir Robert loses his balance at one point, and slides down the muddy bank. He is only just able to jam a booted foot against a post before he plunges into the river. His near embarrassment provides much fodder for Haymitch, and rough laughter at Robert’s expense fills the air.

“Which of us has the wooden leg again?” Peeta calls out, and my father laughs before joining in.

“I would lend you a hand, but I seem to be short one already!”

When Sir Robert regains his footing and examines his now muddied clothes with great distaste, I cannot help but wonder if he has ever gotten dirty in his entire life. Certainly he has not performed a great deal of manual labor. He struggles with the timbers and curses at splinters. At one point, I carry refreshment to the men as they work, keeping a safe distance from the slippery sections of riverbank.

“Will you not pitch in today, Katniss?” Haymitch asks. “Show Robert here how it is done?” Robert’s face burns further and I smile smugly but shake my head.

“Not today. I am enjoying the show you gentlemen put on far too much,” I say. Peeta wraps an arm around me protectively. His scent reaches me, rougher and deeper with his physical exertions. It is like the twang of a stringed instrument being tuned in my gut. I vibrate with the need to drag him away and…and oh lord I am having such impure thoughts of him with practically my entire family right here.

My eyes flit over to my father and I watch as a question fills his eyes, a question that I answer with a silent nod. He will know that there are few things that could dissuade me from donning breeches and pitching in on such a task as this. He will suspect anyways, and I cannot seem to keep it a secret. I am too happy to do so. Light fills his eyes and he turns from me with a grin, saying something to Haymitch that gets my uncle to leave me be.

Ours is not the only silent interaction in that moment of respite, though. Robert keeps stealing glances at his wife. She sits on the blanket with Madge, working a heavy needle through leather…a pair of shoes. Her industrious activity seems to only feed his embarrassment and I pretend not to hear it when Peeta whispers to his brother, two words.

“Earn it.”

I have a fair guess at what that means, confirmed when Robert rolls up his sleeves and returns to the task at hand as though his life depends on it. And perhaps it does in a way. Robert has lived since birth with everything handed to him. Has he ever needed to work for a thing in his life? I cannot be sure, but I doubt it, and now he will need to, in order to have a happy life with his Delly, cut off from the financial support of his wealthy father.

The work continues. Madge is not allowed much time to sit and fair wears herself out keeping Maysilee from the water. When he takes his turn at rest, Peeta sets her on one on his shoulders and holds her secure and still, if only for a few moments. Madge sighs in exasperation at her daughter and relief at Peeta’s attentiveness.

“Shall we catch a fish for our adventure today?” Maysilee asks brightly, pointing out the flashes of silver scales in the rushing waters.

“The water is far too swift for fishing,” I tell her. “We would have better luck on a calm day.”

“Miss Katniss knows what she speaks of. Fish tremble in fear at her line. Stag quiver and hide from her bow. Suitors fall at her feet! She is a fierce huntress, you know,” Peeta tells her. Maysilee turns and whispers in his ear and he laughs. Setting her on the ground, they turn to me and curl their fingers into claws, slowly stalking towards me where I sit on a picnic blanket.

“What are you doing?” I ask with suppressed laughter when they are but a few steps away from me.

“Sh!” Maysilee instructs and they halt, frozen in their comical pose. “Do you think she sees us?”

“I cannot be sure. It is difficult hunting a huntress, for she must have keen sight.”

“We should pounce!”

Squeals and laughter fill the air as they charge. I find myself somehow holding Maysilee, both of us squashed in Peeta’s embrace as he roars like a bear and lifts us off the ground. Maysilee wraps her arms about my neck and laughs.

“We were hunting for hugs!” She says and I kiss her cheek before whispering to her.

“I think your mother has a hug hidden somewhere.” Maysilee quiets, her eyes wide with delight. I set her down and she proceeds to stalk first Madge and then half of our party, pouncing and bestowing hugs, receiving them and laughter in exchange.

I slide my fingers together with Peeta’s and guide him away from the group, into a copse of trees. “Where are you taking me, huntress? Somewhere you might finish me off?”

I place my finger over my lips to quiet him and pull him into the shadows, out of view of the world before bringing him to me and kissing him. We are reckless and wild in that moment, a pagan huntress and her captured lover. I lose all sense of time and place, aware only of his hands on my back, his arms holding me upright, his lips sending me reeling, his scent as it fills my head. I am once again struck with the most salacious desires. Things I wish to do to him that would shock even a well traveled, experienced opera singer. I shall certainly need a confessional this week.

When he finally manages to extricate himself from my grasp, we are both flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils are wide pools and his lips swollen with my kiss.

“Is it the working on the bride or the hunting with Maysilee that has you so aroused?” He whispers, his voice a rasp of autumn wind that serves only to ruffle my hair and my desire further.

“Both. All of it. It is you. I cannot stop picturing you as a father, how you will be with our own children, and it…fills me with an insatiable need for you to take me, now,” I confess, my chest heaving with the effort to breathe. Peeta curses and cups my cheek in his hand, checking that we have not been discovered before bending his head to whisper to me.

“I thought we had already seen to that.”

“It cannot hurt to be certain,” I whine and he laughs, dark and rich, and feeding my desire for him.

“Have you any idea how much discipline it is taking me to refrain from pulling up your skirts and having you against this tree?” A pained whimper escapes my throat at his words and his fingers clench on me. “You wouldn’t stop me, would you?”

“I do not know if I would be able to. I certainly would not want to,” I gasp and he growls before kissing me again. This one is short but oh so rough and primal, revealing to me just how tenuous is his grasp on control right now. In seconds though, he manages to shackle his need and separate our mouths.

“Tonight, my pearl. I will give you all that you desire tonight.” He sets me away from him, the full length of his arms and then sees to both our appearances before we return to the group.

Maysilee still hunts, bestowing hugs. Peeta picks her up from behind and she squeals. He seamlessly returns to their game and it is only my mother’s knowing eyes that note our return. I blush and duck my head, but the smile on her lips tells me that she does not censure me at all, and I wonder, not for the first time, but now with great curiosity, what her and my father’s courtship and early days of marriage were like.

The day is too long, the night not nearly long enough. Darkness arrives, not soon enough, and I am anxious for all these guests and family to go to sleep already. I suffer through dinner, and through evening amusements in the drawing room after. I silently curse my father and Haymitch for keeping my husband at the chess board for far too long. Then his brother for engaging him in some sort of serious conversation. Primrose and Aunt Effie for demanding my attention as we discuss dressmakers and seasons and how to proceed. My sister informs Effie that she already has a contender for her hand and this season is a mere formality, but Effie insists that is no excuse not to make the most of it.

Finally, the clock chimes an hour that is acceptable for me to make excuses and depart company. It takes Peeta a moment or two longer to make his own excuses and I wait for him in the shadows at the top of the stairs, pouncing on him the moment his feet are planted firmly on the hallway floor.

As always, Peeta shows that I can rely on him to keep his promises. Our bedroom door is shut and locked behind us, and he becomes mine and mine alone, focused solely on me, giving me everything that I desire.

After, we lay on the floor before our fire, wrapped in blankets and a fur that caresses my skin, sinuous and soft as Peeta’s caresses. He kisses my temple and I sigh, content to lay here in his arms all night. The fire warms the front of my body and Peeta warms the rest of me. I lazily rub my feet over his leg, the coarse hair tickling my toes. My thoughts drift through hazy, violet clouds of content fulfillment.

“I have been giving serious consideration to Dr. Aurelius’ advice,” Peeta whispers, bringing my mind from its hazy wanderings.

“What advice?” I ask and Peeta becomes absorbed in the lock of my hair he twists around his fingers.

“Attending medical school, becoming a doctor.”

“Oh?”

“Wherever you and I and our family must go in future… there will always be a need for a good doctor, and we will need some form of steady income.”

“You inherited a fortune from the Marquis,” I argue.

“Hm. I knew it. You only married me for my dowry. Admit it, fortune hunter,” he teases and nuzzles behind my ear.

“Of course I married you for your dowry, bastard. It was a very tempting purse,” I tease in return, shifting so that I face him. I caress over his hip, down to his buttocks to grip him and pull him flush to my hips. “Quite irresistible. But I keep you about for your excellent qualities as a stud…” I cannot finish as his kisses on my neck have grown heated and insistent.

“At least I can be confident then that I have performed my husbandly duties admirably. Fortune, banked…child, conceived.” He nips at my neck with each task and I gasp, my hands roaming his body, absorbing the heat building in his skin and shifting my legs to feel his growing arousal, to share mine with him. “Since you are already with child, there’s no need for me to mate with you again for some time, now is there?”

“There is plenty need right here,” I moan and revel in the feel of him against me. “And perhaps I keep you about for me to love,” I say and he slowly lifts his head.

I mourn the loss of his lips on me, but in their temporary loss, I gain the sight of a loving look so deep and profound that I feel tears of joy burning my eyes. A few escape down my cheek as his lips find mine and my eyes close to enjoy the sensations. His hand caressing through my hair, holding my head steady as he kisses me, makes me dizzy with passion. Eventually he lifts his head again and this time, I see worry in his eyes. He traces the tracks the tears on my cheeks with with thumbs

“But it is not a guarantee that my inheritance will last,” he says. “We are about to adopt one child and bring another into the world. I wish for them to have a solid home, as much as we can manage to provide for them.”

I curl in on myself a little. He is right, of course. When my father passes, be it soon or years from now, Peeta and I will have no place to call home. If Father’s accident and coma earlier this year revealed anything to me, it is that I do not wish to be caught unprepared, homeless. Peeta would dread the same occurrence, given his background. He would detest forcing such an awful experience on our children. We need to prepare for the eventuality now, while we are financially secure.

“You would leave me for medical school while I am to give birth?”

“No,” he reassures me. “I’ve been speaking with Dr. Aurelius about options. He believes my experience as a field medic gives me an advantage, practical knowledge that will make the bookish knowledge easier to absorb. He has been in contact with several of his colleagues at the medical school in Capitol, and they agree that if I were to act as his apprentice here at home, that would suffice for practical laboratory studies. I could study the texts and lectures primarily at home and by correspondence, traveling to Capitol for a handful of weeks each term to sit examinations. Henry and Angelica have already provided recommendations for my admittance and for the exceptions that would be made for me.”

“So you would only be gone a few weeks, every so often?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “And not right away. We would have time with Miranda before I leave at all. When I do, you will still have your family here, but I wish to begin this soon, before things become uncertain for us. I want you to know… I do not wish to leave you or our family unless absolutely necessary. If it is too much, I can find another path.”

I bite my lip and consider it for a moment, finally nodding. “You would make a fine doctor, husband. I would place my life in your hands with no qualms.”

“Such faith in me,” he says with a smile and I kiss it from his lips.

“You will write to me and our children while you are gone?”

“Of course,” he vows between kisses.

“I will expect fervent love, drawings, and salacious poetry in your letters to me, Peeta.”

“Anything for you, Katniss,” he promises, and I give up on talking then. We’ve said all we need to for now, at least with words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days that follow are a flurry of activity. The post arrives, a mountain of letters delayed by the washed out bridge and the weather. There are several from Peeta that he wrote to me before he began his journey home. I devour them and use them as examples, like a school teacher instructing a student on proper letter writing.

“Much improvement, husband. This is more the sort of letter your wife would wish to receive,” I say with a superior voice and a lift of my nose.

Among the letters is also word from Mr. Burbank, Haymitch’s solicitor, and after I set Peeta’s concerns about me traveling while I am with child to rest, preparations begin in earnest for our journey to de Vale and then Capitol. Peeta and I announce our intentions to travel, and in regards to his sister. My father asks only if we are certain, and when I assert that we are, he makes a few, quiet suggestions. At first, I balk, but my father shakes his head.

“Your mother and I are done adding to this family. You and Peeta, if I can still arrange things the way we have discussed, will eventually be in charge of Everdeen. With a growing family as well…you will need the space and the privacy.”

My mother then leaps from her seat and begins ordering the alterations to rooms and the house that will be needed for the new addition. Maysilee hears only that there will soon be another young girl in the house and asks me if Miranda will be her sister.

“Not exactly, but you may welcome her as you would your sister,” I attempt to explain.

“Will she steal my face?” Maysilee asks before burying her face in Madge’s neck and Madge smiles but consoles her daughter.

“No darling, she will be a sister with her own face. Just as you wanted.”

In all the furious preparations, I swing violently between strange moods. One moment, I will be overcome with nausea and spurn the touch of anyone and everyone. My temper foul and my body a churning vat of ill.

Then the next, I will recover and insatiable desire will replace the nausea. Peeta grows exasperated with the rapid, unprompted swings with my moods, but takes it all with a smile, teasing me instead of losing his temper with me. The morning before we are to depart, I wake at an obscenely early hour, burning with fever. Not the kind that can be cured with my mother’s medicines and herbs but only with my husband’s body, and I wake him up rather rudely, demanding that he cure me.

He obliges me, loves me again and again with every inch of his being until we are two gasping, sweat covered, satisfied lumps of flesh laying limp in our bed. At least, I think myself to be satisfied until he groans at the late hour and heaves himself towards the edge of our bed. My body plucks awake again, insisting that I must get my fill now, for I’ve no idea what we will be facing in the coming weeks, no idea how often we will be able to indulge ourselves in one another.

“Get back in bed, husband. I am not finished with you yet,” I growl.

Peeta turns to me, an exasperated look on his face as he retrieves his shirt from the foot of the bed where I threw it earlier. “We will need to eat and see to our guests at some point today.”

“So many guests!” I whine. “When do they leave? When do we leave?”

“They leave today. We leave tomorrow.”

“They can see themselves to the door. I’ve no idea why they all stayed so long.”

“Must be your charming hospitality,” he says and I snort, rising up to kneel behind him and kissing over his shoulders. He stops dressing himself, his arms in his sleeves and his head turned slightly towards me. I lick up the side of his neck, enjoying the way this makes him shiver, the taste of his perspiration and his post coital scent an irresistible aphrodisiac to me now. I throb and yearn for him again, even though we’ve spent the entire morning abed. He moans and I know I will not need to convince him much to give me what I want.

“I never want so many people here again,” I whisper and bite his earlobe. “Too many interruptions from what I truly wish to be doing.”

“And yet, you are the one insisting on all these new additions to our family. I should think you fond of a full to bursting house.”

“Such lies, husband!” I accuse. “You want our children as well!”

He laughs, turning fully and tackling me to the bed, our guests forgotten for a few minutes more as he holds my thighs open and I must cover my face with a pillow to stifle the sounds I make as his mouth and tongue and fingers love me once more. He whispers such filthy words about my taste as he loves me, how he craves it on his tongue more than air. How he wants to fill our home with at least a dozen children and eagerly looks forward to planting his seed in me for each of our future children over the years to come. The need in me ebbs and flows like the tides, inexorably higher and higher to a devastating release.

And as I ride it out, I know. I know that nothing could now make me cease loving him. Nothing could make him cease loving me, no matter the changes and challenges the future brings. We will go into it as one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Be Continued….

Your clue for Chapter 23: They lurk all over this chapter, whispered in ears, shared with nervous laughter, declared over breakfast. They might be hidden to some, known to others, but eventually they can no longer be kept. A single word that describes at some point in this chapter a baby, a pirate, a romance or two, and more.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #late submission #prompt 88 #M #submission

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