#when every inhale feels like swallowing cold iron and every exhale like the winter's chill seeping into your very pores?

[curiousserpent]

I know that even those not fond of the colder season tend to at least admit to sleep being better when it is cold and I wish I knew what in the fucking hells they're talking about.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 17) under the skin

.-.-.

Communication was out of the question. Overnight, Ivar’s embarrassment had grown to the size of a boulder and that huge rock of sweltering shame rested upon his chest, making it rather difficult to breathe. 

Ivar was glad he’d been dragged back into the mud of the pigsty, as he could not bear to be around Piglet. With both their secrets stripped bare, neither were able to look the other straight in the eyes. 

Amongst the pigs, Ivar tried to recollect his damaged ego but managed it poorly. A form of hopelessness took hold of his shoulders and hindered him from keeping his chin up. 

The mundane labour and damp wind kept Ivar’s thoughts from spiraling down, the Dietsch autumn was merciless; losing her beauty and warmth faster every day. It would not take long for frost to claim the soil and turn the entire pigsty into a shallow lake of muddy ice. 

Ivar wondered how he was going to survive, once winter announced itself with snow and freezing temperatures. His clothes were no match for the upcoming cold and the way he scraped through his makeshift knee pads, during his day to day odd jobs, made him dejected. Because how on earth was he going to move through thick layers of snow? He’d freeze to death, with his poor rags for clothing, soaking with icy water. 

Piglet quite literally shoved him out of his thoughts. The young woman dashed over the wooden fence of the pigsty and crawled her way towards the pigs enjoying their breakfast. She managed to squeeze her body alongside the fat bellies and disappeared from view. 

Almost simultaneous to Piglet’s free dive between the grunting animals, a carriage arrived. The tough Lancewood shafts were carved; decorating the sides with elegant flowers and biblical images. The transport device was the size of a decent house and had windows made of actual glass. 

The imposing carriage stopped near the well, it’s driver scratched the back of his head and looked around a little lost and anxious. 

“Ivar,” Piglet hissed and threw a clump of mud in his direction splattering one side of his face. Before he could yell at her, she indicated very firmly to get his head down and mouth shut. 

Curious, Ivar did what was told but instead of hiding, he crawled through the pigsty and peeked through the missing border of the fence. 

By then, the driver had managed to spot one of the linen maids, the girl made a small bow and started pointing with her hand, giving him the proper directions to the main entrance. 

Intrigued by the whole incident, Ivar sat up and traced the glass windows. What type of master would be sitting on the other side? By the imposing impression of the carriage, it was not a commoner. Would it be an Earl? A famous healer? A king? 

“Hamar!” Piglet sank her nails into his shoulders and dragged him down. Ivar let out a harsh breath of frustration and gave her a hard shove back.

“Just because I’m no longer planning on murdering you, doesn’t mean you can treat me like a scurvy dog,” he growled and plucked on the collar of his shirt to fix it before craning his head back towards the carriage. 

A young fair maiden had stepped down the iron footplate of the carriage and seemed just as lost and puzzled as her driver. She was nervous too, although she managed to keep a blank expression, her fiddling hands gave it away. Her fingers played with the embroidered laces of her long, fur coated cloak. 

Oh, she came from wealth, with her pale cheeks that have hardly been kissed by the sun. 

Her fingers found a new distraction, they played with a loose lock or her long blonde braided hair as soon as master and mistress de Haar approached her carriage. 

To Ivar’s surprise and annoyance, Piglet’s tormentor tottered behind them, sour-faced and in a black mood.   

Between the four aristocrats, came a stiff introduction in which the fair maiden gave a brief bow towards the master and the mistress. Piglet’s tormentor managed to lisp a few words and hastily placed a clumsy kiss on the back of her hand. 

As the four of them strode back to the wealthy part of the castle, the young man gave his arm for the fair maiden to take and Ivar realised the purpose of her arrival; an arranged marriage. 

“Ludolf de Haar,” Piglet whispered closely to his ear and dug her nails into Ivar’s wrist with the strength of a wild cat. Her act was not provoked due to Ivar, no it was an extension of the fear she held for that particular young man. 

“Bad man,” she pointed to the young couple, “bad man…” 

.-.-.

From his warm lungs, came white puffs of clouds with every breath he exhaled. Ivar tried to brace himself for the night as the cold started to set into his muscles and bones. He’d managed to hide most of his body underneath a thick layer of hay, but without a proper bed, the cold crept up on him from the flooring. Knowing that in the morning, his legs would cause him agony, made it hard to fall asleep. 

And with the dreadful event of last night still fresh in his memory, sleep seemed completely out of the question.

Although he created the illusion of being fast asleep, his whole body was on edge and his ears wide open. If that croaked-lipped bastard decided to come back, he wanted to be wide awake. His companion must feel the same, usually she was the first one to drift asleep, indicated by her calm deep breaths and occasional snoring. 

Ivar overheard her tossing and turning, all while her breath remained shallow and fast. Both were destined for a long sleepless night while being plagued by the penetrating cold. 

Approaching footsteps made both their breaths catch in their throats. Ivar’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, he closed them completely. The footsteps had the wet sound of someone walking in mud, someone who hadn’t learned to walk quietly and instead, relied on verges to muffle their steps. Each footfall was chaotically spaced from the last, no rhythm at all. They lacked confidence and cunningness. 

The footsteps most definitely belonged to Ludolf de Haar.

Piglet was aware of this too and before the keys could click inside the lock and open the door, she flung herself over the fence that separated their boxes and sought shelter alongside Ivar. 

It felt strange, for her to be so close in the twilight. Never before had she willingly crossed her makeshift line, but with such a predator on the verge of walking in, all rules were fairly broken. Ivar hastily crafted a plan. Without a word, he tucked Piglet’s body underneath the hay and crawled close to the trough.

The second Ludolf set a foot in their doorway, Ivar shoved his middle and index finger in the back of his throat and started hurling. Tears burned his eyes as partially digested chicken spewed out of him. His unwilling stomach contracted as he forced its entire content up and out. His fingers crawled around the edge of the trough and turned his knuckles white. Lurching forwards once more, Ivar choked and coughed. The pungent stench invaded his nostrils as he heaved until there was nothing left. 

He knew he was a mess, a dirty, sweaty, smelling, disgusting mess. He’d learned from the best. When he flung his head up, his heart leapt as he watched Ludolf’s lop-sided lip curl up from repulsion. 

Continuing to his act, Ivar clumsily crashed onto his stomach and in the process knocked over the trough. 

The youngest descendant of de Haar did not know how fast he could flee from the shed, as splatters of vomit rained down onto his leather boots. 

Although his entire stomach was empty, Ivar felt content and victorious. He’d conquered the enemy without lifting a finger and saved Piglet’s virtue, at least for another night. 

Indecisive, he turned back to the quivering pile of hay. Piglet had morphed back into a sniveling mess and that form of a woman was foreign and appalling to Ivar. He much rather fight the Giant with both his hands tied to his back then to retreat to the end of his box. 

But he was cold and damn exhausted from being in a continuous state of alertness. So even though Piglet’s soft weeping was off putting, he crawled back, stole half of her hay and lay down beside her. 

“Shut up Piglet,” he growled at her, shifting on his side with his back towards her. Although the warmth of her body was rather welcoming, he did not want to give her the impression he was growing soft on her. Ivar could cope with blood, pain and violence, but any form of gratefulness coming from a woman, chilled him to the bones. Such gratitude might give her the impression she mattered something to him, which evidently would give her power over him. And he did not want to be used simply for being a longing weakling, because he did not crave her approval nor care. 

Ivar certainly did not want to feel loved. 

“Shukraan,” she thanked him soft and humble and draped her arm over him, pulling herself tightly to his back. Ivar’s body stiffened by her uncharacteristic forwardness and bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Her upper body fitted perfectly against his and he could feel her heartbeat jitter rapidly. For a moment, he wondered which one of their hearts galloped faster.

Ivar inhaled a deep breath and blew out slowly: “shut up piglet,” but his words lacked its intended venom. 

She reeked, she had absolutely no respect for him and Ivar tried to think of many other reasons why he should not find so much relief in her embrace. But the truth was, her warmth and closeness gave him more comfort than any blanket or fur coat ever could.

And so he clenched his jaw over and over, sucked on the inside of his bloody cheek and remained stiff-backed and wide awake, because he could not swallow the fact that a reeking savage managed to continue getting underneath his skin.  

.-.-.

A/N: ok I know this was a ‘preventing a rape’ chapter, but I think those two together are cute af. As I mentioned before, I really like to torture Ivar and I think Piglet’s embrace comes pretty close to the many times the Giant beat the shit out of him. He simply cannot deal with kindness. I’d like to thank a few readers in particular: @youbloodymadgenius, @xbellaxcarolinax, @shanntgoatgruff, @pieces-by-me, and @readsalot73. Who’ve all been so motivational and I can’t thank you enough for all your kind words<3 My personal life is very time consuming, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update this story, but know I’m doing my very best to continue! 

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182 @conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Andrew Garfield x Female Reader: New Rule (Forty-Fucking-Three, Part 2)

A/N: To all those beautiful human beings who have been patiently waiting for this - I am so sorry it took me so long. There’s not much Andrew in this part (I’m sorry, this had to be written in order to put things into perspective), but in the next one (which will probably come out during the week) there’s going to be quite a lot of him… I’m actually planning on making two more parts of it, but only if you guys are interested. Feel free to message me with your opinion on the matter :) As always, I can’t ever thank you enough for taking your time to read this. This really means the world to me. I really hope you enjoy it, lads xx  Warnings: Overall sadness? A couple of swear words. My English… The usual, really. Oh, and also, there is that friend. The one who wants to warn you, but always ends up giving you all sorts of ideas instead… :) 

New to the series? Start by chilling at LAX

 here

!

The ride to Ritz took place in a deafening silence, as you stared stubbornly out the window, refusing to acknowledge Teddy’s concerned stare. Drops of rain rolled down the toned glass, blocking your vision, making it impossible for you to figure out where you were exactly and how much time was left until you could finally let out the sobs you kept swallowing down, in the silence of your empty, lifeless room with a king-size bed.

Struggling to make out the silhouettes of the speeding cars, rushing past the limo, you wondered where these strangers were hurrying. Bright, blurry shine of their headlights blinded you, but you refused to close your eyes. LA was heartbreakingly beautiful tonight. 

You knew he wasn’t coming, yet in that frantic whirl of completely oblivious people, driving their fancy cars, your eyes were still searching for him.

Ironically enough, the minute you walked into your Presidential suite, you didn’t feel tired anymore. Teddy carried your suitcases to your bedroom, not a word escaping his lips. Meanwhile, you made your way to the French windows and, dropping your bag on the floor, tore the curtains open, sparkling Los Angeles, naked and wet, unfolding before your eyes.

“I am coming for you at 7 am, is that right?” you could see Teddy’s reflection on the window surface as he paused in the doorway, waiting for your confirmation.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice strangely low. “Once I am done with Ellen’s show, you are free to go on your well-deserved holiday, Teddy”, you turned around to face him, hugging yourself.

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, confused.

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow”, you hurriedly added before he could ask any more questions. “I’m sorry you did not make it to your kids tonight”. Teddy gave you an almost invisible smile before shaking his head slightly and disappearing behind closed doors.

And just like that, you were left all alone, one-on-one with your thoughts.

Exhaling noisily, you fell onto the ground in front of the window, not even bothering to reach a very comfortable-looking sofa further away. You dumbly stared into the ceiling, your mind completely numb yet restless. As much as you needed to get some sleep, you weren’t entirely sure that this was what the stars had in line for you for tonight. Turning your head towards your bag, your cheek feeling cold at the contact with the parquet floor, you pulled your bag closer by the shoulder strap. 

You knew you could allow yourself to cry freely now, but tears simply weren’t coming. God knows you wanted to cry. You wanted to cry, yell, scream at the top of your lungs, but its like your emotional switch was finally turned off.

You felt like you simply didn’t care enough to bother doing anything anymore.

Bringing your upper body abruptly up, you sat down, your legs crossed, tucking a strand of lose hair behind your ear. Digging in your bag, placed in your lap now, with both of your hands, a minute later you found what you were looking for. With your heart treacherously skipping a beat, you made the display of your phone come alive under your fingertips.

Seven missed calls. 

With your hands trembling, you slid you finger across the display, opening up his messages.

You groaned, dropping your phone back into your bag and burying your face in your hands.

If you could get a dollar each time you got this kind of messages from Andrew Garfield, you’d be as rich as J.K. Rowling by now. In fact, you could abandon your acting career on the spot, and the money you’d have accumulated would have lasted you a couple of lifetimes.

At least he wasn’t trying to reach you anymore.

All of the sudden, you felt an urge to talk to someone. To let it all out. If you couldn’t cry tears, you were sure as hell going to shower someone with words. 

And you knew just the right person for the job.

You met Brittnee, your voice of reason, at one of the movie premieres you attended back when you went out with Dane. She was there with one of her best friends – Ben Barnes, King Caspian himself. He was the one to introduce you to each other, and you have been inseparable ever since. You deemed yourselves lucky if you could meet in person at least once a month – being Ben’s publicist, she had a very hectic schedule – but that didn’t seem to stop her from being there for you when you needed her. You’d been calling her a lot lately, and although she was always happy to hear your voice, you knew she wished you’d have been calling for all the different reasons.

Feeling your head throb with yet another fit of a dull kind of ache, you got hold of your cellphone again, speed dialing the only person in the world who could stop you from making stupid choices you knew you’d regret in the morning. As you prayed for her to still be up, you heard a clinking noise, followed by an overly cheerful hello for three o’clock in the morning.

“Hey Britt, it’s me,” you bit your lips, staring at the winking city behind the glass. “Did I wake you? Where are you?”

“Y/N?” her voice suddenly came down an octave, the cheerfulness of it replaced by worry. “Are you okay? I’m in New York”, you internally groaned at the mention of the city you’d have razed to the ground if you could. “I just got back to my hotel room, I’ve been at this perfume event with Ben… It really did last forever! What’s going on, chica?”

“Do you want me to call you after you’ve gotten some sleep? I totally can”, all at once, you felt like you should stop bothering Britt with your stupid problems. She warned you about this. You shouldn’t have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place.

Yet here you were, sleepless and weary, wanting nothing more than to rewind the time back to when you could still walk away from it all.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in LA, doll? With Andrew? Where is he?” Britt inquired, pretending she didn’t hear your words. It was as if she could read your thoughts. You sighed heavily, brushing your hair back with you cold fingers.

“Out fucking I suppose,” you answered bitterly, dropping your head and closing your eyes. “He stood me up. I’m at Ritz, and he keeps bombarding me with messages of how sorry he is”. 

It was right there and then that you’d finally felt it – a giant lump, rising in your throat, blocking your breathing. Desperately trying to regain your composure, you inhaled deeply, but it seemed to only tighten your windpipe. You could feel your eyes water, and you fought the tears of stress and fatigue back with all the force that was left in you.

“Okay, Y/N, listen to me,” Britt’s determination resonated in her voice, so strong it made you open your eyes and raise your head back up. “It’s about time you stopped ignoring my every word, and listened to me just this once. Are you following?”

You nodded slowly first, but when you realized she couldn’t see you, you barely muttered a yes.

“What did I tell you the last time we had this conversation?” her speech became softer now. “Do you remember?”

“Yes,” you spoke more confidently now. “But I can’t just leave him. What kind of person would that make me? He won’t handle Ellen’s show all on his own…”

You could hear Britt puff her lips sarcastically, before she interrupted you:

“What kind of person would that make you?” she repeated in disbelief. “You could handle being left alone, when he promised you he’d show, couldn’t you?” she paused for a second, letting the meaning of her words settle in. “Is he with her again?”

“Yes,” you could barely feel your lips as they emitted that odious word. “He is”.

You were almost certain you heard Britt swear under her breath.

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic!” she was probably pacing in her hotel room now. “That guy just begs me to go winter soldier on his ass!” 

At any other time, you’d probably kill yourself laughing. Now you weren’t sure you were capable of handling even another breath.

“I’m out,” you heard yourself say all of the sudden. “I’m going to that Ellen’s show in several hours, and then I’m out. For good.”

Silence hang in the air for about a minute, which seemed like a century to you. Then Brittnee cleared her throat.

“Then what?” she asked simply.

You gripped your bag tightly in one hand, pressing the phone to your ear with the other. Standing up, you could feel your stiff legs shake, yet somehow you still managed not to fall.

“I don’t know yet,” you threw your bag on the sofa as you passed it by on your way to the bedroom. “Any ideas?”

“You gotta get yourself another acting deal, Y/N”, Britt’s voice was serious now. This was a publicist talking. “It will give you a legit excuse to ditch all the Breath’s promotional campaigns. I hear Tony Kushner is looking for an actress for one of his new plays… Rehearsals are going to start any day now…”

“How do I get in touch with him?” falling down on an enormous bed fully closed, you suddenly felt the weight of the world lifting off your chest. Brittnee’s voice was lulling your tired mind to sleep, making you feel peaceful.

“I’ll get in touch with him on your behalf. One of his people will most likely call you tomorrow morning. Don’t tell your publicist though, she ain’t gonna like it,” she said, as you heard her scribbling something down on a paper. “And Y/N,” she paused, making sure you were listening. “About tomorrow. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t let you do if I were there. Just because you have finally decided to burn the bridges doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to adopt the now or never attitude, okay? I can’t believe I’m quoting Dua Lipa’s New Rules here, but if you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.”

Your eyes flew open at her insinuations, as you sat on your bed, astounded.

“What the hell are you hinting at, Britt?” you spoke, your voice coming out higher than you’d expected.

“You know”, she replied calmly. She then continued after a while:

“I honestly have no idea how you’ve managed to keep your feelings a secret from him all this time. You must really be a good actress”.

You gaped at her words, caught completely off guard. A wave of protest rose in your chest, as you felt your insides freeze.

“I don’t see what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice as cold as ice.

“Funny,” you could feel her smile at you kindly. “Because everyone else in the world does. Except that idiot, of course”.

After thanking Brittnee and saying your goodbyes, you forced yourself back on your feet. Having taken a cold shower, you crawled into bed, wearing nothing but a pair of panties. 

She was wrong. 

She had to be wrong.

Because you were so much smarter than falling in love with your fake boyfriend after having dumped him. 

You had to be smarter than that.